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bayjaruchel · 11 months

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Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation.

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation.

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness.

Yeah. Heads, plural.

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself.

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis.

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks.

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both.

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste."

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement."

"Expensive wine?"

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it."

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?"

He snorts. "Too classy."

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights.

"Cheap beer it is, then."

Clapton's grin is back.

"Unfortunately."

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks?

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in.

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in?

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse.

"Four minutes," he echoes.

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead.

"Yeah."

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet.

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time."

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows— you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left.

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?"

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up.

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check."

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?"

Clapton raises his eyebrows again.

There's a shift in the air.

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though.

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do.

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it.

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?"

He definitely already knows the answer to that question.

"Yeah, you don't."

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor—

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat.

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half—

"Just do it," you breathe.

And he does.

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient.

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower—

There's a loud series of knocks at the door.

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips— but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet.

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open.

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s.

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper:

"Wanna go upstairs?"

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree.

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles.

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times.

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him.

"You think?"

He grins. "Sure do."

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in.

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough.

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted.

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—"

"Go ahead," you interrupt.

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time.

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt.

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles.

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops.

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?"

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna."

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever.

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?"

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?"

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry."

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that."

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements.

"In your—?"

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you.

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?"

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright."

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off.

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips.

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do —

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —"

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time.

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but—

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter:

"Don't hold back."

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard.

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — "

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this.

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— "

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"

"Fuck— " You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom— but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes—

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato.

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh.

He mimics it, and you glance down at him.

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not.

"We should get cleaned up or something."

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something."

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine."

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states.

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway.

It's silent, before he interjects:

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?"

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection.

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want."

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … "

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds.

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you."

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause.

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind.

"You wanna get out of here?"

He beams.

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #clapton davis imagines #clapton davis smut #josh hutcherson x reader

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

Text

Plink.

“Psst, hey! Nico!”

Plink. Plink.

“Nico! You up?”

Plink.

Plink plink plink. Plink —

“What in the world,” Nico hisses, yanking open his window, “is going — oh.” He blinks. “Will?”

Will grins. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says, voice not nearly quiet enough for someone who is at direct risk of being devoured. “Thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?”

If Nico were smart, he would say no, actually, it’s like four in the godsdamn morning, go the hell back to your cabin. What is wrong with you.

Instead, he says, “We live in the same neighbourhood, dweeb-face, this is a camp,” and opens his window all the way. Will grins at him, wide and glinting in the dark, and yanks himself in head-first, somersaulting onto the floor and staying there, sprawled on the polished marble floors.

“Hi,” he says again, grin shifting into something more crooked.

Nico breaks away, hiding a smile with rolled eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s ridiculous to want to see you?”

“Before dawn? Yes!”

“Aw.” He settles against the ground, tucking his hands behind his head and letting half lidded eyes trace over Nico’s form, over the sleepy shape of him. Nico shivers. “I was awake, you know. I dreamt of you.”

Cool the fresh hell down, Nico screams at his brain. Out loud, he says, “Shut the fuck up,” and ignores Will’s snickering. How dare he, honestly. For someone who gets clowned as often as he does he is not nearly humble enough. Apollonian genes, indeed.

“What, you don’t dream of me?”

When Will lies, his throat swells up and he breaks out in hives. Nico is at the top of the leaderboard for getting the reaction out of him, with Cecil at a close second and Kayla no slouch in third place. Will is highly manipulable. It’s a good time for everyone around (even Chiron, who is, to his own irritation, lumbering behind at spot #42).

Nico, however, has no such holdups. Nor is he inclined, at any point in time, to fluff up Will’s ego, no matter how he looks when he’s cocky. Nico has self control. Mostly. (Well, at times.)

“Of course not. My subconscious would never do that to me.”

“You’re mean to me, di Angelo.”

“You like it.”

Nico watches, fascinated, as Will’s loudmouth snaps right shut; as his face burns sacred cow right in the low light of the cabin, as he squirms.

“Oh,” he says, gleefully.

“Can it, di Angelo —”

“Oh ho ho ho —”

“I’m gonna curse your ass with haiku disorder, do you know what that is, ‘cause I’ll show you, dickhead —”

Nico crouches down and pokes Will hard in the cheek, and he doesn’t even flinch — he just goes redder. Nico guffaws.

“Dude! Have some — dignity, oh my —”

“Shut up! Shut up! You’re so horrible, gods, I am leaving —”

“Oh, come here.” Will is dragged easily from the windowsill, because he is a big fat faker. There are actual claw marks on the infirmary door from the last time Austin brought Nyssa to drag him out.

“I don’t wanna stay where I’m unwanted,” he laments, bouncing on the bed when Nico shoves him. He takes the inch Nico gives him and burrows deeply under the blankets, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Nico rolls his own eyes, hoping if he rolls then hard enough Will can tell regardless of whether or not he’s looking, and crawls in after him. He makes sure to kick him at least thrice. “I can take a hint, you know.”

“Medical arts were the wrong career path for you. It’s not too late, you know. I’m sure you could shadow Nicholas Cage or something —”

“I am going to kill you with hammers —”

Nico evades gus clumsy attacks with ease, snickering as he pins him to the bed, smirking when he gives up fighting with a huff.

“I’m glad you came when you couldn’t sleep,” Nico says, after a moment for them to catch their breath. “But the point of that agreement is for you to then shut the fuck up and sleep. Here. So.”

“I’m trying,” Will grumbles. “But you’re being mean and it’s crushing my soul. How am I supposed to sleep with a crushed soul?”

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay! Put the pillow away, jeez, I’m sorry. Meanie.”

Nico rolls his eyes again, settling down next to him. Will takes longer to settle, because he’s annoying, but right before Nico is ready to smack the shit out of him again, he calms down, burrowing stilling once he’s turned on his side.

“…Thank you.”

“Whatever, goober. Go to sleep.”

The smile is obvious in his voice. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“In the morning can we —”

“Goodnight, William.”

“Okay, okay. Night.” He pauses. “Love you.”

Nico shoved his grinning face into his pillow. “Love you too.”

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gay-dorito-dust · 16 days

Note

we better get a part 2 for that ford fic YOU KNOW WHICH ONE IM TALKING ABOUT

🙂maybe- okay this is my formal apology to those I’ve hurt with the Ford fic by being a little brutal at the end.

Part 1

*a few hours after the confession*

‘You what?!’ Stan exclaimed as Ford finished telling him about his current situation.

‘Stanley please not so loud, they could hear you-‘

‘You walked away from the person you liked, and not only did you walk away from them but you walked away from them AFTER they confessed to you?! What the fuck Stanford!’ Stan ignored his brother and continued to yell, not understanding how badly Ford has truly fucked his chances with you this badly, god knows if Ford will ever get the chance to make up for this because Stan knows from Mabel that you were heartbroken. ‘What were you thinking?!’ He adds, becoming angry on your behalf since you were too distraught to even feel anything other then anguish.

‘I don’t know! I fucked up I get it!’ Ford replied, equally as frustrated at his actions earlier today, feeling his heart break each time he walked past your room just to hear heartbroken sobs and questions regarding your self worth and it was all because of him. Ford then sits himself down on the edge of his bed and rested his head in his hands, his mind replayed what could’ve been the happiest moment in his life, had he not been stupid enough to get up and walked away from you without explanation.

Stupid Ford, stupid. He thought to himself.

‘I thought this was what you wanted.’ Stan said as he calmed himself down upon seeing how bad his brother was taking this as he sat himself down next to Ford. ‘Isn’t being with them something you’ve always dreamed of happening one day? So why sabotage it for yourself and them?’ Stan then asked as he watched his brother with an observant eye, watching Ford as he caress the lucky stone you gifted him when coming across it while walking through the woods one day.

‘They deserve better than me Stanley.’ Ford said softly as he puts the lucky stone back into his coat pocket where it felt heavier than a small stone should, reflective of his guilt in what he did to you, and your hypothetical life together. He had you saying what he’s always dreamt you’d say, but he didn’t feel as though he was worthy of you and that you needed someone better; so he walked away and out of a beautiful, happy life with you because of his insecurities.

‘They wanted you Stanford, they always wanted you.’ Stanley reassures him with a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s why they confessed to you because they want to be with you no matter what, they mustered up the courage to confess to you despite the fear of rejection, hoping that you wouldn’t be the reason their heart breaks and instead be the reason it laughs and smiles.’ He adds in hopes it encourages Ford to seek you out and makes things right, that and he wants to call you is sibling in law one day, not that he’d ever admit it aloud to anyone.

‘And yet I broke their heart by walking away regardless.’ Ford said defeated as he clenched his firsts. ‘What a fool I’ve been, blinded by insecurity and shame of myself that I didn’t see the hurt I was putting them through in the process.’ Ford then stands up with a look of determination. ‘I must make things right.’

‘Yes!’ Stan exclaimed as he stand up next to Ford, smiling widely as pride flooded his chest. ‘Yes you should! Go get them tiger!’ He cheers as he watched Ford march towards the door before looking back at his brother with a soft smile.

‘Thank you Stanley.’

Stanley smiles back at Ford, winking. ‘All in a days work of being the best twin in existence.’ He said jokingly.

Ford could only chuckle at this as he left his room to venture up the stairs and soon find himself outside your door once more as the nerves came back to him tenfold, but Ford knew that he needed to do this, that he needed to make things right with you once and for all. He takes a deep breath as his heart hammers in his chest as he knocks on your door and awaited.

You opened the door, looking worse for wear with dead eyes that were red from all the tears you’ve shed, wearing a fleece hoodie that Ford remembered brought you comfort from a long day at work, and just looking like you just needed a hug. ‘What do you want Ford.’ You said with no affection in your voice but more so annoyance and hurt.

‘I’ve…’ Ford found himself unable to speak again, he couldn’t convey his feelings into words at all and everything was screaming at him to leave you alone once again, to leave before he brook your heart even further but Ford wanted to be by your side to help heal your heart instead. ‘I’ve come to make things right my dear.’ He finally said and god did it feel good to finally say what his heart wanted to say at long last.

‘How?’ You questioned shortly, wanting nothing more than to shut the door in his face to make him feel how you felt, but your heart still beats for him whether you like it or not, even if he were to crush it in his hands you’d still love him regardless and that was the undeniable, undisputed truth.

‘By hoping that you’d let me help heal your heart and your trust in me again.’ Ford began, ‘I was a fool to leave you after you bore your heart to me my dear and I greatly apologise for that, in truth I like you too but to an extent that it goes beyond words to describe it accurately enough.’ Ford then reached into his pocket and pulled out the lucky stone you gave him and presented it to you.

Your eyes widened, you didn’t think he’d keep such a silly thing but knowing he did only made your heart crave him more. ‘Ford…’

‘Until I have earned your trust and heart back, I shall return the gift you have given me in hopes that one day I shall be lucky enough to be given it again.’ Ford continues with a somber smile but when you started chuckling, Ford couldn’t help but be a little confused. ‘You silly, silly man.’ You said as you gently pushed his outstretched hand back towards himself, ‘the stone is yours to keep, not give back and while yeah I’m hurt by what you did but I know deep down I could never hate nor distrust you ever. I like you too much to suddenly hate you.’ You admitted and Ford quickly pocket the stone before pulling you into his arms, holding you as tight as he could while burying his face into your neck.

‘Thank you my love, thank you so much for entrusting me with your heart.’ Ford said, voice slightly muffed but you were happy to be in his arms and found yourself smiling widely as tears of happiness streak down your face.

‘I’ll always entrust you with my heart, why do you think I gave you the lucky stone to begin with?’ You asked and suddenly everything same sense to Ford as he pulls away from you to lean forwards and kiss you on the lips softly, awkwardly but endearingly as you hummed in content, happy to have your happy ending become reality.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months

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Sukuna coming for Megumi's little sister at Shibuya (pt. ll)

Part l can be found here

Pairing: Sukuna x Megumi's little sister; Yuji x Megumi's little sister

Word Count: 2,5k

Synopsis: After the incident of Yuji almost losing his life and Megumi's little sister confessing her feelings to him, they finally live in peace. But then Shibuya comes around as well as suppressed Sukuna who takes interest in you...

Warnings: language, injury, self harm, mostly Sukuna

Tags: @sanicsmut (yk why my lovely), @sunshine7queen

It’s been months. Months since you finally confessed your feelings to none other than Yuji Itadori in pouring rain, months since finally having the relationship you always dreamed of, months in which everything went just right.

Yes, ups and downs were and will always be part of the job, but you stood on each other’s side till the very end.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Your fingers gently caressed his back, other hand combing through his pink hair.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. After all you’re by my side, right?”

Your heart melted like chocolate in the sun, arms embracing him tightly before you could help yourself. Oh that boy. That beautiful boy who swept you off your feet, the boy you’ve been in love with since stepping a foot into Jujutsu High. In that moment you laid beside him, eyes staring at the ceiling while holding his hand and breathing against his chest.

“I’ll always be by your side, Yuji.”

Yes, everything went just fine. But at Shibuya, everything changed.

“Where’s Yuji?” you huff into your big brothers face, completely out of breath.

“And what happened to Ino?”

“(y/n), what happened to your face?”

You can’t explain right now. In fact, all that’s on your mind is Yuji after fighting your way through the whole city.

“We’ll meet again as soon as possible, okay?”

Why? Why were you assigned to follow Nanami and that old fart instead of Mei and Yuji? Why weren’t you able to support your brother and your boyfriend? You had a bad feeling in your guts right from the start, but when seeing Ino’s unconscious figure you suspect nothing but the worst.

“Where’s Yuji?”

The evasive look in Megumi’s tells you everything before he even opens his mouth.

“He went into the train station in order to find Gojo-sensei…”

Your world stops, head spinning in thick fear. He went into the train station.

All alone.

“Why would you let him go there alone?”

Roughly, you grab your big brother’s collar, fisting the fabric so tightly that it gets hard for Megumi to breathe.

“Why would you let him leave when even Gojo got sealed? Why did you let him go?”, you hiss through gritted teeth, tears veiling your sight.

This is bad. Very very bad. He wasn’t replying to any of your messages for over an hour now. An hour in which he could have get killed already.

Or even worse.

The thought of Sukuna inside him taking over runs shivers down your spine. After that fateful day when you thought you lost the love of your life forever, you encountered him last. The cruelest of the cruel, the king of curses.

You feel like throwing up. No, you need to focus. Right now, there’s only one thing you can do.

“Where do you thing you’re going, (y/n)?”, Megumi barks at you while grabbing your hand and yanking you over.

“What do you think? I’m looking after Yuji!”

“There’s nothing you can do-“

“What do you know about it?”, you interrupt him immediately.

“I love him, Megumi. And I won’t let him die at Shibuya alone or even worse, let Sukuna take over his body. I’ll keep you updated.”

And with that, you turn on your heels and run as fast as your feet carry towards the center of Shibuya. Please. Please let everything be alright. Your heart almost hammers out of your chest, vision foggy with thick fear.

Please hold on, Yuji.

-Sukuna-

“How could you lose against such a weakling?”

He smiles to himself, sunning in the scorching pain that echoes through his vessel’s body.

Until you appear on his mind again.

Oh god, you. The girl that brat fell head over heels for, the girl that confessed to him in pouring rain after encountering himself. You have some nerves, laying inside of this loser’s arms each and every night while Sukuna himself can’t help but wonder what your body feels like, sensing how he kisses your lips while Sukuna desires a taste of his own. No, Sukuna was never jealous about anything that brat has.

But you.

He leans forward, a wave of Yuji’s memories washing over him. Your soft hair and glistening eyes, your oh so kind smile, the way you lay against his chest.

“Why this loser?” he mumbles to himself.

“Why are you even attracted to a brat like him when you can do so much better?”

With him, maybe. Sukuna was never a man of feelings, after all he is the king of curses, the cruelest creature walking on this earth. But there’s just something about you that keeps him entertained, something that begs him to have a taste.

Maybe today, here at Shibuya, his time has come.

(y/n)’s POV

It’s like living in a nightmare you can’t wake up to, seeing two girls bending over the lifeless body of your boyfriend.

“What did you do to him?”, you scream out.

Until you gaze at the finger in their hands.

Until your mind begins to realize what is going on here.

“How many fingers did you feed him already?”

You feel like a ghost in a shell, as if all of this is only a dream. This isn’t Yuji Itadori laying right in front of you, right? These aren’t Sukuna’s fingers, correct?

“How many fingers!?”, you scream on top of your lungs.

You hinge forwards, ready to rip their hands off when suddenly, a sheer force stops you in your tracks and slams your body against a nearby wall. You feel like dying, organs pressed so harshly against the hard concrete that you can swear you were able to feel every single one burst. All you are capable to do is stare at the volcano in front of you setting the two girl in flames and casually pulling out more of these cursed fingers, more of his fingers.

“N-no”, you croak out.

No, you need to do something, you need to get out of this wall, you need to stop him from feeding all of Sukuna’s fingers to Yuji.

With a violent scream you break away, landing knees first on the cold floor. Damn, you feel like bleeding out, whole vision going black just by the thought of standing up. But you have to do this, one step at a time.

For him, for Yuji.

“Get. Your. Dirty. Hands. Off. Him.”, you hiss through gritted teeth, snapping the volcano head’s hand away just in time before he is able to force the last finger down Yuji’s throat.

“I thought you are dead already. Leave me alone, stupid girl.”

It happens so fast that you aren’t even able to comprehend what is going on. In the split of a second his hand darts towards you, fire bursting out of his palms. But it doesn’t reach you. No, instead both of his arms get cut off, coloring everything around you in deep purple.

“You have some nerves, trying to touch her so casually. Who do you think you are, you worm?”

That voice, that presence. Your whole body shivers in nothing but thick fear, head slowly turning around. Please let it be a nightmare, a misunderstanding. This can’t be reality.

“Hello sweetheart, did you miss me?”

“Sukuna…”, you breathe out.

You stare right into his red eyes, tattoos all over his face revealing his true identity without any doubt. The man sitting next to you isn’t Yuji Itadori anymore. No, this is the king of curses himself, none other than Sukuna.

“Long time no see. I’ve been waiting for this moment long enough”, he purrs, a cheeky grin plastered on his face while he brushes through Yuji’s hair.

“Where’s Yuji?”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper in the darkness, his sheer presence clouded by so much power and strength that you feel like fainting. Yes, the man in front of you could kill you without even twitching.

“Why is everything about this brat? He’s in the background where he belongs. Oh, not so fast.”

Just when the volcano man next to you is about to stand up, Sukuna cuts off his feet without ease. You stare at him through glossy eyes, the flawless appearance of your boyfriend looking so distressed by his occurrence. A quiet laughter escapes his lips and sends another wave of shivers down your spine. How can a creature walking on this earth be so evil?

“Now kneel.”

He stands in front of you staring down at you with amusement sparkling in his eyes. He’s talking to you, there’s no doubt. Your limbs feel like burning alive, whole body exhausted by all the fights and tactical thinking. You would love to kneel on the floor at least for a while, finally some rest.

But instead, you lift your trembling figure off the floor, straightening your shoulders with your head up.

“I would rather die than kneeling in front of someone as disgusting as you”, you reply with firm voice.

Is this how you’ll die? Through the deformed hands of your very own boyfriend, through the king of curses himself?

Suddenly he bursts out laughing, grabbing your chin roughly.

“It would have truly disappointed me if you lost your spark. But for your braveness, everyone at Shibuya will lose their lives this night”, he hisses into your ear, yanking your head to the side so violently that it feels like he’s breaking your neck.

“Please don’t.”

You force yourself to look into the black hole of his eyes, to resist the fear he tries to cause in your heart.

“These people are innocent. They don’t deserve to die. But you do.”

He tilts his head to the side, grinning down at you with so much cruelness glistening in his red orbs that it simply takes your breath away. How many fingers did they feed him when you weren’t here? Way too many. After all, Yuji was always able to overpower him, to take control over his own body. But not now.

With the snip of his finger, both girls get sliced into a thousand tiny pieces, their blood and intensities discoloring everything around you crimson.

Red.

Everything red.

He ended their lives without thinking twice.

“Why the hell did you do that?” you spit into his face.

Out of instinct, your flat palm rushes towards his face, just inches away from hitting him when he catches your hand mid-air.

“Because I can. Obey me or I’ll kill every human being at Shibuya. Especially your brother.”

Your eyes widen in horror, pictures of Megumi flooding your mind. Despite you seem to be two different people with nothing in common, you love your brother dearly. If something happens to him because of you, if Sukuna hurts a single hair on his body…

“Don’t you dare to touch him or I’ll kill myself.”

His red orbs widen in surprise. Oh, that’s new. The look in your eyes tells him that you’re serious about your words.

“What makes you believe I’d care about that?”

He would never admit it out loud, but the thought of your precious life ending distresses him. No, not until he is finished with you, not until he got a taste of what belongs to Yuji Itadori.

“Because I know you care about me”, you reply confidently.

You know it’s dumb, that you might die right here on the spot through your own hands. But you can’t help it. Your own life is your only leverage against Sukuna. Without hesitation you press your own knife against your throat until blood spills. Maybe this will show you what Sukuna’s real intentions are. Or even better, you’ll be able to set Yuji free again.

“Go on, I couldn’t care less.”

Why does your hand fight so desperately against your mind, refusing to cut your own flesh open? Ice cold sweat runs down your forehead, fingertips trembling underneath the force of the blade in your own hand. You just have to press harder, slicing open your throat…

It shouldn’t be hard for him to watch you fighting against your own will. But oh how much Sukuna despises the way you press that knife against your throat, a little trail of blood spilling. What are you trying to achieve?

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“I want to make a contract with you”, you press out.

“I’m not dealing with a stupid human.”

You dig the blade into your screaming flesh deeper, a warm trail of blood soaking your uniform.

“Promise me you’ll leave my friends alone. Promise me you’ll set Yuji free.”

“And why would I do that?”, he remarks dryly.

“I will allow you to do everything you want with me during that time.”

Sukuna pricks up his ears, absolutely mesmerized by the way you fight against your own will to survive and stare at him so boldly.

“Give me an answer”, you demand.

The pain seems to become unbearable, knife cutting through your tender flesh so deep that your whole upper body is now discolored in crimson. One more brush. One more brush of the blade will be enough to cut your own throat. You close your tearing eyes.

Oh Yuji, how much you wish he’d be here right now. You weren’t even able to say goodbye to him, to talk everything through. It should have never come this far, they shouldn’t be able to have the upper hand. Hopefully he doesn’t see any of this, the way you take your own life.

A rough hand snatches the knife out of your grasp before pressing against your open wound.

“Everything I want, huh? Selling yourself for your friends and that brat, how pathetic”, he hisses against your outer ear.

You gasp for air like a fish on land, the pain radiating from your whole body almost swallowing you whole.

“What happened to that little ray of sunshine of yours, the smile you always wear?”

“I would kill myself if it means that the others are safe”, you reply.

He stares into your eyes, the orbs that captivating him since first catching a glimpse of them. Now it makes sense to him what that brat sees in you, why he tried so desperately to keep you out of his grip.

“Precious little thing, I know exactly what I’ll do to you.”

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huffelpuff210 · 4 months

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Ours Part 2 Soft Dark Alpha Stucky x Omega Reader

Warning: withdraw, anger, dark themes, kidnapping, drugging, held against will, confinement, forced relationship, manhandling, past abuse,

Your senses slowly start drifting back,

“Jesus Bucky how much of that did you give her? She’s been out for two days,” You hear a male voice,

You can smell they were Alpha’s and you could feel your heart rate spike, You didn’t like Alpha’s, they terrified you, they made you uncomfortable.

“The exact amount Tony told me to give.” You hear another voice,

“Well obviously his math was off.” You hear the other voice say

You slowly turn you head trying to wake yourself,

“Steve.” You hear

and suddenly it got quiet,

You were trying your hardest to open your eyes but it was proving to be a bit more difficult.

Your heavy eyelid slowly flutter open, and you are now staring at an unfamiliar ceiling,

“Thank god she’s finally awake.” You hear next to you,

You slowly turn your head you saw two men, one had dark hair icy blue eyes and a metal arm,

He smelled like pine, and cinnamon, it was almost intoxicating, the other man had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, he smelled like the forest right after a rainstorm,

these two were Alpha’s you were still in a bit of a daze,

“Good afternoon sleeping beauty you’ve been asleep for a few days, we were starting to worry.” The blonde says

Then everything registered

These two were Alpha’s and they kidnapped you, the terror running though your veins,

You jump out of the opposite side of the bed, backing away from the two, your legs still a bit shaky,

“You- You-” You couldn’t even speak you were so terrified,

“Easy Omega were not going to hurt you.” The dark haired Alpha says with his hands up meaning peace, but you don’t trust these men, you don’t trust any Alpha,

You could feel your heart pounding against your chest as it rose and fell rapidly,

As you look around the room not entirely sure where you were. Memories of your past come flooding back, your father, whipping you with a piece of bamboo, just to cause you pain, your brothers holding you down as you cried,

The small room, you feel your green eyes glow the icy blue as you start to panic, the two alpha’s look at you in shock and in their shocking state you make a run for it, bursting out of the room, past the living room and out the main door where there was more hallways, you run left your breathing, shallow and ragged having a panic attack as you were running you smelled many Alpha’s in the building, you find a stair well running as fast as you could down the stair well, while you were panicking at the same time, what did these Alpha’s want with you, you were on pills that block your smell, why did they kidnap you?

suddenly someone jumped from above blocking your path, making you back up and look as small as you could possibly look it was the man with dark hair, you back into a corner,

“P-Please don’t hurt me.” You say with a shaky voice,

“No one is gonna hurt you doll.” He says approaching you cautiously

You slide down the wall looking up at him, you’ve heard those words many of times, from your father, He was a ruthless Alpha, he blamed you for your mother’s death and always treated you as an object not a person,

And because of that you didn’t want to be in the clutches of an alpha, but here you were terrified trapped like prey, helpless to do anything, panic taking over all your training in self defense forgotten, you were paralyzed in fear, your heart hammering against your chest,

“look doll, no one is going to hurt you but you need to calm down, your on a verge of a panic attack.” He says

you can still feel your eyes glowing the electric blue that your father said were disgusting that he would love to dig them out of your eye sockets.

“Watch. In through your nose, out of your mouth, Deep breath in slow breath out.” He says

Sadly you listen to what he says, you feel yourself calming down, your eyes turning back to their green color,

“Good doll your doing good.” He says with a smile as he is kneeling in front of you as you look into his eyes and look down quickly,

They only want one thing from you.

“Now why don’t we go back to the room so we can talk?’ a voice to your left says it was the man with blonde hair, you have no idea how long he was there you were too much in a panic to notice,

You hesitate,

“You don’t really have a choice in the matter doll, we are just giving you the option to walk.” The man with the dark hair says,

You stiffen and swallow thickly, you nod slowly standing up, they both walked aside of you,

they both were massive compared to you, nothing but muscle you stood no chance against these alpha’s even if you used self defense against them, they would break you in half like a twig,

the three of you arrive back in the room, it was massive, you didn’t notice before since you were in such a panicked state,

“Now let’s sit and talk.” The blonde says with a smile as you stood there still in disbelief that all of this was happening.

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kyoghurts · 10 months

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between lines and lips. | reo mikage

slightly suggestive. reader can do palmistry and ... mind reading. reo is an absolute tease.

reo sputtered out a laugh, something between in amusement and disbelief. "you can read my…what?"

you huff, a deadpan expression on your face that leaves him supressing the urge to tease. "i can read the lines on your hand."

he pulls back a grin, one that is stupidly obvious to you that it takes him a second to breathe in, gently place his pen on the study table and indulge in your (silly) little antics. "hmm, really? you can do palmistry?"

you nod as if it's a matter of fact. you reach out for his hand without hesitation and reo opens his palm, watching as you examine the lines by tracing them with your fingers. your eyes flicker to every part, unaware of certain eyes that are set on you.

all the while he's there enjoying every second of it, his other hand rests against his chin, an eyebrow raised in question. he lets you have this, because then if he gets this chance of just spending his time admiring you in peace, then he wouldn't mind at all. it puts him in a daze for when his gaze lingers a little too long on your lips. he's staring at it right now, almost lost in it with the way a miniscule pout reveals itself to life.

it takes a lot more from him to simply gaze at it than take action, he wonders what it must to be to capture them with his, the thought spreads a faint ache of yearning in his chest.

and he wishes so bad that you didn't have to break the spell too soon, too soon as you clear your throat, the hint of surprise on his face is quite hard to miss.

"it says here…" the brilliance in your eyes is captivating, so is your voice thickly laced with playfulness, your teeth cutely peeking out. "you are an idiot, reo mikage."

he breaks into a snort. “tell me something i don’t know” your name on his lips, uttered in his lilting voice.

“It’s good that you’re self aware.” you grab an eraser, removing the error in your writing. subtle in your way of pretending that your heart hasn’t done somersaults yet. Subtle in ways but you’re actually just trying so hard not to show it, oh you won’t hear the end of it from him if he knew.

"can you do mind reading too?"

your movments came to an abrupt stop, the way you look at him (incredulous and at a loss for words) would have anyone shy away and rub their necks and cut it off with "kidding!". but this is reo, he does not back down, no matter how ridiculous things are. he leans in and—for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you—rests his chin on his hand and remained silent.

"i…" you try to speak, although it astonishes you how small your voice is, your mouth opens but closes a few times like a fish out of breath.

and then you glare. who the hell does he think he is?

"i do." you say it with conviction.

(…or have you?). "go for it then." his eyes never wandering off from you, as if to lock you in place. "i'll give you a whole pack of matcha kitkats later if you get this right."

you spit strings of curses within. this isn't a joke anymore.

"okay well-"

"take your time."

you sucked a breath.

unbelievable. your head attempts to snatch at least a clue or two of what might possibly be plaguing his mind as of the moment. you hear a car faintly roaring in the distance, quick as it comes and goes. you blink, he doesn't. you swear his smile will be the death of you, it is actively killing you to the point that you had to gulp down as you let yourself slip into glancing at his lips—as quick as it goes—just like the vehicle that passed by.

"is it…" you couldn't catch up to what you're saying. your mouth having a mind of its own. "…me?"

he leans dangerously close, his stare devouring you whole. "yes. you. and?"

"…and?"

his gaze drops down almost immediately towards your…well…

you match his action, whispering, heart hammering in your chest. "reo, just do it"

"do what?" a breathless chuckle, it's too much for you

"god you're—"

without finishing your sentence, his lips had crashed yours in a rush, it tastes sweet, frustratingly yet addictively so. reo had been mean, that much he knows, so he makes up for it now in this quiet moment. he pulls you closer, one hand cradling your head and the other on your chin. 'yes, i'm insufferable' it almost seemed like a compliment for him, and he feels incredibly greedy. ‘tell me i am, tell me you hate me, tell me you can't stand my presence and yet look like you don't want to be anywhere but near me.’

at some point your hands searched for the nape of his neck, desperate to close the remaining distance, the warmth of bodies intoxicating you. and his lips, soft against yours, are a stark contrast to the way he roughly holds you, with every bated breath every time you pull away. as he pants and eye you hungrily, you soon come to realize he's been yearning for this just as much as you do.

the kiss lingers in the air, leaving both of you breathless and wide-eyed. reo's eyes, once filled with a mischievous glint, now hold a fervent desire. As he pulls away, a smug grin plays on his lips, and you're left staring at him in a mix of surprise and confusion.

"matcha kitkats, well-earned," he mutters, still close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. you bite your lips in anticipation.

"are you always this insufferable?" you quip, trying to regain some composure.

he chuckles, a low and satisfying. "only for you."

reo leans in again, not for another kiss, but to whisper in your ear.

"mind reading is a dangerous game, isn't it?"

His voice tickles your ears, you're sure your face is entirely red by now, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

you both exchange glances, it seemed as if you truly had the ability to read reo's mind, because the longer you held your gaze, the more you knew what he's trying to tell you, and you know your silence screams you share the same thought.

"maybe I should leave the mind reading to you," reo suggests while brushing his thumb against your cheeks, "and focus on more… tangible activities."

it's all clear to you, and a flush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. the promise of a pack of matcha kitkats suddenly feels insignificant compared to the uncharted territory that lies ahead.

"won't you tell me, dear reo, what're these tangible activities that you speak of?"

notes. HOO lord im done JHAJAKWJQJAS I LOVE REO SM i'll be cosplaying him at this convention tmrw im very nervous cos my best friend (whos supposed to be my nagi) couldn't go + i'll be meeting my blue lock cosgroup i barely know anyone there aaaaaaaa ;-;

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omghallucinations · 1 month

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Bang Chan Chart Analysis: in the weeds edition

chart patterns, degrees, fixed stars, aspects, final dispositors, basically all kind of deeper cuts.

ah, bang chan: a double libra gemini rising whose other planets are acting up so much i barely even touched on venus and mercury somehow

like he's clearly an air sign in every respect--he loooOOOves to talk, he's curious and interested in a lot of different things, he's never met a secret he doesn't want to immediately tell five hundred thousand people on live... but damn some of those other planets (saturn, mars, jupiter, uranus) are loud.

right away i noticed his chart is a bucket chart--every planet is in one half of the circle, except for one planet who becomes the "handle": his aries saturn. saturn is hammering all the other planets on the head so to speak.

saturn: you'll have to come through me motherfuckers

saturn is screaming it's ME i'm the BIG BOSS and as the handle, a lot of things in chan's life are gonna be based on or deal with--for better or worse--saturn stuff (maturation, fear, control, authority, judgment). chan's saturn automatically rockets to the top of his Big Boss list (it will not stay here tho, we've got some other bosses coming).

saturn is in its fall in aries--it doesn't speak the language there. any planet in its fall is usually marked down in influence but i also think it makes the planet more important? chan has to struggle with it. a saturn at home in capricorn (barring other chart factors) is very natural. 8/9 members of girls generation have saturn in capricorn and wow does that make sense. saturn in capricorn prizes Work and is self-conscious/guilty of its feelings (feelings are not productive), it's alllways anxious it hasn't done enough, it is very scared of disappointing people, it's deeply conscious of societal conditioning.

aries is a weird sign for saturn to be in. saturn has a lot of fear, and aries has a lot of fearlessness. aries is a baby and saturn is all about maturation. aries is about acting without thinking, saturn is about making a list and checking it 5 times then deciding not to do it just in case.

and then. this is fun. saturn goes on the big boss list again because it is unaspected--this doesn't mean there aren't aspects, it means there are no major aspects to other planets. when a planet is unaspected, everyone around you can sure as fuck see the hell out of it, but you can't really. it's center stage but not in the play.

bang chan: i am the cutest, fuzziest lil libra guy :) i just care about my work which is normal :) and i express that care in a very reasonable and chill way :) i just want things to be good! :) everyone around him, shaking in fear from his scathing judgment and innate leadership aura: uh-huh

an unaspected planet is usually a generational thing--chan really popped up like hey girl :) i'm here to really personify our family problems of work, judgement, fear and maturation and just like. make 'em huge and unavoidable. haha. :)

chan's gonna show real extremes of behavior around his saturn, which

in aries seems like it's dealing with issues of creation, self-determination, doing it on my own, that kind of stuff (so he'll deny himself or assert himself too much in turns)

in the 11th house backs that up--the 11th is the aquarius house, so saturn is in aries (a "me" sign) in a "we" (in a sort of detached intellectual sense) house

11th/aquarius usually wants to set u free :) but in a kind of back-handed passy aggy harry styles way, like "i love you so i'll set you free, because i am such an open-minded person, unlike other people (who are tethered to humanity which is both embarrassing and scary to me yuck), also setting you free is less terrifying to me than being perceived :) go with god :) bye :)"

it's in the sun decan, so there's a flavor of "look at me look at me" and identity formation (am i what i produce?)

saturn's most exact aspect is sesquisquare mars which acts a lot like a square, my favorite aspect! squares get such a bad rap but i think they're so much better for your life in the long run bc they force you to deal with things. his mars is in sagittarius, so we have a double fire sign situation: explosive, passionate, loves attention and creation. mars, who also gets a bad rap, is our survival planet. it's like, how are you gonna survive this. how are you gonna get what you want and defend yourself and win (if you care about winning) (chan cares about winning).

sagittarius mars is gonna go forward kind of joyfully but also in a "fuck you lmao" way. it's courageous bc it doesn't really think anything could go actually wrong. it's gonna Leave if it's bored (and it's already bored). it's gonna wide-angle zoom on the situation and be like "lol embarrassing... for you" and feel 100% sure it's right All The Time. sesquisquare saturn tries to control this force, adds a bunch of fear and repression and Issues (and often in later life, wisdom), so -> chan's gonna really be afraid of his own anger, of losing control of his temper -> ironically he will be unable to stop bouncing between these two extremes to various degrees. u can't control what u can't accept my dude. -> he's also afraid of not being in power, of not winning -> the me/we extreme will also come into play--especially with his sun and moon in libra (that's their whole Thing) sagittarius says "i'm right for objective, philosophical reasons" and aries says "i'm right because i just am bro i don't have to explain myself to you" mars in the 6th house--that drive to assert himself is gonna really go hard at work and in his daily life. this is a #gymbro placement for sure. his daily routine is Let's Fuckin Go At 150% -> his 11th house (where saturn is), loves the idea of people, community, his ideals, is detached from humanity and it comes into conflict with -> his 6th house, which is very much of the world, very critical, very let's get actual shit done and be of service to people sidebar, mars is exactly conjunct the asteroid quaoar-- creation, making new rules and structures, diverging from how things Have Always Been Done, please hold this thought for his uranus, coming up soon

libra moon at 29 degrees: heard u were desperately trying to maintain equilibrium for emotional security reasons lol

another planet i'm eyeing is his libra moon which is in the anaretic degree, 29. he's very good at this energy but it's gonna test him. with his libra moon he needs contact and dialogue with people to feel secure but it can't get too deep because that's gonna freak him out. he is super comfortable being vulnerable and emotional on the internet because the internet is not real. i mean it's real, but it doesn't feel real. it's the equivalent of over-intellecualising your feelings so you don't actually feel anything (which an air moon always enjoys, as a hobby). just like it's way easier and less scary to be in love with an idea of a person, rather than the actual person! the actual person can really fuck up ur moodboard!

chan needs things to be pretty, equal, even-keeled. libra is such a funny sign because often it gets flattened to this like "cutey pie flirt" stereotype which i would say is almost exclusively libra venus. libra is a cardinal sign--an acting, initiating sign--and can be a lot more controlling than it likes to pretend imo. it's also in his sixth house--he's gonna feel safe when he can be of service to others, when he can get things done, when he can edit shit, basically.

he's also a new moon baby, which gives a moon a fun, aries-y, baby-tries-(food)-for-the-first-time vibe. removes a lot of those libra inhibitions and adds a lot of need to feel special.

chan is so good at making sure he feels safe by trying to keep everything cute and not too deep and staying on the surface or removed from the situation through constant activity and like, pruning everything, trying to perfect everything (therefore not having to actually deal with anything). howmstever, this system is gonna repeatedly implode throughout his life. soz bud. his emotional foundation's gonna get pummeled on and off which sucks because he has an almost manic need

for emotional safety through strategic diplomacy and avoiding confrontation

for emotional safety through constant work and "perfecting" everything

for people to like him everyone needs to like him or he will die

(not the real him, that makes him nervous, the projection of him that he painstakingly curates, that is safer)

it's not especially fun to deal with.

bright side, wisdom in later life!

mercury, ruler of chan's ascendant: pretty much exactly what you'd expect?

as a gemini rising, chan's ruler is his mercury in libra in the 5th but ironically i don't feel like she's as major of a player as some of these other planets. you can see the communication and curiosity focus of his life, and in the 5th house of self-expression, creation. mercury is sextile mars and pluto, a talent for making his voice heard and powerful, trine uranus in the 9th he's confident about and believes in his unique voice/perspective.

like mercury is there and she's important, but she's not like. causing big waves? it's like his life direction, again, important, but i'm more intrigued by...

mars conjunct pluto opposite his ascendant: oh boy!

this is his one big opposition and it's on the gemini-sagittarius axis (my fave, she's just fun and curious, she's not super dramatic or that difficult although she doesn't exactly make it easy to make... decisions... or get anything done?). however if we were worried about getting shit done, mars and pluto are here to scream. mars conjunct pluto is exactly as dramatic as sagittarius-gemini is not.

this is an exact conjunction and it's wild. anything pluto touches blows up in a way. it makes it intense and secretive and adds the planet to its portfolio of unconscious past life soul security demands.

lmao i just realized that red lights is fully this conjunction lmao oh no. i don't know if i can talk about this conjunction normally. it's very... ... nsfw.

sometimes pluto conjunct mars forces mars into the background and makes the person afraid to assert themselves, but i don't think that's exactly the vibe here, although it's similar. it looks to me like chan has a lot of rage and anger in him that, with his libra placements, he probably has a very difficult time acknowledging or facing. he'll easily internalize it and turn it inward and be a real asshole to himself, and also his temper will flare up randomly and he'll go for the kill shot when he meant to communicate like a normal person. he has a lot of strong desires, he also wants power, but he's gonna hide it and run from the reality there. he does have almost inhuman will, courage and drive tho, he can truly endure anything.

(idk i think he should be a little worried about his physical body, so many of his coping mechanisms depend on exercise/endurance and with pluto--transformation, security--in the sixth house i worry his health might force transformation? ur body can't carry all of ur unspoken shit my bud?)

gemini rising wants to seem very fun, very friendly, very cute, but with mars and pluto on his descendant chan is almost hiding or ignoring a huge part of himself--all those darker impulses which aren't going anywhere. my guy loves a taboo and (redacted redacted redacted redacted REDACTEDDDD). whatever, it's good for creativity and in sagittarius he has a good sense of humor about it.

jupiter: uno reverso???

damn chan really got #blessed here, a lot of that chart was really screaming Issues, Internalized Rage, Fear, Depression, etc, but jupiter really bounced up to be like "never mind haha. i mean yeah, true, but also whatever"

first of all jupiter is in its home house, the 9th--chan's on a Journey, he's eat pray loving, he's Listening and Learning--and it's in aquarius, so that belief system and personal philosophy is gonna be very open-minded, very science fiction, very predicting trends, very ahead of society.

jupiter conjunct his MC: this is what pulls jupiter up to the big boss list. anything conjunct your MC is at the top of your chart--people see it. people notice it about you. and goddamn are people just gonna give him stuff. and they always have. no wonder jyp was like This Is My Special Boy, like that is jupiter conjunct MC to a t.

(the public perception of chan is also gonna be a lot... cuter and more exuberant and fun than the actual man. not that he's not those things. just that the jupiter of his personality is really what people are noticing about him from the outside: his personal vision, his expansive side, all that. they are not looking at that prominent saturn as much, even if saturn is a bigger player)

jupiter trine the sun: another one where people are just gonna like you. for one thing they'll notice chan's good intentions and generosity--altho they will also notice his tendency to moralise and be a liiiiittle condescending--but his tendency towards bouncy optimism (at least outwardly) makes people want to follow him aquarius jupiter trine libra sun: two "we" signs in a big way, except aquarius is "we" like "humanity" and libra is "we" like "you and me", but they unite in a tendency to conflate the personal identity with the group identity--with jupiter and the sun at play it's like chan is able to bring people on board with his identity and personal vision (but he often presents an idealised version of himself who does not have needs, somehow) 9th house trine 5th house: basically a repeat of jupiter-sun, since the 5th house is the leo house--chan has a talent for using his personal philosophy/vision in creative works

our final big boss of the night, perhaps the ultimate big boss: aquarius uranus

chan's aquarius uranus is really talking to everybody. it has by far the most aspects of any planet. uranus has its hand in his ascendant and every planet except jupiter and neptune. with modern rulers aquarius is at home in uranus, and i'm coming around a little bit on modern rulership even if i think it tends to be less prominent than traditional. still:

aquarius uranus: original thought, technological progress, your box is dumb i'm not going in there uranus in the 9th house: he's gonna have an offbeat belief system--no chance he buys into korea's societal norms, or anyone's societal norms for that matter. he's not a conformist. trine his gemini ascendant: whooooo boy he is really not a conformist. when he's not in a Mood he's not judgmental at all, even when he's in a mood he has a real benevolent Ah, Humanity Should All Be Free to Pursue Happiness vibe. gemini couldn't give a shit about morals, and uranus and aquarius think morals are bourgeois. he has a talent for his own difference--some uranus people (like most of ateez, my weirdo darlings) have chips on their shoulders about being different, but chan with his easy trine is just happy to be himself. i mean a trine uranus isn't gonna change the world (unlike harder aspects like squares, who would be more driven to do so) but he is gonna set a good example just through his identity.

this is a fun side of chan! i like this!

square moon: mmmm ok about that chip on his shoulder. although it's not really about being different--it's more about he both wants to be stable and emotionally secure and also free and independent and he's soooooooo fucking stubborn (but he doesn't see it that way because he's Right, not stubborn). he's prone to feeling really itchy and stuck and then making big changes out of nowhere. also he's very intuitive but overly sensitive and when he's hurt he's gonna shut down completely and not tell the person what they did wrong. didn't he give someone the silent treatment? jisung? yeah that's uranus square moon energy. he has a lot of fear around his emotions and only lets himself feel in short sharp bursts. he feels hurt and he cuts out the person immediately without warning to protect himself--even if it's completely illogical he will dupe himself into believing it is very logical and correct, actually libra moon square aquarius uranus: yeah this looks like a "keep the peace even if it is unhealthy" v. "radical change out of nowhere the tower ass" argument, he'll bounce between the two extremes again. heyyy gemini rising i didn't even see u there!!

man. really haven't gotten into everything including his sun in libra (in its fall), his nodes (classic idol 5th-11th axis, soooo many of them have this), etc, but i've been working on this for so long!! aughhH!!

ok drumroll please, let's gather up his chart big players!! normally i would rank these, but i keep changing my mind.

aquarius uranus

aquarius jupiter

sagittarius mars-pluto conjunction

aries saturn

libra mercury (2nd to lastish)

libra moon (definitely last on this list)

tentatively i'm gonna put uranus-jupiter tied at 1, then mars-pluto then saturn then mercury. ugh i don't know though. they're all big players! chan in general has one of those spread-out charts--when you look at the ruler of each planet, he has what's called a "committee" tree

where there isn't one or two final bosses, and the planets are all connected in one tree rather than being separate. you can see how chan's 3 top planets are sag mars, aquarius jupiter and aries saturn--they all work together and are super interconnected. he's not as single-minded as someone with a singular dispositor (ateez hongjoong has a singular final dispositor tree with his pisces jupiter) but also not as split or conflicted as someone who has split trees (ateez seonghwa has a planet in rulership tree with separate parts).

anyway this has been really interesting! for someone with what seems at first glance to be a very unified chart (air moon, air sun, air rising) he has some interesting conflicting energies--altho i'm sure he sees himself as just an air person. i'm sure he is lowkey aware of that mars and pluto conjunction but i'd bet he really pretends he does not see it (except for in REDACTED REDACTED EXTREMELY REDACTED situations), and he truly cannot see his saturn at all (altho everyone else can!).

#bang chan astrology #stray kids astrology #kpop astrology

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buryustogether · 2 years

Text

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk x reader #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk2077 #cyberpunk johnny #cyberpunk johnny x Reader #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #silverhand x Reader #johnny silverhand smut

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dairyminki · 1 year

Text

– first time clubbing with boyfriend!san

fic type: headcanon

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

description: just san taking you to the club for a night out after seeing you so stressed with studying

genre: fluff (?), mildly suggestive, established relationship

warning/s: use of alcohol, pet names (if i missed anything else pls lmk!)

wc: 1.1k

a/n: this is supery dupery self indulgent LMAO and as a giggly drunk myself, i'd like to have a choi san too pls!

* i would rlly appreciate it if you reblog and leave some feedbacks btw!

— !¡☆

UNI was stressing you out

all the studying had your head always drowning in books and you rarely leaving your room

your boyfriend, choi san, knew he had to do something

now, san had a lot of options in his head on how to help you take a break

bcos even if you kept insisting that you didn't need one

san KNEW that it was only a matter of time before you burst and break down

and so he surprises you while you're eating dinner with him one night,

"do you wanna do something fun tomorrow night?" "what? san, you know i can't afford to-"

"please?" he cuts you off, PLEADING

and who were you to say no to a pouting san?

you were ALWAYS a weak woman for him

"fine," you say, giving in. "what do you have in mind?"

"wanna go clubbing with me, baby?"

as soon as those words left his mouth, he sees it

sees the way your eyes sparkle with something akin to excitement and then you're blurting out,

"oh god, yes!"

the following night, san enters your bedroom after he was done getting ready

his hair was slicked back, he was dressed in a black button down shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned

a silver necklace dangling on his neck, a sliver of his chest exposed

he's wearing black slacks and a belt with silvery chains hanging on it

since this will be your first night out, he wanted to look good for you

and boy was it a pleasant surprise when he enters your room and see you all dolled up from head to toe

"well, aren't you a sight to see?" san marvels while he watches you apply lipstick

you were oozing with such allure in a dress you're wearing for the first time that san thinks he's severely beguiled with you

and so it goes without saying that his eyes never left you even until you left the house

the only time san's gaze breaks away from you was when he was driving

arriving at the club, san immediately turns to you and asks,

"hey, i know, we're already here and all but i just wanna say that if you wanna back out and go home, we still can, just say the word and-"

san knew just how much your family coddled you while growing up

and you've only started to venture out of your comfort zone when you met him

so he understands how settings like this might overwhelm-

"are you kidding me?" you gave him an incredulous look, cutting off his rambling

"i wanna get hammered!" you shout against the blaring club music

and then you were the one pulling him further inside past the sweaty bodies and the heavy smell of alcohol and the blinding neon lights

"unfortunately i wont be getting my usual today, so i'll just have a soda ," san says since he'll be driving. "but, hmm, maybe a tequila sunrise for this pretty lady right here" he tells the bartender and winks at you

you roll your eyes, your gaze shifting to the dancefloor

"can i dance…later?" you ask san

san barks out a laugh and pinches your cheek

"i won't be stopping you tonight, baby, so go ahead. tonight will be all about you," he whispers these in your ear, goosebumps trailing your skin

you haven't drunk anything yet, but you already felt hot just like that

when your drinks do came, you surprise san at how you basically drunk it in one draft

"baby, hey, hey, we got all night!" he chuckles trying to get you to slow you down

soon, one tequila sunrise became five, and you were already red from the drinks and laughter

you were a giggly drunk how cute

"i think," you slur, pointing at san and then abruptly standing that you slightly wobble due to dizziness. "i think i'm ready to hit the dancefloor"

san grabs a hold of your arm, asking if do you want him to escort you to the center but you brushed him off

you were still giggling when you walked away

while you were dancing the night away, san just keeps staring at you

watching every move you make, every smile popping out to grace your lips, and every glance you sent his way

you were mouthing for him to come join you but he shook his head

san wanted you to have your fun for now

he wanted you to let loose so badly that you'll be screaming at his face tomorrow morning for letting you drink that much

but then, deeper into the night, he starts noticing that more eyes were on you now and that your intoxicated self remained oblivious to it

san downs the remaining liquid in his canned drink, licks his lips, and leaves the bar, deciding it was finally time to join you

unaware, your dancing was starting to become bolder as you become hotter with all the alcohol coursing through your system and all the body heat emitted by everyone surrounding you

and then you feel hands on your waist

a familiar scent filling your senses and you immediately knew it was san who was behind you

you let your body become slack against his while he rocks your bodies from side to side, his hands pulling you even closer and face leaning in

you bring your hand up, caressing his face while he speaks to you in a low tone

"are you having fun, baby?" his lips brush against the shell of your ear making you shiver

you reply with a mere hum, giggling as his hot breath tickles your face

"i take it you loved my suggestion then?" "mhmm, i loveddd it san, i love youu" you mumble, smiling with your eyes closed

san chuckles at your drunk self, he doesn't really think you'll end up remembering MOST of this tomorrow

but at least you had fun

and so was he, san thinks as he smirks

later on not so subtly meeting the gaze of this one person he caught looking at you since earlier

by the time he was about to drive the both of you back home

san steps out of the car, heavily exhaling, after laying you down in the passenger seat

he needed a breather especially that he didn't expect the scenario of you grinding on him earlier at the dancefloor

san left the house with with you, hand in hand, and two of his buttons unbuttoned

and now, he comes home with you passed out in his arms and his button down shirt open

— !¡☆

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hiskillingjar · 1 year

Text

rosemary's baby

Relationship(s): Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Extremely Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Brain Break, Breeding, Impregnation, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Length: 3000+ words

Summary: Fox always wanted a baby of his own. You should be so lucky to be the one to give it to him.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50675575

"Such...perfect...breeding material."

Your eyes shot wide open and terrified at the dark intention behind his words, pulling tightly at the thick bondage that was keeping you belted and spread out on his bed (was it even his? Had you been given the luxury of seeing his real self yet?), like a medical specimen pinned down and ready for examination, for dissection.

Your heart hammered desperately fast underneath your rib cage as he paced around the bed, his tail wagging idly behind him, a dreadfully amused look in his golden eyes.

"Oh god," You murmured softly, looking back towards the ceiling and doing your best to steady your breathing, lest you hyperventilate and send yourself into a panic attack.

"I know, pet, I know." He chuckled, a little breathlessly, his voice dripping with a cruel kind of desire as he leaned down towards you, the soft wisps of his hair grazing your cheeks as he ran a claw down your trembling body, assessing you like breeding stock . "But I know what you crave. I know what your body wants, even more than you do. And I know what I crave as well..." He said, then kneeling on the bed and moving close to you, the claws replaced by the soft pads of his fingers. He hadn’t worked a day in his life, not properly. "Such gorgeous breeding stock…and you're so fertile right now. I can smell it."

"Mmph..." You whimpered helplessly, your expression tight and your face hot as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to squirm underneath him a little more, trying to get away from all of this.

You were more scared of this than anything else he had done to you, more than the filming room, more than the threats of auction, anything. He had invaded you countlessly before this, of course, but never to such a degree that he would take away every ounce of bodily autonomy that you had, reduce you down to an object to be used for something so invasive.

You could feel your sense of humanity dilapidating with every second as he tilted his head, still assessing you with a hungry look on his smiling face.

"Your body is perfect for the task. And yet, here I am," He didn’t even try to hold back a laugh as his touch trailed down your sternum and to your trembling belly, his expression lost in thought for a moment, like he was thinking, imagining what he could do to you. "Without a litter to call my own." His voice was soft for a moment then, considered. "Maybe I'll fill you up and get the job done right now."

Your eyes shot wide again as he placed a hand on your thigh and pinned it still, forcing your body open for him, the cool air on your hot cunt making you flinch again.

"No, nononono, please, don't," You babbled, your words pleading and desperate as your eyes began to well with tears, your face flushed and hot. “Fox, sir, please, I don’t want it, please please please, don’t-”

"Mmph, are you thinking those thoughts, my pet?" He whispered with a salacious grin, his tongue darting out to lick his teeth in a lustful leer as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in your tears, your desperation. It seemed that your pleading was just getting him all the more excited. "Are you already thinking about a litter of my puppies growing inside of you?"

You wanted to sob, you were so wound up and frightened of the idea, but you couldn’t deny that you were thinking about it quite intently, now that he was saying all of these awful things. Your face was flushed and your body invited him closer, however involuntarily you would have claimed it to be, as his touch trailed down to your inner thighs, feeling the smear of pre-cum against your skin.

"Isn't that what you want, my pet? Your body certainly wants it," He breathed out a sigh, his voice dripping with perverse lust, the grip on your other thigh tightening just a little further, his claws digging into the soft skin, marking you with bleeding red. "You're craving it, aren't you? Even if you protest otherwise." He whispered, bringing his face close to yours again, his nostrils flaring, scenting you.

You whimpered again, jerking your head upwards, away from his invasive gaze, and biting your lip as he took a long inhale of your scent, sweat, tears, pre-cum pooling down your thighs at the sound of his threats, how fertile you already were.

Could he even smell that?

"A puppy of my very own. You could give that to me, pet. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Aren’t you proud?" He breathed out an unsteady exhale, looking down at you with an expression of relentless hunger despite how frightened you were, despite how much you were trying to avoid his gaze. "Or perhaps two or three, filling your womb with my litter." He whispered, his mouth practically watering at the thought. "So many pretty, little puppies..."

“God,” You moaned helplessly, whimpering as your body squirmed and twisted even more. Your fluttering eyes went to the ceiling again as you pulled at the belts around your wrists, praying for a God who wouldn’t listen, your lips trembling and babbling prayers for somebody, anybody. “This isn’t a dream. This is happening, this is really happening…”

"Mmmph,” He ignored your pleas and moaned softly, pressing his face into your middle and straddling one of your spread legs, pressing his hips down against it, letting you feel just how excited this idea was already making him. "Such soft flesh, and those breasts…” He mumbled hotly into your skin, nipping and biting as he stared down at you like a man starved, trying to meet your eyes and show you just how much he wanted this. “So swollen and red and ready to feed my children."

You gasped, high and keening and desperate, as he dipped his head and tongued your nipple to emphasise his point further, as his hands went up and caressed your tummy, groping the soft flesh (imagining how it would look when you were carrying his young).

You would have to get used to sharp teeth on your breasts though, if you were to carry his young, as they would surely have teeth and fangs like his...god, he even had you thinking about it. Little babies with fur and ears and sharp teeth, suckling at your breasts…it was the thing of horror stories, and yet, you felt your clit twinge at the idea.

"Your body was made for this," He breathed out raggedly against your breast, his voice dripping with lust and desire as one hand went down to your other thigh and pushed it upwards, spreading your legs, getting you ready for him to take as he pleased. "A body made for breeding, pet..." His other hand then went up to your breast and groped hard, threading a claw through the ring through your nipple as he nipped and sucked at the other, making you shriek. "All those lovely curves. Those full hips, those legs...those breasts made to be nursed by hungry, hungry pups." He whispered hotly, breathing against your ear as his hips continued to rut down erratically. "Imagine it. My puppies filling you, and…hah, and sating themselves by your flesh."

"Mph..." You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering as he pressed himself against you, his whispered words hot and breathy in your ear as he groped your thigh, your chest, rutting himself down against you so that you could feel just how hard he was.

Would he let you play mother, you wondered?

Would he let you leave the role of a pet, a barely living and breathing sex toy that he didn’t even have a name for, and actually be a person again?

Maybe it would be worth the invasion, if he promised you that small mercy.

"Look at me. In my eyes.” He snarled then, the hand on your thigh reaching up and gripping your chin, pressing your head back against the pillows of the bed and staring down into your eyes, his own almost feral with desire. “You could be a perfect little breeding doll, for me and me alone. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to serve me?"

You tried to pull back as his grip on your chin tightened a little more, his claws digging into your soft cheeks and piercing your skin, making you look up into the mad glint of his eyes, his tongue licking his jaws again indulgently.

He really meant every word of this.

He was serious.

If there was a God, they weren’t going to save you. Not from this.

Maybe a part of you was relieved by that, that you had no chance of being saved from this life that Fox had been so generous to give you.

A small part that was growing with every day.

"And I'll never sell you either," He then shook his head with a little smile, an expression you hadn’t seen on his face before, that gave away a boyish innocence that you didn’t expect to ever see from Fox. "You'll belong to me, forever, I can promise you that mercy, pet. You’ll give me as many puppies as I want, and I’ll keep you, forever and ever, and make you mine…”

You whimpered helplessly, your wide eyes watering as you took in an unsteady breath, before you were jerked out of the quasi-trance that he had put you under, as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs, and reached down to unzip his suit trousers.

"NGH!"

You grunted loudly as you were suddenly, without warning, stuffed full with his hard cock, sliding inside of you with barely any effort you were that wet, your eyes squeezing shut out of impulse as your body grew tight and tense, your muscles straining against the belts that bolted you to the bed.

You could already feel the base of his knot swelling as he rutted his hips down against yours, your body moving in time with him. The sensation by itself wasn't wholly overwhelming, you had taken him plenty of times and in much worse scenarios, but...that combined with the ideas he'd put in your head throughout all of this was making you cry out and whimper.

"Imagine how lovely you’ll be, nursing our babies. Those little sweet little puppies that came from you," His voice was a ragged whisper in your ear, looking you over as he thrust his cock deep inside you, in and out, a relentless machine working hard for what he wanted. "Feeding them from your body, taking care of them, loving them...do you...do you think you could do it?" He then purred, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brought a hand down to cup your breast again, toying with the swelled nipple as a means to tease, not to torture. “Would you do it for me, baby?”

You bit your lip as he groped you, as he toyed with all your most sensitive spots and got your mind hazy and delirious with pleasure, so you couldn’t possibly say no to his offer, but you couldn't deny that even without the pleasing sensations, it was...a pleasant thought.

Taking care of your children with your body, tending to little beast-kin pups that looked like him and you combined, conjoined, a mixture of the very best of your features and the very best of his.

You had nightmares about the prospect in your real life, but that was a lifetime ago now. That was an entirely different person. The person you were now understood what a privilege it would be to do this for him, to carry and birth his young.

He was always so generous with you.

"Do you want that?" He whispered, his voice almost sounding sincere as he continued to thrust into you, as the hand on your chin went upwards and cupped your cheek gently, a sign of affection usually reserved for lovers. “Do you want my children?”

"Yes...yes, sir," You panted, your mind half-mad (all mad, certainly) as you took desperate lungfuls of air, just trying to keep present and conscious when you were so close to losing yourself.

"Good girl, gooood girl," He purred with his own delirious smile, his hands gripping your body, his caresses becoming more possessive, more lustful, and more demanding. "Say it again...say you want it with your words, baby. Come on now."

"I want to be your breeding doll," You moaned open-mouthed, your body arching and your head thrown back as you thrashed underneath him, like you were possessed, losing yourself in your own pleasure as he slowly eased and pressed even deeper, his knot spreading you wide open. "I want your puppies!"

His own face was a little flushed just hearing you, and his breaths became ragged and his expression feral and hungry.

"You'll do it all and you’ll do it so perfectly, sweetheart,” He murmured, his breathing heavy and his hand squeezing your chest even harder, marring your skin, your soft flesh. “You'll be my pet, my little breeding doll, yes, yes, always. You'll raise my litter of beautiful little puppies...they'll be our family. Do you hear me, pet?" He growled then, a mad grin of sharp teeth growing wider as he looked down at you, his whole body shaking with lustful excitement. "Do you hear me? They’ll always have us, always…we’ll never abandon them or hurt them, will we?"

“No, sir,” You murmured, your voice slurring as your cunt swallowed his knot greedily, your muscles clenching so tight that Fox couldn’t resist a long moan, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as he pounded even deeper.

“Good girl,” He growled, his golden eyes growing dark with desire as he glared back up towards you. “You’ll be such a good mother, such a good mommy…”

You whined softly, pressing your naked body up against his (the best that you could while you were still belted down), totally boneless despite how much you were struggling, as he pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, claiming your lips in a rare display of possessive affection for you. His eyes were wide with excitement, his body pulsing with desire as he claimed you completely.

His breathing came out short, heavy inhales against your neck once he pulled away from the kiss, as his mouth continued to work desperately for more of you, bites against your jaw, your neck.

“I caaan’t,” You whined desperately, squeezing your eyes shut and panting against his skin as he placed a hand on your throat, his lips against your cheek, almost a kiss. “Nghh, too much, please…”

His grip on your throat tightened slightly. It's not quite a choke hold, but it's getting there.

"Shhh..." He whispered softly, his mouth breathing hot and heavy against your cheek, giving you a little nip, adorning you with more bruises that tied you to him. "You can do this, mommy. You want this. Need it. "

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he gripped your throat even tighter, your breath stuttering and your body incredibly tense as you focused all of your attention on normalising your breathing, feeling the pulsing heat of his cock pounding into your cunt. His grip on your throat was slowly tightening just a little more, the pressure now bordering on actual choking.

He wanted you to feel him completely, and for you to give him everything you had.

Your sanity, your mind, your body, your womb.

“Tell me you want it,” He demanded with a shocking amount of finality to his words, biting his own lip so hard that it was almost rupturing the skin, making himself bleed from his own desire. “One more time, so I know. So I know…”

"Breed me," You pleaded, your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him, like he was the God that you were praying to. "Give me your puppies, Fox, please..."

Fox’s fingers tightened around your neck as he heard your desperate words, his lips trembling just a touch against your cheek as he let out a low grunt from the very back of his throat. He pulled back from your cheek and ran his tongue over the patch of marred skin on your shoulder, his teeth slowly beginning to sink into you again, his mouth tasting with desperation to be even closer to you.

You couldn’t hold back a pained moan as his mouth worked aggressively against your skin, as he devoured your body with lust, hunger, and pleasure, his sharp teeth puncturing the delicate skin of your shoulder and his hips somehow moving faster and more erratically, on the very precipice of pleasure himself. His breathing was heavy as he felt your body surrender completely to the pleasure, and all he could think about is giving you more and more of it.

"I've got you..." He whispered, a low growl against your neck, his words catching just a touch as he pressed a bloody kiss to your jaw. "I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you. "

"Never let me go," You slurred softly, your mouth staying open with desperate gasps as his grip on your neck tightened even more, your vision starting to go fuzzy. “Never let me go…”

With that, with a vicious snarl from the very back of his throat, a second aggressive bite pressed into your shoulder, and his claws digging deep into your chest, marring you with bloody injuries as he always did, he stilled with a spasm, and you felt him spill deep, deep inside of you.

Finally letting go of your neck, Fox drew back and pressed his body against yours, his grip on your chest slackening as he let out a deep and long sigh of satisfaction. He buried his head against your neck uncharacteristically, searching for the warm space between your shoulder and your jaw, and his mouth resting against your skin as he panted, doing his best to recouperiate as you lay slack underneath him

You were barely conscious as you took in your own heaving breaths, but you could feel him move your thighs to rest over the top of his knees, hitching your body up and…well, giving his puppies the best chance inside of you.

You didn’t stop a delirious smile coming to your face as you felt his seed inside of you.

You would lie here for days if you needed to.

To give him what he wanted. And what you surely wanted now too.

#the price of flesh #fox tpof #ren hana #ren x reader #ren x mc #fox x reader #fox x mc #i've been thinking a lot about the inherent body horror of pregnancy so. this i guess #this is part of kinktober i just wanted to do a separate posting for this since it's a long un

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penny00dreadful · 1 month

Text

CW for this chapter on AO3

Part 1/ Part 3/ Part 5/ AO3

The Cowboys were now convinced that there was valuable treasure to be found below. Why else would they have been set upon by a group of men who both looked and acted like they were a part of a secret society?

Nothing Eddie, Steve or Robin said to them would convince them otherwise.

Despite Steve’s attempts to argue with them that these people seemed to be wanting to preserve the area and not disrespect it by grave robbing, which was essentially what they were all doing, his arguments fell on deaf ears.

They did concede to strength in numbers, however. Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how an extra three people would improve their strength. Especially since one of those people ended up on his ass the first time he shot a gun, but he supposed Steve and Robin’s skills made up for that.

As soon as they had resettled their camp a little closer, Robin had broken out the Seagrams whiskey again.

Steve had passed, wanting to keep a clear head in case anything else happened, so the bottle was just passed back and forth between Eddie and Robin and they had managed to make their way through a sizable amount of it.

Robin had passed out with the bottle cradled close to her chest about a half an hour ago, leaving a hammered Eddie and a sober Steve on their own to entertain themselves.

Steve had decided, after Eddie’s display with the elephant gun, that he needed to learn at least a little self defence. And Eddie, bolstered by the alcohol in his blood, had decided that now was the perfect time to learn.

It wasn’t like Eddie was completely inexperienced. He had some bar brawler knowledge but that was about the extent of it.

Steve was standing in front of him, hands up, palms out, waiting for Eddie to deliver his punch as he had been doing for the last few minutes.

Eddie blew a strand of hair out of his face and raised his fists, glaring at the palm of Steve’s hand like it had personally offended him.

How could a palm offend him?

What kind of scenario could he come up with in his head in which a palm offended him?

Eddie’s sugary-syrup mind could certainly come up with plenty of thoughts of how those palms might not offend him but maybe he shouldn’t be thinking things like that right now.

God damn, why did he drink so much? Drinking always made him horny.

With a large swing, Eddie cracked his fist into Steve’s palm hard and steady but he only had half a second to celebrate his success because he had apparently put all of his balance and working brain cells into his fist and so the rest of his body was left without.

His foot slipped out from under him and with the momentum of his fist, his body followed, tumbling forward and he would have face planted hard into Steve’s chest if Steve hadn’t twisted, allowing him to skate by his body but still catching him fast around the middle.

He slowly lowered Eddie’s limp and giggling figure back to the ground, gently and without seeming to put in much effort at all, apparently able to hold his body weight easily which Eddie tried desperately not to think about.

In fact, he figured out the perfect way to distract himself.

He squirmed a little, like a kitten trying to get out of a cuddle and when Steve let him go, he crawled on his hands and knees over to Robin’s snoring body, plucked the nearly empty bottle from her hands and sat heavily back on his bum, sending Steve an extremely clumsy wink.

“Do you think that it’s maybe time to slow down?” Steve asked, a small little bewildered grin on his face.

Eddie widened his eyes and stuck his bottom lip out in a big doe-eyed pout. “I know when to say no, sweetheart.”

Steve just laughed quietly to himself with a conciliatory nod, his lashes low and his big hazel eyes glittering through.

“Y’know you…” Steve hesitated, looking back down and starting to draw nonsense patterns in the sand. “You confuse me. I can’t figure you out.”

Eddie shrugged, attempting to be smooth with it, but all of his movements were far too fumbling.

“Well, where would the fun be if you could? Don’t you like a little mystery with your men, King Steve?”

Steve smiled again, a small, soft thing and he tilted his head. “Maybe. Do you?”

Eddie mirrored him. “Maybe. What have you figured out about me?”

“You know how to bar fight, but you’re a scholar. You dress in a semi-respectable fashion, but you have hidden tattoos and you wear far too much jewellery. Your hair seems to just kind of… exist on top of your head. You don’t do anything with it, but you’re clean shaven and your nails are neat. For some reason, when I asked Rob to help me out, she picked you. A librarian. But you were still able to get me out of prison and stop my execution. You were able to open the puzzle box and according to Rob, you have other unusual skills. Like lockpicking and hotwiring. And there’s like this… shell. You don’t make sense, it’s like you’ve come from two different worlds and… now you’re here?”

“Careful there, Stevie.” Eddie leaned back, resting on his elbows in the sand. “It almost sounds like you’re curious about little old me. A boy can get ideas from thoughts like that.” He rolled his head along his shoulders, allowing his hair to spill over and staring up at the sky, tugging a little at the chain for his pocket watch. “You gonna ask me next what’s a place like me doing in a girl like this?”

He pulled his head back up, turning to bat his eyelashes at Steve and Steve just smirked at him, not bothering to hide that he had been staring at Eddie’s stretched out neck.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve deadpanned. “That’s what I was going to say.”

“Well, sweetheart. There’s not much to tell. Dad was less of an archaeologist and more of a grave robber, very similar to our friends over there,” his knees were bent up as he laid back on his elbows, but he now nudged one knee over in the direction of the other party and instead of extending the effort to pull it back up, he just let it fall heavy to the side. “But eventually, raiding the tombs of the long dead wasn’t good enough for him and he started to just steal from the museums to sell on the black market. I was living with my uncle and my mom by then. Rural Indiana feels like a whole solar system away right now.”

“Rural Indiana, huh?” Steve asked, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighed out, before laughing a little to himself. “My uncle still refuses to get electricity. At this stage I don’t know if he ever will. Don’t think he trusts it. What can that electric do for me that I can’t do for myself, son?” He snorted gently to himself again. “Crazy old man.”

He could see Steve grinning at him out of the corner of his eye.

“So how did your mom and your uncle feel about you running away to Egypt to follow your dads career path?”

Eddie rolled his head around. “My dad has nothing to do with my interest in archaeology. That was all my mom. And I’d like to think she would have supported me.” He pulled the pocket watch out, letting it rest loosely in his hand, running his thumb over it. “She was Egyptian, you know.”

“Oh?” Steve skated his eyes across Eddie’s dark hair and then back up into his dark eyes, his head tilting again as he listened, like a fascinated puppy dog.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighed out. “She was… she was a big part of my life. So,” he inhaled again, almost inflating himself to get a barrier back up between Steve and his exposed innards, tucking the watch back into his pocket. “Egypt is in my blood, Harrington. I was born here. Masri is my mother tongue. So, yeah. Now I’m back here, trying to do right.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded. “I get that. But why not continue to stay… stay safe in your museums. Why were you so adamant about coming out here with us?”

“Because what’s there to be scared of? Knowledge is out here just below the surface and I am sick and tired of waiting around for other people to discover it. Why shouldn’t I be able to come out and do it for myself?”

Eddie pushed himself to his feet, well and truly fired up now.

“This is my mother’s country and if my lowlife of a father and people like him can come out here to steal, then why can’t I come out here to learn?” He pointed down at Steve. “I may not be a gunfighter or an explorer or an adventurer, yet. But I am proud of what I am!”

Steve was just grinning up at him now, a little bewildered as Eddie waved his arms around, but also a little charmed.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I–” Eddie thumped his fist against his chest. “–Am a librarian.” He almost growled out, turning his fired up eyes back down.

He had liquid courage as an inhibition inhibitor flowing through him, so he didn’t allow himself to think about it too much, spots starting to dance in his vision as he dropped to his knees and leaned into Steve.

“I’m going to kiss you now, King Steve.” He stated, firm and resolute as Steve’s face began to swim in and out of focus.

Steve raised his eyebrows, disbelieving. “Just Steve. Please.”

Eddie smiled, a big, goofy, uninhibited smile. “Okay.” He muttered. “Just Steve.”

Eddie leaned forward while Steve stayed exactly where he was, watching him with some level of amusement that Eddie wasn’t sure how to take.

But it didn’t really matter anyway, because no sooner had he leaned his centre of gravity over when his eyelids fluttered shut and he fell limp into blackness.

In hindsight, getting blackout drunk in the middle of the desert without a water closet available or an icebox nearby had not been his smartest moment. No bed or even an aspirin in sight to help him through waking up surrounded by sand and with the sun beating down on him like it was on a mission solely to kill him.

But they had a large and hefty supply of water and Eddie practically drowned himself in it as soon as he woke up. Plus, he’d always been able to bounce back pretty quickly.

So by the time Steve was finished poking at Robin’s cheek, and Eddie was pretty sure she was two seconds away from shooting him in the knee, he turned his attention.

Unfortunately for him, Eddie was already feeling a little better.

Invigorated by the coffee they had brought and the eagerness in his belly to get back to it, Eddie practically bounced down to the chamber below, puzzle box in hand. Steve followed placidly behind and Robin stomped, looking like she’d desire nothing more than to commit double murder at that moment.

Her scowl only got deeper as the three of them heaved, standing the sarcophagus that had fallen through the ceiling the day before upright on the wall; Eddie was practically vibrating as he set the puzzle box key into its lock.

“I’ve dreamed of this day ever since I was a child.” Eddie whispered in anticipation, his fingers flexing on the puzzle box.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You dream about dead guys?”

Eddie didn’t bother responding, just ignored him, choosing instead to point out the lid of the coffin.

“The sacred spells have been removed. Sarcophagi were supposed to be made for whoever was going in them, so to have them chiselled off…” Eddie shook his head, a little bewildered. “It suggests that this burial was done last minute, quickly, without prep time which… makes no sense.”

He looked at Steve who was waiting for him to continue and Robin who looked unusually grave.

“Mummification takes seventy days to complete.” She said, crossing her arms and eyeing up the coffin with suspicion.

Eddie was more confused than suspicious. He’d never read about such a rushed mummification before.

“And to have the spells scratched off, it’s a sign of some great wrongdoing.” With his free hand, he brushed his fingers over the deep grooves of the hieroglyphics. “They wanted to send a message to the gods not to let him off so easily. Don’t let him in. Condemn him. So he was condemned in both life and death. This man was cursed… doomed, even.”

Eddie couldn’t understand it. He just hoped that seeing the mummy that was inside would help to provide more answers.

Robin and Steve were sharing the grave look between them now.

“Believe it yet?” Steve asked. “How about we hold on for just a second. We don’t want to release anything cursed–”

Eddie couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes. Cursed. There were no such things as curses.

He didn’t wait for Steve to finish the thought. He turned the key in the lock and the clicking had anticipation zinging through his veins while Steve and Robin gaped at him, outraged.

The lid of the sarcophagus shifted a little and Eddie had a moment of wild panic where he thought oh fuck, maybe there is a curse, but he came back to himself almost immediately, mentally slapping himself for such a ridiculous thought. Clearly the lock had just released the lid and it had shifted because of that.

He gave Steve and Robin a look, as if to say are you going to help me with this?

The two of them shared another grimace before shrugging.

“If there was a curse, it’s already out.” Robin muttered, moving around to Eddie’s side and placing her hands next to his.

When Steve took his position on the other side, the three of them braced their knees and lifted.

The lid came away surprisingly easily, until it started tilting backwards and the three of them were forced to let go as it went crashing to the ground, followed by the most sickening, stomach churning smell Eddie had ever had the displeasure of smelling before in his life.

He turned back to the open sarcophagus, expecting to see a human figure wrapped tightly in linens and standing upright in his coffin, but instead the sight he was met with sent him stumbling back a step in horror.

There was a body in the sarcophagus, alright. But he was rotting. Still covered in sloughing flesh, blackened and goopy bones poking out where the skin had fallen away, eyes, nose and tongue missing and jaw hanging open in a gruesome scream.

What little linens he was wrapped in seemed to have partially disintegrated with his body and Eddie was left even more confused than he had been before.

“Smells like the Gillman, don’t you think?” Robin muttered, pinching her nose, eyes darting between Steve and the mummy.

“Is he supposed to look like that?” Steve asked, his upper lip curled in disgust.

“No.” Eddie exhaled, stepping closer again despite the smell. “He’s still…”

“Juicy.” Robin and Steve answered at the same time.

Eddie huffed out through his nose. “Yes. He’s still juicy… but he’s over three thousand years old? It looks like he’s still… decomposing. Mummification involved drying out the body of all moisture. It’s why so many have survived for so long. And the dry conditions of the desert too. But even if the mummification process had been improperly applied… he shouldn’t look like this. He should just be… a skeleton.”

He was still staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the body in front of him, wondering how the fuck this was possible when he heard a mutter of “Shit,” behind him.

He turned to find Steve kneeling over the fallen lid, tracing his fingers over the series of four parallel lines scratched inside.

They matched perfectly to the pattern his own fingers made.

“Fingernail marks.” Eddie whispered. “Jesus fuck. He was buried alive.”

Eddie tilted his head, reading the words the man had apparently also scratched into the lid.

“Death is only the beginning.”

He looked up just in time to see both Steve and Robin stare at each other, something silent passing between them and simultaneously reaching for their holstered weapons.

“What are you two going to do?” Eddie asked, incredulous, not knowing what the fuck they needed the weapons for. “Shoot him?”

They were all standing now and Steve shifted around a little, standing between Eddie and the mummy.

“If he wakes up. Yes.”

Eddie was starting to wonder if coming along with Steve and Robin had been the best idea he’d ever had. He loved Robin, don’t get him wrong, and Steve had been growing on him… like a boil. But they were so suspicious of everything. It was a little much if he was honest.

But still, he supposed any expedition was better than no expedition at all.

As he weaved his way through the various tents and workspaces the Cowboys had set up, he was stopped short at the sight of the Egyptologist they had brought along, practically wrestling with a humongous and ancient black book with a familiar indent in the front, same as the one on the sarcophagus, trying to wrestle it open.

Eddie was immediately intrigued. Legend had it that the Book of Amun-Ra was made of solid gold, but this book looked like it was made of obsidian.

A counterpart to the Book of Amun-Ra.

The Book of the Dead.

And Eddie wanted it.

When the Egyptologist caught sight of him staring, he stopped his abuse of the artefact in his hands and crossed his arms protectively over it, like Eddie was going to snatch it from him at that very moment.

Eddie just scowled.

“Looks like you need a key.” He said before turning his back and continuing on towards his party, already formulating a plan in his mind for how he could steal it out from under their noses.

Around his party's campfire up ahead, he could see Steve and Robin, but could also see the Cowboys and Tommy sitting around with them.

The Cowboys had the canopic jars they found in their hands, waving them around with little care and were scoffing at the very concept of curses and how everyone seemed to be believing in them so easily.

It made Eddie feel a little guilty.

He’d thought the same. Said the same.

But it also made him want to snatch the jars out of their hands and put them back where they’d found them. What right did they have?

Eddie’s guilt and irritation was quickly replaced with an almost shocking feeling of jealousy when he saw that Tommy had practically plastered himself against Steve’s side, leaning heavily into him and based on the upward curl of his mouth, he was muttering something teasing into Steve’s ear.

Steve wasn’t looking at him, seemed to be trying to pretend he wasn’t there, but when he heard the sound of Eddie’s approaching footsteps in the sand, Steve glanced up towards him and then turned back to Tommy, finally giving him some attention.

“You’re in his seat.” Steve snapped, his eyes cold and hard. Tommy just raised his eyebrows, opening his mouth for another quip but Steve cut him off. “Move.”

If the hard set of Steve’s jaw was anything to go by, he wasn’t joking around and Tommy seemed to recognise that as well, pushing himself to his feet with a scoff and shoulder checked Eddie hard as he walked away.

Eddie himself had to try to squash the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, almost mad at himself for responding in such a way to a caveman display of masculinity but unfortunately for his sanity, it was really doing something for him.

He sat himself down at Steve’s side and couldn’t help but lean in a little, but not as much as Tommy had been. Steve tilted himself a little, open and welcoming and again: there were those damn butterflies.

Eddie held his hand out. “Look what I found.” He said, the small petrified beetles resting in his palm. “Scarab skeletons, flesh eaters. I found them inside our friend’s coffin.”

Steve snapped his head over to him, his eyes wide in alarm.

“What were you doing back down there alone?”

Eddie grinned at him, knocking their shoulders together. “What? Afraid the big bad mummy is going to come and get me, Just Steve?” He wiggled his fingers in front of Steve’s face who only responded with a far too serious frown.

Eddie just continued on. “These little guys can stay alive for years feeding on the flesh of a corpse. So it seems that unfortunately for our friend, he was still alive when they started eating him.”

“What the fuck.” One of the Cowboys, Jason, muttered from across the fire, the rest of them watching Eddie with horrified eyes.

“So someone threw these bugs in with our guy and they slowly ate him alive?” Steve asked, picking up one of the beetles.

“Very slowly.” Eddie leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice down to a rumble, putting on a show for the apparently weak stomached Cowboys. “Based on my research, it looks like our friend suffered the Hom-Dai. The worst of all Ancient Egyptian curses. One only reserved for the most evil of blasphemers. But I’ve never read about the curse actually being performed on someone before.”

“That bad, huh?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Well. They never really used it because it was pretty extreme and there was a healthy fear around it. There was a superstition that if a victim of the Hom-Dai should be raised, it would bring down the Plagues upon Egypt again.”

He was too busy examining his beetles to notice Steve and Robin leaning into each other, whispering with pensive faces.

Eddie’s heart was thundering in his chest.

It had been years since he’d had an excuse to pick a lock and even longer since he had to do it quietly.

The Egyptologist that had come along with the Cowboys was fast asleep, the Book of the Dead locked up tight in his personal travel case and Eddie had taken the first opportunity available to him to break in.

He snatched the book up and scurried away to his own side of camp before he got too excited about his thievery and gave himself away.

Everyone around him was asleep and he kneeled down by the makeshift table next to Steve, trying not to get too distracted by the hair spilling over his eyes in his sleep as he breathed, slow and even, a rifle clutched in his hands.

Eddie shook his head, placing the dense black book down and crawling over as quickly and as quietly as he could, hovering over Robin’s body to slowly pull the puzzle box from her pocket, trying not to wake her up.

He succeeded, looking down on it cupped in his palms.

“This is a very stupid idea.”

A voice from behind him lowly rumbled and Eddie did jump this time, whipping around to find Steve sitting up, one hand on the black book and his eyes digging into Eddie’s.

Eddie frowned, shuffling back over on his knees, popping open the puzzle box and all but slamming it down onto the lock on the front cover.

“It’s just a book, Steve.”

Steve snatched his hand back as Eddie twisted the lock, perhaps with a little too much force and snapped his eyes down.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, Steve no doubt unsure about how to deal with Eddie’s little temper tantrum.

“I thought this book was supposed to be made of gold?” Steve asked, offering an olive branch.

Eddie sighed, allowing his shoulders to drop from around his ears.

“I don’t think this is that book. The Book of Amun-Ra is rumoured to be made of gold, but I think this is a different one. I think this is the Book of the Dead.”

“You can’t be serious.” Steve looked up at him, almost like he was hoping Eddie was about to reveal he was joking.

“Are you sure you should be playing around with this thing?” Steve’s hand hovered over Eddie’s, almost ready to grab.

Eddie turned his big eyes on Steve, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. “No harm ever came from reading a book, Steve.”

He slowly opened it, the cover thunking heavily down onto the wooden table.

Almost immediately a wind blew through the camp, ruffling the tents, combing through their hair and Steve’s shoulders tensed.

Looking down over the text spread beneath him, Eddie started to mutter the words to himself, following along with his finger.

“Should you be doing that? What if you’re speaking a curse into existence?”

Eddie ignored him. He needed to keep reading. Felt like he almost had to. There was something enchanting about the text. It felt correct in his mouth and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation from him as he continued to read, his voice slowly rising from a mutter to a full chested speech.

A hand shot out and slammed the book closed and Eddie blinked back to himself, being met with the wild and frantic eyes of Robin staring down at him, her hand keeping the book firmly closed.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Eddie slowly turned back into his surroundings. The wind had picked up into a healthy gust and the horses and camels around them were antsy, pawing at the ground and tugging against their reins.

There was a sound being carried to them over the air, an unsettling chittering getting slowly closer and closer.

Over the horizon, a shadow was descending. A large black mass rushing straight for them, slowly coming into sharp relief as a writhing buzzing mass of locusts.

“Mr. Hargrove!” The Egyptologist cried from his tent, as though they would be able to fight the swarm off with their fists. “Mr. Carver, Mr. Benson, Mr. Hagan! Wake up!”

Eddie had only a fleeting moment to wonder just what the fuck they themselves were going to do before he was pulled to his feet, his hand clasped tightly in Steve's, Robin on their heels and the three of them ran as the buzzing around them became almost deafening.

He couldn’t see anything around him, the insects closed in like a black curtain and Eddie was overwhelmed. The only reason he was able to keep upright was Steve’s hand in his, half pulling, half dragging him into the entrance of the tomb the Cowboys had come and gone through.

They were plunged into darkness, the burning torch that Steve had snatched up from the fire only providing a small amount of light.

There was a fork in the corridor ahead of them and through the thinning-out swarm, Eddie saw the Cowboys break away in one direction while he, Steve and Robin shot down another.

They would have kept running too if Robin hadn’t somehow stopped them both dead with her hands at the back of both of their collars, yanking the two of them into an alcove where the three of them pressed in close.

Eddie was face to face with Steve’s chest hair as his body was blocked in, defended against the swarming hoard that was passing them by.

Robin was by his side, pressed in tight and she blinked her big steely eyes up at Steve, his arms spread out at either side of them, wall to wall.

“We’ve faced worse.” She said to him, stoic and firm, like it was a mantra of theirs she was repeating.

Steve only nodded in response.

Eddie looked back and forth between the two of them as much as he was able, squeezed into this small corner as the buzz got quieter and quieter, wondering just what the fuck kind of history Robin and Steve had between them.

Just as things had settled to a dull hum and the three of them slowly crept out of their hiding space, checking the coast was clear, there was an echoing call, distorted and far away.

“My glasses!”

Steve had only taken one step towards the noise when it was interrupted by a terrified scream.

Eddie’s body froze, still as a statue, something primal inside of him taking the choice away.

Time seemed to stretch on ahead of him, slowed down and sped up at the same time.

It could have only been a second before he was able to move again, almost pushed into motion by the two next to him, running in the direction the scream had come from, trying to find who it was.

They were forced to come to a crashing halt again when a small hill of sand began to rise up in front of them.

Spilling out of the sand underneath were piles upon piles of iridescent black beetles, turning the sandy ground beneath them dark in a second.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Eddie screeched, nearly tripping over his own feet as Steve and Robin shoved him back, so when they turned, he was running at the head of the line, the furthest away from the river of beetles rushing towards them.

The corridor broke out into a stone walkway, dropping out at either side of them to what was sure to be a deadly fall and Eddie tried not to think about it at all as he spotted an alcove, very similar to the one they’d hidden in before and he dove for it, thinking is this really what’s gonna take me out? I’m gonna die from fucking beetles and locusts? Or falling to my death in some spooky ruined mirage city?

He landed in a heap, curling into the bottom of the alcove but thankfully didn’t feel any creepy crawlies scrambling all over him.

He also didn’t feel the two bodies of his companions tumbling down on top of him, which was less relieving.

Pushing himself up onto his knees, Eddie turned, peering around the corner to see the still thick swarm of beetles skittering up the walkway, bypassing them completely, like they were being drawn to something.

Steve and Robin were standing on an outcropping on the opposite side, panting and wide eyed, watching the beetles pass.

Eddie would have been interested to see how it ended.

He’d have been interested to see the strangely mesmerising shifting sea of insects slowly thin out and then stop.

He’d have been interested to see if Steve and Robin were just as fascinated and grossed out as he was.

But he didn’t get to see any of that.

Because as he collapsed back into the wall behind him in relief, clutching at his heart, thankful that Steve and Robin were okay, the wall behind him moved.

Like a trapped door had been activated by his weight, Eddie found himself falling, tumbling backwards down a stone chute, swallowed whole into darkness.

Part 1/ Part 3/ Part 5/ AO3

Happy birthday @hbyrde36

My biggest thanks and much love to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #stranger things fic #ao3 #the mummy au #eddie as evie #steve as rick #enemies to lovers #the mummy #1920s

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taintandviolent · 2 years

Text

And Where He Goes, I’ll Follow. (Jimmy Darling x Reader)

Summary: You meet Jimmy in a diner as a teenager in 1949, and it’s love at first sight... for you. You follow him until you can tell him how you feel.

warnings: 8.3k words! self insert. female reader, age gap / older men preference, obsession, unrequited love, fluff, angst and eventual smut.

Ao3 link here — full fic under the cut! | Fic playlist here! {Shuffle Off!}!

Tags: @zabelcolin @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag

You almost called out to him right then, wanting nothing more in the whole, wide world than for him to look over his shoulder at you. You remembered every curve of his face, his bright smile, his tanned skin that smelled like sun — in two years you hadn’t forgotten a single thing about Jimmy Darling.You watched him hold the door for Evie like the charming gentleman that he was and heaved a distrait sigh. He waited for her before following her inside.

Your mind was buzzing with emotions. You wondered if Eve remembered you, you wondered if Jimmy, if he remembered when he’d turned the swivel stool in that diner, and told you…

1949

"Tell the ticket lady Jimmy sent ya’,” he said, finishing it with a wink. Cheeks red, your gaze fell to your lap. You were wholly unsure of how to respond to such flirtations, and your heart hammered against your ribs. When you looked back up, he and the rest of his eccentric troupe had left, much to the relief of the other patrons.

The syrup on your pancakes didn’t compare to the sweetness in his smile. You’d screwed your face up in disappointment when you brought a forkful to your mouth, the taste too dull in comparison. Devious thoughts of warm, thick nectar filled your head; you were a lost cause for the rest of the afternoon. He’d turned your little brain to mush with seven words, so much that you couldn’t even hear the chastising your mother would’ve given you for being so lustful. By that evening, Aunt Tessa had agreed to let you go just to ease the ache in her ears.

And you did. In the prettiest dress you’d had in your suitcase, hair freshly curled and the tiniest hint of rouge on your lips and cheeks, you went to that Freak Show. The skip in your step wasn’t at the thought of marvelling and gawking at the individuals that the town called “God’s mistakes,” but to see Jimmy.

You wrung your hands as you stood in line, waiting patiently behind each paying guest. Not that you planned on getting in for free — Aunt Tessa had given you a few dollars for food and tickets.

Finally, empty space was the only thing between you and the lady standing at the foldaway table. She wasn’t sitting down, and as you approached, you saw why.

“What can I do for you?”

You bent your neck all the way back to accommodate the woman’s height. She was broad, elegant, and looked stronger than any man you’d ever seen. A soft breeze blew from behind her, fluttering the silk fabric of her shirt. She smelled like flowers.

“Um… Jimmy sent me.” It came out a weak, shaky jumble of words instead of the confident statement you’d practiced on the way over. You closed your eyes tightly, cursing your jitters.

She glanced behind you. You were the last person in line, and certainly were without accompaniment. Realising that you were a nervous wreck with no parents in sight, the woman brought herself forward, resting the weight of her upper body on her knees. She turned her head, angling her ear towards you.

“One more time, sweetheart.” You took a deep breath through your nose and tried again.

“I was at the diner in town and… and Jimmy — Jimmy sent me.” You shoved the dollar upwards awkwardly, holding it as steady as your nerves would allow.

She straightened up, her thin red lips stretched wide in a bemused smile. “Jimmy Darling sent you? Well.” She leaned forward, gently wrapping her large hand around your petite wrist. She lowered your hand back to your side, wordlessly denying payment, then moved to drop the lid of the cashbox.

“Follow me.”

She led you through the main tent, and you followed proudly, feeling like a VIP guest. A few people leaned out of their seats to see the who, where, and why. Eve lined you up with a perfect spot in the front row and made sure you were settled before darting off behind the stage’s. The calliope music started somewhere from behind a curtain, and your heart took off, like it had in the diner.

A litany of ooh’s and aah’s punctuated each act, but your memory was worth a damn. As you watched the show, you truly hadn’t remembered much of anything. Anticipation had your attention span on a short leash, and each time the Bearded Lady came out to announce a new act, you inched forward on the wooden seat.

He had gloves on in the diner, but as soon as you’d arrived on the grounds, you’d sorted out what ‘freak’ of the show Jimmy was. Lobster Boy! The AMAZING Jimmy Darling! Live! In Person! Banners, Posters — they all showcased each of the freaks rendered in art. Jimmy’s hands were the focus of his posters; four fingers fused in two, formed into thick, fleshy segments. Finally, the stout woman announced the next act in her funny accent, and you scooted forward, hands clasped in your lap.

He was wearing a blue shirt with a brown vest and trousers, and his hair came forward from the crown of his head into a perfect single coif. The show lights followed him as he strolled across the stage, deformed hands at his sides.

“That’s right, folks! For as long as I can remember, I’ve been known as Lobster Boy. Son of Neptune, God of the Sea!” His voice was loud and strong. “But my pincers don’t hold me back!”

Women gawked, making disparaging comments as he opened and closed his claws, showing them off to the audience. ‘Such a shame! He’s good-looking!’ ‘What a waste that is! He’s not half-bad without those things!’

“Watch me juggle!”

And you did. You couldn't take your eyes off him, not for a moment. Your heart felt like a scoop of melted strawberry ice cream. You could’ve watched him juggle for hours, but too quickly, his act ended. One of the balls missed his pocket when he tucked them in.It rolled off the stage and landed with a heavy thud a few inches from where you sat. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to notice. Keeping your eyes ahead, you kicked one foot out and landed it inconspicuously atop the ball, manoeuvring back towards you with the heel of your shoe.

Fate had intervened with that one, you believed that. After the show, you strolled through the rows of empty wooden chairs, twisting your body joyfully back and forth. The tent was empty now, save for Jimmy, who was scouring the stage. He had bent over, lifting the heavy velvet curtain.

“Hell,” he muttered, letting the curtain drop. He spun around to the left, to the right, his back still facing you.

“‘Scuse me,” you started. “Mr. D-Darling?”

His head turned first, body following.

“Hey — I remember you. You’re the kid at the diner.” God, he was every bit as warm as he was in the dinner. Maybe even more. From where you stood, you could smell his body heat, mixed with the dustiness of the field, and the butter of popcorn. Holding the scent of him for a moment longer before speaking, you nodded coyly. With the ball still behind your back, you ground the toe of your saddle-shoe into the dirt floor.

“Well, did ya’ like the show?”

You straightened up, widening your eyes. “Oh! I thought you were just spectacu—- the show was real great. I’m only here for another week but I’m going to convince my Aunt Tessa to come see it too.”

Your slip-up wasn’t lost on him; he’d heard it, and caught it with a smile. “Say, you haven’t seen a —

“A ball?” You held it upwards to him, stretching your arm out. “It rolled off after your act… I didn’t want anyone trying to steal it.”

He seemed delighted by your loyalty as he reached for it. His — well, you weren’t quite sure what to call them in your mind’s eye, but his clawed fingers felt so heavy against your palm, and they covered it completely. Anyone would’ve been repulsed by his deformity, but you weren’t, even up close.

Your breath hitched in your throat. The blazing heat that started in the core of your abdomen and bubbled up to your cheeks confirmed that repulsion was the last thing on your mind. You didn’t register that you were staring until he jerked his hand away, taking the ball along with it. It seemed like he couldn’t set it atop the piano fast enough, before shoving both hands into brown cotton slits, returning himself to normalcy. He had sorely mistaken your fascination for disgust.

“Thanks, kid.”

Panicked and slightly offended that he had called you ‘kid’ twice, you stuttered into your next sentence.

“My name is Y/N.” You reached your hand up again, biting down into the cushion of your lip.

Jimmy hesitated.

He finally took it, and shook it delicately. You exhaled a little too breathily, on purpose.

“Jimmy,” he replied, a small smile blooming.

Between tittering laughs, you nodded. “Oh, I know that.”

The second time, three days later, you were just as nervous, just as focused, but your Aunt Tessa sat next to you, fanning herself with a poster card. This time, your attention was a little less taut, and you were able to enjoy the rest of the acts. In particular, you were dazzled by Amazon Eve, marvelling as she lifted nearly everything on the stage with ease, then stepped down to lift the front row bench on which your Aunt, you and two others sat. She recognised you, giving you a friendly nod before carefully setting you back down. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, feeling so very special.

If you had to ignore Jimmy — the show was still a delight. Every performer had a shocking talent to share, and you ate each of them up. You stuffed a handful of popcorn into your mouth, eyes softening at the little doll that stepped from the birdcage. Ma Petite was one of the most darling things you’d ever laid eyes on, even though you were well out of your doll days.

You saw the show one final time with your mother, on the day she came to pick you up. She was much less enchanted by the grotesque acts than you were, shielding her eyes as every moment passed. Jimmy juggled again, throwing the balls higher and higher with each rotation. Much to your dismay, he didn’t drop a single one, garnering applause from the astounded audience. He flashed a smile in your direction before palming all three of the spheres.

You didn’t dream of waiting for the entire tent to clear out, not with your mother crossing her arms as you rushed towards the stage. Jimmy had already disappeared, but the tattooed man was kind enough to stop dragging a crate to answer you when you asked where they were headed next.

Once in the car, you had asked your mother, “How’s Grandpa doing?” You rose the octaves of your voice in a slippery way to feign concern. “He’s not far from here, is he? In Tennessee?”

“He is… you know sugar plum, I bet he’d enjoy a visit from us both. Recovery can be awful lonely.”

You sunk into the seat, a devilish grin on your face. “A few days won’t hurt.”

Any guilt you felt from using your grandfather as an excuse fizzled out the moment you stepped into the warmly lit tent in Tennessee. You tucked your dress underneath the curve of your rear, and plopped down on the wooden bench.

1950

You had to wait until the summer of the following year, when school was out, to see your dreamboat again. It just so happened that your best friend’s cousin’s dad was a land owner in Alabama, and had just rented out one of his fields to a travelling freak show. You had almost memorised the show by the fourth time you saw it, except for the fact that Fraulein Elsa, the leader with a wispy German accent, added a knife-throwing act. She asked for volunteers.

Anne’s brother, brimming with misplaced confidence and testosterone immediately shot up. He’d been strapped to the wheel while his college buddies hollered, saying their goodbyes. A few moments later, without so much as a scratch, he jogged off the stage, a newfound confidence in his ability to cheat death. Elsa watched the young men, a disapproving sourness in her dark eyes.

The fifth time you saw the show, by yourself, he’d juggled like usual, but this time, he followed with a song. You were in the front row, and when he dipped the microphone down, almost to the floor, you gripped the bench so hard, your nails sunk into the wood as though it were made of butter.

“Oooooh, you come on like a dream, peaches n’ cream, lips like strawberry wine. You’re sixteen…” He looked right at you, and damn it all — he winked again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.”

You gasped.

“We fell in love the night we met! You touched my hand, my heart went pop, and ooooh, when we kissed…” Jimmy swayed across the stage, a true performer, but you were practically vibrating with delight.

You clutched your hands to your chest, feeling as light as a cloud. Surely, this song was no coincidence. Could that have been the sign you needed? You two would meet after the show, and you’d phone your mother from another state, telling her you were married and had run away to the circus. You’d give his trailer a woman’s touch, painting the wooden cabinets yellow, and buying satin pillows for the modestly sized bed.

Oh sure, you thought. The quickest way to get Jimmy Darling arrested. That’s just terrible.

It wasn’t until you got back home from Alabama three days later that you’d heard the song announced on the radio as holding its place in “the top of Billboard for four weeks now!” The delusional high came crashing down around you, and you cried for hours into your pillow. Your mother tried to console you with a new dress, but it was the same pale blue colour of the shirt Jimmy wore once, so you cried more.

Alabama was too far to visit twice, so you stopped seeing him — in person, anyway. The poster you’d ripped from one of the telephone posts lived underneath your pillow. You fell asleep to it every night, folding and unfolding it with the tenderest of touches. It was a side profile of Jimmy, and his shadow cast was a warped exaggeration.

Eventually, the paper became so fragile that you had to tuck it away in your diary and leave it, along with the dreams of being Mrs. Y/N Darling, a name which was scribbled fanatically through dozens of pages, amongst detailed fantasies of the same subject.

Oh, I love him so much. Will I love him always? I will. Until the day I die, I think. But father says that all of my careless travelling has addled my brain — he doesn’t know that it’s not the travelling, but a boy!! — and I need to focus on my studies. Maybe one day, Jimmy Darling will love me. For now, I must let him go.

You tucked the journal in your bedside table, ushering away your silly teenage dreams. Sticky, humid summers faded into rainy, windy winter seasons. Eventually, the rose-coloured dreams of Jimmy Darling faded away, and your every day was filled with the frivolities of a small-town teenage girl on the cusp of adulthood.

There were hard days, naturally. Days where you dug your nails into your own heart, plaguing it with cruel thoughts of if he’d found a girlfriend, or if he ever thought about you. The last time you cried over him was in the bathtub, in January of 1951. Your father had made lobster for your aunt’s birthday dinner. You’d nearly lost it, staring too intently at the claws, hanging limp on the plate.

Though you didn’t think it would happen, eventually, the searing pain of a lost love turned into a dull ache, to a faint bruise. One that you didn’t know was there until you touched the spot unknowingly.

After that, you had a boyfriend for a few months. You’d kissed for the first time on Valentine’s Day, and then split by August. You got a job at a diner, working half days until you graduated.

June 1952 Jupiter, Florida.

It had started getting hot last month, and the world was alive with the tantalising promise of summer. The diner was usually busy from sun up to sun down, and really, you revelled in the work. There was a certain merrymaking in being a waitress. Folks from town, folks from across the country seemed to find a familiarity in diners — no matter where they were, they knew what to expect.

As you did every weekday, you’d showed up for your shift, uniform pressed and starched, with your apron draped across your arm. You checked your reflection in the glass of the jukebox, and tied the white cotton around your waist.

Tucking an order pad into your apron, you froze. Sitting on the speckled, glossy counter in front of you was a stack of flyers. Bobby, one of the chefs, was stretching up to hang one on the fridge. Your body seemed to quiver from the inside out, running cold and hot all at once as you read the brightly coloured words.

Fraulein Elsa’s Freak Show - Jupiter, Florida! See the marvels, the mystery from all corners of the earth!

“Y/N? .....Y/N!”

Your chest felt like someone had taken a mallet to it, and swung as hard as they could, hoping to ring the carnival bell atop. You blinked and turned to him.

“You ill or somethin’?” Bobby asked, pushing the knuckle of his pointer finger up into the soft underside of your jaw to close it. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Swatting away his hand, you snatched the stack of flyers and brought them up in front of his face. “I’m fine. Who brought these?”

“Hm? Oh. Those. Guy and a girl. Real tall girl. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Why? Are we not supposed to post th —”

“A few minutes ago,” you repeated, trembling. “Was…. Was one of them wearing gloves?”

Taken aback by the interruption, Bobby seemed confused and hesitated in answering.

“Was he!?” You asked again, a little too loudly.

He considers it, and remembers that it struck him odd, wearing leather gloves in the first hums of summer. “Yeah. Why?”

You practically threw yourself into the door, flinching at how hard the bell clanked against the glass. You looked right. A little girl held onto her mother’s hand with one, and gripped the sticky cone of an ice cream in the other. You flipped your head to the left — and on the sidewalk, a few blocks down, The Lobster Boy walked alongside Amazon Eve, who held the rest of the flyers in the crook of her arm.

Insecurity held you back. What would you do? What would you say? Hi, I was obsessed with you when I was a little girl, and I’m still obsessed with you now. You heaved a heavy sigh and returned to the diner to carry out your shift.

As soon the clock hit seven, you met up with your two friends, Susie and Margaret, just outside of where the show was. You’d called them from the diner phone, twisting your index finger in and out of the cord. It didn’t take much to convince them to go. You were all eighteen now, and school nights weren’t a main worry.

“Well, well, well. I was wondering when you’d show up.” You bowed your head sideways, unable to place why you suddenly felt shy. Eve reached to cup your shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “Look at you… all grown up.”

At that, it took everything in you not to dip around the table and hug her, pressing your cheek against her chest. She’d also given you a blossoming idea that in two years, you had changed enough to look grown-up. You’d take that newfound confidence right to the door of Jimmy’s trailer one night soon.

“I’m just so happy that you all came to Jupiter, it’s been so — ” you started, before your words were cut short. Susie and Margaret flanked your sides and gasped. “My god, what I wouldn’t give to have your hair! You know, I can never get it to stay up in a scarf — my mother says it’s because I’ve got angel hair.” Margaret combed her fingers through her blonde tresses, and rolled her eyes. “Nothing heavenly about this.”

Eve’s laugh resonated through your chest as she gathered your change, divulging the importance of pin placement. Margaret seemed fascinated by the information, and you were just glad that out of all the stuffy, bigoted people in Jupiter, you had managed to find some of the only girls who would be more enchanted with Amazon Eve’s hair than her nearly seven foot tall stature.

The air was warm and heavy, seeming to hold the sweet smell of popcorn pungently. You ducked into the tent, and almost immediately, you saw him. He was in the corner, leaning against one of the support posts. Two years had been kind to him; although he had maintained all of his boyish charm, there was a new brawn that had settled in.

He was talking quietly to the Bearded Lady, who seemed very concerned with what he was saying. You wondered what it was they were discussing, but as the band of performers flooded the stage, they both scurried off to take their places. It may have laid dormant for years, sleeping like a hibernating bear, but it took just over an hour for your obsession to return full-force.

On Wednesday night, you convinced Bobby and Julie to go. Julie was only waiting two days a week, but you were taking advantage of all workplace camaraderies, big or small.

On Thursday, Bobby wanted to go again. He was just tickled by the Siamese Twins, and needed a second viewing. Somehow, he masterfully convinced the callous, burly cook, Sam, who never did anything besides fill up his truck, go the market, and clock in for work to go, too.

Friday night rolled around, Margaret brought her boyfriend, and Susie brought her younger sister. The ‘freaks’ scared her, so they sat in the back row, while you took your familiar seat in the front row. And for once, you couldn’t wait for the show to end.

You’d parked out in the far part of the field. As soon as the tent emptied, you retreated to the car to keep up appearances. However, instead of getting in leaving the freak show in a cloud of dust, you’d waited. Twenty or so minutes after that, you thought you saw Jimmy strolling out of the big top.

With your friends long gone and the rest of the field mostly cleared out, you finally pushed yourself off the trunk of the car and headed towards the mint-green trailer in the distance. There was a warm yellow glow emanating from the windows. He was definitely inside, and there was no turning back now. You stepped carefully over tall grasses and some discarded cans.

You were finally going to tell him.

You sucked in air through your nose until the breath hurt your lungs and the bust-line of your dress tightened. You gave the door three delicate taps.

“Yea—hang on!” You heard some commotion inside, and the door swung open.

“I’ll be — oh. Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you cooed. “Can I come in?”

Coughing out a breath, he looked you up and down. Jimmy then hooked his hand on the doorway, and leaned out to survey the area. Everyone was likely in the rec tent, readying themselves for supper. For a moment, he worried that his arrangement with the Tupperware gals had travelled, despite explicit instructions to keep it under wraps.  “Well?” You urged.

Jimmy was never one to deny beauties access to his trailer, so he stepped aside and allowed you in.

As you waited for him to shut the door, you focused on the thumping of your pulse, your heart pumping faster and faster. Back then, you were a little girl with a crush. A silly, jejune, frilly lace-and-bows crush. As you stood in the middle of his trailer, watching him, that childish adoration was stamped out by your big girl passion and unbridled lust. He was in nothing but a white undershirt and his trousers, with an unbuckled belt. You hadn’t seen him in such a… personal setting, and the visual had your stomach tightening into knots that only his fused fingers to could untangle.

“I’m not used to such pretty girls knockin’ on my door… what can I do for ya?”   His attention was on you and you swallowed. You took a few steps closer, closing in the distance. Hushing all the whispers in your mind, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and pulled him right into a kiss. Before you closed your own eyes, you caught his his big, brown eyes widening before the lids drifted shut.

His lips were as soft as they seemed, exactly as plush and warm as you imagined they would be. For a moment, you felt him instinctually melt into you, sending a violent shiver down your spine. When you parted lips, he gripped both shoulders, gently urging you off. “Hang on a minute…” He swallowed.

“Wh-what’s goin’ on here?”

“Jimmy Darling,” Trying not to feel defeated by his rejection, you squared your shoulders. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you at Robbie’s Diner in Dahlonega, Georgia. September, nineteen-forty-nine. You told me to come see the show, and told me to tell them that Jimmy sent me. So I did. I was freshly sixteen that summer so I didn’t even try it, but I knew I loved you. I was still in school, but I’ve seen at least one show of yours in every state you’ve been in since then. Tennessee. I even hitched a ride with my best friend’s brother to see two shows in Alabama. ”

His eyebrows were laced together; confused, shocked, or maybe both. You righted yourself and started again, keeping your fingers laced behind your back to mask the trembling. “And then you came here, to my hometown; Jupiter, Florida. And I’ve seen every single show of yours for the past week. I’ve been front row. Every night.”

A strong knock thudded on the door. “Jimmy! You decent in there?”

“Yeah!” He shouted at the door, keeping his gaze locked on you. Immediately, the door opened, and Amazon Eve leaned in, poised to ask whatever it was that she’d come to ask, but as soon as she saw you, she stopped.

“Hi, Eve.” Without missing a beat, you turned back to Jimmy, and held your hand out. “Even Eve knows — she’s seen me.”

Eve looked as confused as Jimmy was, but feeling like she was now apart of the conversation, she ducked into his trailer and leaned back against the doorframe. She crossed her arms, the cherry print fabric pulled taught across her biceps.

“Sure have. Ever since Georgia. Y/N came what, twice? Three times — in one week.”

His head swept back and forth between you two, and his lips parted. You wanted so badly to press your own lips back against his, and slip your tongue into the empty space.

“Jimmy,” Eve started, in a low, patronising voice. She wasn’t about to watch this sweet, young girl’s heart crumble into pieces. “Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

You waited, and it wasn’t until he huffed out a laugh that you realised you hadn’t been breathing. Hand lifted to the nape of his neck, he rubbed it anxiously.

“I notice lots of women in the crowd, Evie.”

Eve’s jaw dropped slightly, and yours clenched, teeth creaking against each other. He knew immediately how that landed, and took a step forward, interjecting something about understanding. Your nose felt hot, and the humiliated tears bit at your eyes. He took another step forward, reaching for you. Mortified, you wrenched your arms away, pressing them tightly against your chest. Your breaths were severed by the oncoming sobs.

“No, no, I understand just fine. I spent-spent all of my su-summers—” Another breath. “—knowing you and I couldn’t — p—possibly expect you to know me.”

The tears spilled over, and as you wiped at them with the back of your hand, you laughed at how foolish it all was. Three years of unrequited love wasn’t so easily soothed. As quickly as you dried them, more tears tumbled over, leaving shimmering stripes over your cheeks.

“I was such a fool to think you’d love me, too.”

With the taste of his lips still lingering on yours, you swung around and shoved past Eve. You’d never felt so humiliated, so stupid in your entire life. You trudged through the field, unsure of which direction you were even heading, you weren’t sure where your car was until you heard Eve’s powerful voice behind you.

“Sweetheart! Wait a minute, c’mere!”

The tears had blurred everything, making it hard to navigate, and even though you wouldn’t admit it then, Eve’s stern grip was welcomed.

“Just come talk with me.”

Though you wanted to go home, you were in no state to drive. So, begrudgingly, you allowed you to steer her in the direction of her trailer.

Inside the trailer, you flayed open every layer of your heart as you retold the story, filling in all the untold chapters that only you knew. Eve wrapped both strong arms around you, pulling you to her chest. Enveloped in flowers and the smell of cotton, you wept into her shirt, clinging to fabric just above her breast. She shushed you, resting her chin against the crown of your head. The tears soaked through to her skin, but she didn’t seem to mind. After a moment of her stroking your soft tresses, you felt safer than you had all night. The blubbering subsided, replaced by uncertain whimpers. You pulled away to look up at her.

“Is it because I’m too young?” You asked between broken sobs and sniffles. “He sees me as that shy girl from Georgia, doesn’t he? I’ll be nineteen in October, I…”

“No.” She shook her head, genuinely. “He’s just.. I’d guess he’s confused.” She paused, bringing a white cotton handkerchief from her back pocket.

“That boy can’t see past the title this show has given him. None of us can, really. Men are terrified of me, I haven’t been on a date since nineteen-thirty nine because of who I am.” She dabbed at your cheeks and your top lip, removing all traces of sadness from your face.

“Jimmy thinks every woman takes one look at his hands and doesn’t stop running until they reach the next town.”

“Well, Jimmy is a fool, then! You’re all fools!” You sniffed authoritatively. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen! If I was, well if I…” You hesitated, not sure of how to continue, but Eve seemed to know what you were trying to say, and took your face in one of her hands, the tips of her fingers meeting the start of your hairline. “I appreciate that, honey.”

“OH! What a kick in the teeth that was. I embarrassed myself. I’m a nobody, just a face in the crowd to him and, and —”

Your words trailed off as you forced your heart to callus over. You sat upright on her bed, tracing the stitch lines on the comforter. You’d done this before, you could do it again. “Thank you for being so sweet to me. Tell Jimmy I’m sorry.”

Eve wanted to stop you, she really did. She knew that even with all of her mighty strength, she couldn’t have.

Jupiter, Florida. A few weeks later.

The bench looked empty. It wasn’t, but for some reason, it looked that way to Jimmy. He fumbled, and almost dropped two of the juggling balls. Anxiety crept through his mind as his focus drifted away. He cleared his throat, collecting the balls into one hand, and held out the other.

“And now, folks, from the exotic coast of Siam — our very own Siamese beauties; Bette and Dot!”

The crowd cheered, becoming livelier with whistles and hollers. They were the headliners anyway, he wasn’t going to be missed. The Twins hurried past him, but not before tossing a pair of concerned glances his way, knowing that Jimmy Darling never cut his act short.

He spun around to sneak out of the tent, and collided into Eve’s shoulder. “Hey, woah. Jimmy. What’s gotten into you?”

His chest rose and fell in frustrated breaths. She lifted her arms, opening the tent’s flap. She gestured with her head. He should’ve known better. Maybe it was the fact that she was tall enough to see over all the bullshit, or maybe strength wasn’t her only talent. She was damn near clairvoyant with how well she knew when something was up.

“That girl,” he began. “She wasn’t in the audience.”

Eve sturdied her face, and nodded once. “No, she hasn’t been for a couple weeks now.”

Jimmy reached up to wipe a ribbon of sweat from his brow bone. “I hope she’s alright.”

“She is.”

He looked up at Eve, taken aback by her response. “I checked on her, she’s fine. Healing her heart that you split in half with those hands.”

He groaned, covering his face. “I just thought I was makin’ stuff up, Eve! Women don’t follow me from the tent, let alone across state lines!”

“Well, Jimmy.” Eve inhaled a deep, full breath. “This one did.”

She ducked back into the tent to finish the show. Jimmy spent the rest of the night in his trailer, despondently nursing a bottle of whiskey. Somewhere, a few gulps before the bottom of the bottle, he realised that even though he didn’t know you, he had noticed you without being aware of it. You weren’t just another face in the crowd, but a constant presence in that audience. Once you’d left, he’d realised just how empty that big tent felt.

He didn’t hear the first knock, or the second. It wasn’t English, but he yelled something drowsily at the window on third. Outside, Ethel Darling narrowed her eyes and threw open the door and winced at the potent smell of alcohol that hit her in the face. Jimmy was sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Jimmy, ma’ boy.” Ethel tightened her lips in disappointment, hating that her motherly instinct had been in correct. “What’s this now?”

“Ahh, Ma… I messed it up. There’s a girl that loved me… and I” Jimmy stumbled to his feet, and fell into hugging his mother. Confused, she wrapped her arms around him, petting the back of his head. “I’m gonna’ make it right, Ma. I’m gonna’ fix it tomorrow.”

“Can I get a shake?”

It was nearly time to leave, and your energy was diminishing. Without looking up, you whipped your pad out, flipped to a new page. Your tongue jabbed into the wad of bubble gum in your mouth, forming a pocket. POP! You scribbled shake followed by a dash.

“What kind? We’ve got vanilla, strawberry and chocolate. Five cents extra for a mix.”

The customer was talking low, in almost a whisper. You paid him no mind. It had been a slow day, and you were grateful for the distraction. The last two weeks had been a depressing, colourless, tasteless blur. The busier days were easier. It was the slow days where you heard caramel voices crooning about love over the radio that reminded you of the raw edges in your your heart.

“What’s your favourite?”

“Vanilla and strawberry.”

He slid a wrinkled dollar across the counter top, the green just barely visible underneath the worn leather of a black mitt. “Two of those, please.”

You had only glanced at it a moment before looking away, but as soon as the visual registered, your eyes swept back to the counter and then straight up until you were looking right into a set of eyes so dark, it was like looking into two cups of black coffee.

You slapped the ticket on the kitchen’s counter, and practically ran back to Jimmy, guiding him to one of the empty booths. You sat him down, told him to wait and you’d be right back. Part of you wanted to use the moment to see if you were hallucinating; if he was still sitting at the table, wringing his black gloves nervously when you brought the two shakes… god, I hope I’m not dreaming.

“Order up!”

Nosy, Bobby popped his head up, searching the tables. When he located the new addition to the diner, he opened his mouth as quickly as he narrowed his eyes. His whispered your name harshly, needing confirmation.

“Isn’t that the guy from the freak show!? The one with the —“

So, you weren’t dreaming. You shushed him before scurrying off. Even if Jimmy wasn’t waiting, you had zero intentions of explaining yourself. You shuddered at the thought of trying.

You set the shapely glasses on the table, jolting Jimmy out of whatever dreamland he’d wandered off to. You’d could hardly contain the silly grin on your face; you never imagined you’d be sitting across from him at a diner, but here you were. You playfully plucked the cherry off the top of your shake, dangling it over the frosty rim.

“Did Eve send you?”

A smile cracked across his face, lighting it up. He bowed his head and peeked up at you under his brow, watching the cherry sway back and forth. “Yeah. I mean. Sort of. But I wanted to come see you. I missed you.”

You drew your brows together as you took a sip, thrown off. “Missed me?”

“Yeah. You haven’t been at the show.”

Your stomach tightened. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I didn’t think I did, either.”

Skirting around the glass, he reached forward, and layered his gloved hand on top of your own. The leather was warm, and soft.

“But, I did. And I had to come and see you.”

“You don’t have to wear these, you know. I’m not afraid of your hands.” You could sense his hesitation, and recalling Eve’s words, you were prepared to reassure him until you were blue in the face. “Really. I’m not. I bet they can hold a woman just fine.”

He coughed abruptly, choking on the vanilla strawberry, or maybe his own breath. You almost regretted being so forward, but when his hungry eyes swept up to you, pulling you in, all that concern melted away. You reached up, wiping the tiniest, sticky droplet of shake from the corner of his mouth.

“I mean that though, Jimmy. I’m not afraid of them, and I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’d prefer you over any man that could walk in this diner.”

He searched your face, trying to find a mask, or some part of you that was lying. You had nothing to be gained by lying to him.

“Can we get outta’ here?” He asked.

You spun around in the seat, looking at the clock. You were off in half an hour, and Julie would be here to start the night shift.

“Wait here.” You moved so quickly, you wondered if you were levitating.

“Sam!”

Like a big, old bear, he grumbled and groaned as he turned to face you. Grease stains spotted his apron. His ruddy, puffy face made him appear grumpier than he actually was. He was a bear, but more of a teddy bear than anything else.

“Do you mind if I leave early today? I’ve…” You heaved a sigh. “I don’t mind telling you, the boy I’ve loved for almost four years straight wants to take me on a ride on his motorcycle, and I’m afraid if I don’t get on, I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Sam looked at you plainly, and grunted as he turned, the physical exertion warranting it. He set the spatula down, and pulled the edge of his soiled apron up, dabbing at the sweat at his brow.

“Mmm-hm. You go, Miss Y/L/N. You tell that boy though, if he hurts you, I’ll make him scrape the grease from these here vents with his bare hands for the rest of his life.”

You immediately wrapped your arms around Sam’s thick neck, singing gratitude over and over again. Maladroitly, he patted your head like a child.

“Go on, get outta’ here.”

Your arms were wound around Jimmy Darling’s torso minutes later as you headed down the dirt round out of town. Each bump and dip, you gripped him tighter as the wind whistled past your ears, lifting your hair up and throwing it around wildly.

Once you’d reached the field where the tents stood, Jimmy pulled around back and parked his motorcycle behind his camper. You were nervous, but that wasn’t his fault. Secretly, you wondered if someone saw the two of you, if you’d be an unwelcome visitor. Surely, Eve would vouch for you and pacify the situation, but the last thing you wanted was to cause any trouble. He opened the door, and beckoned you in with a nod of his head.

Inside, you surveyed your surroundings. The last time you were in his trailer, you’d left in tears. Jimmy seemed uneasy, like he knew this, and wasn’t sure if he should offer you a drink or some water. You turned your attention to him and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“We don’t have to talk about things now, if it’s eating at you. We could do anything you’d like.”

“Anything?” He asked, before his lips met yours. He lingered just long enough to ignite a fire in your core. His buttery, warm skin against your cool, powdered face was a titillating contrast, and it made you all the hungrier for him. As quickly as he had kissed you, he pulled away, drawing a distraught whimper from your lips.

“Even that?” He asked, hoarsely.

“Especially that.”

The urgency in which he collided with you again left you no time to react, or to control your reactions, for that matter. Jimmy dug deeper, circling his tongue with yours. You moaned desperately into his mouth, taking fistfuls of his shirt to pull yourself somehow closer. He inhaled a deep breath, taking in your scent.

“I’ve never met a girl who tastes as good as she smells.”

You laughed, almost incredulously and nuzzled yourself into the curve of muscle between his neck and shoulder. If only those horrible women could see this. For whatever supposed setbacks his deformity had given him, he made up for it tenfold in charm. You hated even thinking of his hands as abnormalities or imperfections — they were just as special and manful as he was.

They passed over the small of your back, around your hips, where he curled his fingers around them, clenching around the marshmallow soft mounds. All at once, he hoisted you up into his arms and set you on top of the nearby counter. Feverishly, he crushed his lips against yours again. He withdrew and dove back in over and over again, obsessed with the way you craned your neck forward to follow him every time.

His hands slid up your thighs, gathering your dress up to your waist. Jimmy closed the distance, pressing himself between your legs and grunted, grinding his hips against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat. Through the wool of his pants, there was an undeniable definition pressing against the already saturated silk of your underwear.

You rocked your hips back and forth, pressing back into him. He broke away from the kiss to look down at your bodies, his breaths heavy and laboured. A thin sheen of sweat had crossed his forehead, only enhancing the blissed out expression — but you’d play coy. Breathlessly, you asked if he was okay, and reached up to touch his face. He swiftly brought both of your hands around his neck and scooped underneath your ass once more. You were in the air again, but only briefly before your back hit the wall of his trailer.

Now pinned against the wall, your heart was thudding against your ribcage. Jimmy ground up into you, thrusting his hips in a steady motion. You whimpered. With an open mouth, he moaned against your collarbone. You splayed your fingers out over the back of his neck.

“I want you so much,” you somehow managed to get out, despite the jostling of his thrusting. “So much.”

You heard him blindly feeling for the button of his trousers, fumbling to undo them. You should’ve been nervous, but something about the way you felt he craved you made all that melt away. Without warning, four metallic bangs filled the trailer, startling both of you. You felt Jimmy’s arms tighten around you, pressing you closer to the wall. Like two delinquent teens, neither of you said a word, hardly breathing as you waited, hoping you wouldn’t be found out.

“Jimmy! Showtime!”

It was a deep, male voice riddled with as much impatience as it was authority. Jimmy seemed to have a more tetchy reaction with the way he glared at the door. For having such a dark gaze, there was no shortage of blazing fire when he wanted there to be.

“Let’s go! Don’t make me come in there!” The voice shouted again, followed by another stern set of knocks. You reached for his face, guiding it so that he was looking back at you. His gaze softened into something almost sorrowful.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered in reassurance. You’d waited years to be in his arms, another few hours wouldn’t kill you. Jimmy set you down carefully, stealing one more kiss before straightening himself out, and throwing on a pressed shirt that hung on the edge of a small cupboard. He reached into the waistband of his briefs, and adjusted, hiding the evidence of what he’d been doing. He kissed your cheek, and darted out the door.

The tenth time you saw the show, Jimmy Darling couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you, in turn, were transfixed, and deeply elated to hold his gaze every time he cast it to you. It was the first time that you weren’t sitting in the front row. You had snuck in once the show had started, and leaned up against a wooden pole that stretched all the way to the top of the tent. As soon as he came out, he searched the audience for you — and found you. He flirted with you guilefully, stealing wordless exchanges with you whenever he could. The most wondrous and shocking talent of his entire act was that he kept his cool. He was slick, but not slick enough for Eve — who looked like she was on the verge of laughing for most of the show. When you both disappeared shortly after the curtain fell, she didn’t bat an eyelash, knowing exactly where you two had gone.

“Where is Jimmy, Miss Evie?” Her little voice squeaked. He was the only one not at the table, though everyone besides Ma Petite seemed much too starved to inquire. Her delicate tone and cadence was so pure, Eve almost felt bad having to answer her question when the answer was so impure. Eve set her carefully down on the table, and reached for the radio knob, turning it up. “He’ll be late for dinner, sugar. He has something to take care of.”

“What’s that bit in your act, about your hands?”

Adorably, Jimmy paused, looking off, past his trailer as he searched. He must’ve said that speech every night for years, but he still had to recite it all under his breath, head bobbing back and forth as he reached the line…

“But my pincers don’t hold me back.” You nodded as you ran your fingers over the joined segments. “You wanna’ show me how they don’t hold you back?”

They were longer than a normal man’s digits, and certainly thicker. You inhaled sharply, sheepish. How vulgar you’d become. It wasn’t right for you to think it, and you certainly weren’t going to say it out loud, in fear of scaring him off. Still, the hunger in your gaze was unmistakable and that… you couldn’t hide from him.

Exhaling a breath, he laughed. Like a halogen lamp buzzing to life, his demeanour had changed. He was covetous and hungry and his gaze was leaden as it fell to your waist, and then between your legs. You felt him burning holes through the light blue fabric of your dress, leaving trails of heat everywhere he looked.

“Yeah… yeah, I do.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat.

Gently, he eased your legs open, holding onto your knees to situate himself between them. Ghosting the soft insides of your thighs, he leaned down, peppering your neck with hungry, wet kisses. You returned some of them, nipping at the warm, salty skin.

There’s an age-old phrase that everyone uses for encouragement. “Third time’s the charm,” It implies that after trying something twice and failing miserably, the third attempt is sure to result in luck. That may be true for some people, but ten was more your number, especially when it came to getting lucky.

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4wkjun · 7 months

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daddy sim | sjy

Chapter 2: I kissed you first ➥ Contains: suggestive talk, fluff, swearing. ➥ Word count: 3.3k

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April 23rd, 2022 Saturday

Jake couldn’t be happier. A little scared, but happy. Your lips felt so soft against his, not to mention your hot tongue brushing deliciously against his! He almost fell off the stool when you pulled him closer by the nape of his neck, your fingers intertwined between his soft, recently cut hair.

“I like your hair longer”, you whispered against his lips for a brief moment.

Jake’s cheeks were a soft pink while he looked into your eyes, his pupils dilated as if he just got high from your taste.

“Huh?”

“Your hair”, you repeated, carefully pulling his short strands. “I like it better when you let it grow out.”

“I’ll let it grow, then”, he whispered back with a smile. “So you’ll have something to pull on”, he said directly into your ear.

You whimpered, the alcohol running free inside your veins. No, wait. Jake was running free inside of your veins. You kept your desire to kiss Jake’s plump lips to yourself for this whole year, afraid he’d brush you off by saying he’s into guys.

You wanted to laugh to yourself. You were so used to guys treating you like shit that you just assumed Jake was either gay or just really friendly.

Jake got up off his stool, adjusting his body between your legs. Your hands ran across his neck towards his shoulder blades, your nails slightly digging along.

“God, I’ve been waiting for this for the longest time”, Jake groaned before kissing your lips again.

He tried his best to be self-conscious and keep in mind all of your friends — and all of Jay’s, people you didn’t even know! — were around, avoiding a boner from popping out just from kissing you restlessly. You didn’t care, though. The alcohol made you ridiculously horny, you could ride Jake right there and then.

“What the fuck?”, Yunjin yelled a little too close.

Your girls realized you were taking too long while “talking” to Jake. They got worried you may be arguing and decided to look after you, worried they’d find you upset in a corner. You were not upset.

Jake suddenly pulled away from you, startled. His eyes got big while staring at Yunjin and Chaewon, both soaking wet and forming a little pool beneath them. They both looked ridiculously shocked, their mouths hanging open.

“Girl, let’s go back”, Chaewon laughed, pulling Yunjin by her arm.

“What?”, Yunjin squeaked - literally, like one of those dog’s toys -, her eyes still wide while she got rid of Chaewon’s grip.

Jake chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. You only laughed and leaned your head against Jake’s clothed chest.

“Let’s go!”, Chaewon mumbled between her teeth, pulling Yunjin again.

Yunjin left in complete shock, looking back at every three steps she took.

“Maybe we should come back to the pool, hm?”, Jake said under a shaky laugh. He suddenly felt nervous. Not only he was making out with his (drunk) roommate, but he also got caught.

“Are you coming inside?”

“What?”, he asked after awkwardly clearing his throat. You laughed.

“The pool.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!”, he said in a high-pitched voice. You laughed, intertwining your fingertips in his.

Jake couldn’t understand how he walked you to the barbecue area with his heart in his hand and now he was leaving the same area intoxicated by you. Is this some sort of sick dream?

April 24th, 2022 Sunday

You woke up on the couch, your back flat against something. No, not something. Someone. Jake. You let out a groan as you opened your eyes, the room being way too bright for your hungover head.

Enjoying Jake’s body’s warmth, you closed your eyes again and leaned further against his body. You wished you were the kind of drunk who forgot everything you did while hammered, but you didn’t. You remember every single stupid thing you said and did, including kissing Jake. Well, kissing Jake wasn’t stupid... Right?

You turned around to face him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his — now a lot less intense — cologne filling your nostrils. Your head hurt a little harder by the scent, but you didn’t care.

For some reason, you became ridiculously rational. You really liked Jake — not in a romantic way, but you were attracted to him to say the very least —, you knew what kind of guy he was and everyone already judged the two of you for living together and not being a couple. So now, you had two possibilities in front of you: either he’d wake up and regret everything or he’d wake up and you’d try to make it work. Your heart deserved some calm and healing love like Jake’s.

You spent a while there, your eyes closed and arm tossed around his waist, just enjoying the peace you were feeling. Jake started to shift under your touch and let a deep sigh out, signing he was awake. His hand found its way to your head and he caressed your — a little tangled — hair.

“Morning”, you whispered. Jake jolted in place, surprised by the sound of your voice.

“Jesus, you scared me”, he chuckled. “Good morning, y/n. Comfy in there?”

You nodded, snuggling against his skin.

“Wanna talk?”

“About what?”, you mumbled, your voice still a little hoarse.

“About... What happened?”, he said funny. You chuckled.

“I don’t regret kissing you if you’re wandering”, you said, a little embarrassed. Things were easier to speak while the alcohol was in command. “... And I hope you don’t either”, you whispered feeling your ears hot.

Jake laughed, not believing the words falling out of your mouth.

“Are you kidding me? I’m in love with you for the longest time, y/n. I was scared, waiting for you to kick me out of here”, he laughed.

“Jakey...”, you groaned. “I don’t think I ever allowed myself to like you that way”, you admitted. “You don’t have to do anything with me if that’s gonna hurt you, you know?”

Before answering, Jake hugged you closer, his nose now touching your scalp.

“I don’t mind. I can lure you in, you know?”, he said, joking.

You laughed, caressing his back.

“Lure me in?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me, honey.”

The both of you laughed, way too lazy and hungover to get up. You stayed that way for a little longer, enjoying the moment. Hopefully, none of you would leave this apartment hurt.

May 2nd, 2022 Monday

It’s been a week since you and Jake started “dating”. Between these awful commas, because nothing has officially been said, you’re just acting like a couple. And honestly, things are great that way for the both of you.

The two of you walked inside of the campus holding hands, talking about the last episode of the drama you were watching together. Jake made sure to drop you in front of you in front of the building of your class, saying goodbye with a soft peck on the lips.

You walked inside of the building fanning yourself with your hand, feeling the thin layer of sweat forming on your forehead. The spring wouldn’t be over for another 20 days, but it was already getting unbearably hot.

“Good morning, Wonnie”, you greeted while sitting next to Chaewon. You grabbed your coat from the inside of your purse, getting ready for your class.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sim”, she mocked. You rolled your eyes, looking around to check if Jay was entering the classroom.

“Stop being ridiculous”, you groaned. “We’re just... hanging out.”

“Yeah, sure. You two live together, I bet you’re fucking on top of every surface of that tiny apartment.”

You pouted, feeling your cheeks hot.

“We’re not. We haven’t done anything but kiss so far, I’m afraid it’ll hurt him”, you shrugged.

“Wow, your dick must be huge”, Chaewon joked. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

“I mean it! I want our first time to be special...”

“But?”

“But it’s so hard sometimes”, you sighed. “It’s hard to be a lady around him.”

Chaewon laughed, messing up your hair with the palm of her hand. You groaned, taking her hand away from your scalp.

“Stop it, it’ll be oily!”

She laughed again, staring at you a little more softly.

“I hope things work out between the two of you. You’ll be a cute couple.”

“I know, right?”, you said like a teenager, getting a loud laugh out of her. “Just... keep things down around Jay. I think it’ll be weird if things don’t work out between me and Jake and he finds out.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing”, Chaewon whispered stretching her pinky out. You never break a pinky promise, right?

May 6th, 2022 Friday

“I’m taking you out after class”, Jake said as soon as he stopped in front of your building’s entrance.

“Today?”

“Yep”, he smiled. “I’m gonna take you on a real date, what do you say?”

You stood up on the first of the three small steps of the entrance, being now almost Jake’s height. His hand never left yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

“I don’t think I deserve you, Jaeyunnie”, you said tilting your head.

He typically scrunched his nose, never truly used by people calling him Jaeyun. However, he smiled big before letting go of your hand to hold your face. Both of his hands felt warm against your cheeks, making you pout a little. He placed a soft peck on your lips before letting go of your face.

“I don’t deserve you, silly.”

“Shh, stop being cute and walk away”, you joked. Jake laughed, but obeyed, walking towards the building next door. You turned away, ready to get inside of your building.

Until a hand grabbed your arm. You jolted in place, surprised. Your eyes only got back to their original size when you turned around and found Jay standing right there.

“Jay, what the fuck?”, you exclaimed dramatically, putting your hand on your chest to feel your heart - obviously racing.

“When were you gonna tell me things worked out between the two of you?”, he asked, almost offended.

“What?”

“You and Jake”, he said as if it was obvious. Well, it was.

“Oh...”

“Oh...”, he mocked. “I thought you trusted me!”

“And I do”, you answered exasperated. “I just didn’t want you to think less of me if things didn’t work out!”

“What do you mean if they don’t work out? Did you just miss the whole love session out there?”

You pouted.

“We’re not really dating, Jay... We’re kinda trying to see how things work out...”, you shrugged.

“Ok, you don’t need to explain things to me, silly. We’ve been friends for almost six years, don’t you know I’ll judge you even if you’re doing the right thing?”, he said in a fake expression of love.

You rolled your eyes and punched his shoulder before turning around and walking away. Jay let out a mix of moan and laugh, chasing you.

“Wait for me!”

You felt anxious when the bell rang and determined the class was over. That meant you were gonna go out with Jake for the very first time — as a real date.

You waited for him in front of your building, smiling big when his face showed up in the middle of that many people. You had to bribe your friends so they wouldn’t wait for Jake with you and make a cheesy BGM for the two of you.

“Hi, beautiful”, he greeted.

“Hi, handsome”, you greeted funnily. Jake laughed before pecking your lips. It’s been just a couple of weeks — in reality, not even two weeks yet —, but he felt so addicted to your lips... The poor guy couldn’t get enough.

“Ready for our date?”, he smiled. You nodded, smiling back.

Jake took you out of the campus by holding your waist next to him. He told you about the living hell his last class was and his heart felt full when you laughed adorably at his infamous joke. He guided you through the streets next to the campus, only to find a cozy little restaurant around the corner.

“I have never seen this place before, can you believe it?”, you told him as he held the door open for you. Jake laughed, nodding.

“I can, actually. It used to be a clothing store, the owners sold the place around a year ago. I loved that store, so I decided to give the new owners a try”, Jake explained in a quiet tone while the two of you found your way to a table. “I came here with Jay a couple of times and he agreed it’d be nice to bring you here.”

“You told Jay we’re hanging out?”, you ask softly. You didn’t want Jake to think you were embarrassed of him. Thankfully, he knew you weren’t.

“He’s the reason I kissed you at his party, dummy”, he responded with a playful expression. You laughed, shaking your head. Jake pulled the chair for you and your heart skipped a beat.

“Technically, I kissed you first”, you corrected.

“Only because you backed off the first time”, he responded rolling his eyes. Jake sat across from you with a smile hanging on his lips.

The waiter wasted no time and offered the “nice couple” the menu. It took you a while to decide what to eat, but you were happy with your decision. You chose pasta with wagyu beef, something that reminded you of your childhood — but a lot tastier than your childhood memories.

Your lunch was filled with soft laughs and hand-caressing over the table. It felt way too soon for you to admit something out loud, but your heart was already melting because of Jake.

The two of you had an “argument” about who would pay for lunch — and you lost, because Jake is a real gentleman and wouldn’t let his girl pay for anything! — before walking out of the lovely restaurant and taking a walk down the Han River. You wanted to make a joke about how cliché your first date was, but it felt so perfect that you didn’t have the heart to make fun of it.

Jake seemed upset as the time went by because the two of you only had two hours to spare before going to work. You found a part-time job as a barista in a small coffee shop downtown right after getting into college and stayed there ever since. Jake, on the other hand, jumped from part-time jobs before actually getting hired as a high school physics teacher. He’d only teach during the afternoon, which was a lot more tiring than it sounded. He dropped you off at your job before sadly walking to his.

You got home almost seven p.m. that night. You were so tired, your feet were killing you. For most of the days, things were pretty chill at the coffee shop, but not today. You couldn’t take your break and got home starving, almost chewing your nails on the way back home.

However, your face changed from grumpy to happy as you walked into your shared apartment and found Jake shirtless — as usual — while cooking you dinner. Well, cooking sounded a little odd, since Jake could only cook rice, but he was passionately filling some homemade pizza before shoving it into the oven.

“Hi, babe”, you said while tossing your shoes off your feet. Jake looked at you through the tiny kitchen. Usually, the disposition of your apartment bothered you, because it felt weird to be able to look at the whole kitchen from the hall. But now, looking at Jake cutely cooking for you, it didn’t bother you at all.

“Hi, pretty”, he smiled. He wasn’t gonna say anything, but his heart skipped a beat since you called him babe. “How was work?”

“Tiring”, you sighed. “Whatcha cooking?”, you asked funnily. Jake laughed, showing you the spread dough on the counter.

“Hope you’re craving some pizza, ‘cause that’s what you’re having for dinner”, he said with a big smile. You chuckled and nodded before walking towards him.

You hugged Jake from behind, your hands loose around his waist. Even though you started to “try things out” only a couple of weeks ago, you’ve always been caring towards Jake, but now everything seemed a lot more intense to him. Ah, such a sucker for you.

“It smells good”, you mumbled with your eyes closed.

“It’s not even in the oven yet”, Jake laughed.

“I mean you”, you chuckled. Jake smelled like fresh soap, even though you knew he would probably shower just before going to bed. He felt his cheeks burn as he scoffed.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?”, he asked, masking his amusement behind his humor.

“Depends, is it working?”, you whispered behind his back.

“Unfortunately, yeah”, he sighed. You laughed.

“I’mma take a shower, is that ok with you?”, you asked, letting go of him.

Jake held the urge to say “Only if you let me join”.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead, pretty.”

“‘Kay.”

You walked out of the shower around ten minutes later, wearing your version of pajamas: some wide cotton shorts and a random t-shirt you found in your closet. Your hair was damp, freshly washed and detangled, the scent of your shampoo intoxicating the room.

Jake was sitting on the couch, scrolling through TikTok while waiting for the pizza to bake. You sat next to him, making him drop his phone and look at you. His hands reached for your legs, bringing them to top his as he massaged your calves. You hummed, closing your eyes and leaning against his shoulder.

“This feels good?”, he asked in a whisper. Something about his tone made your stomach turn, so close to being turned on.

“Yeah”, you whispered back. “You’re good with your hands”, you said after a while of silence, reuniting your courage to say something like that.

Jake laughed and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but I’m better with my mouth”, he whispered back.

Your breath got heavier as you lifted your head to face him. His eyes were always almost completely black when he looked at you, his pupils dilated in adoration. Now, however, they were dilated because he desired you so badly.

“Who said so?”, you asked in a shaky breath, trying to sound funny. You failed, only sounding like a psycho girlfriend. Jake laughed, amused to know he could make you swing over your mood.

“I heard it once... But you can always try and tell me differently”, he mumbled before holding your jaw in place. You suppressed a moan when Jake’s lips found yours with eagerness, something that you were about to get used to. You get around to doing something so many times but never finish it.

Your hand squished his on your jaw as his mouth found a different patch. Instead of simply kissing your mouth, Jake’s lips decided to kiss your jawline and neck, inhaling your scent.

“God, Jake...”, you sighed. “It’s so hard to keep my cool when you do this.”

“Then don’t keep it, love”, he groaned before sucking your skin a little harshly.

“I... Don’t want you to regret it when we... You know”, you managed to speak weakly as his lips continued harassing your neck.

“Why would I?”, he asked genuinely, his lips now out of your skin. He looked at you seriously, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know”, you answer with a shrug.

“Are you gonna regret it?”, he asked, caressing your cheek with his thumb. His fingertip reached way too close to your bottom lip, making you anticipate his touch in that area.

“I’m gonna regret it if I don’t let you fuck me now”, you sighed before leaning in to kiss him again.

#enhypen au #enhypen fanfic #jake au #jake sim x reader #jake fanfic #jake smau #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfiction #jake fluff

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fanficsiwillneverwrite · 2 months

Text

Next chapter of my god of war fanfic

you can read down below or go on ao3. M rated for nudity.

The air is hot–ygrós–but Kratos only feels coldness. He walks away with blurred vision, both axe and body lustrated in blood from battle. The dragon is slain. The person who remains is… safe. And yet Kratos cannot shake this feeling of being cold. The coward reveals himself when he is told the danger is no more, grumbling something about lost profits. Will he ever mourn? Kratos hums, rage devouring him—he takes a breath and moves on to the nearest gateway. He finds Lúnda near it, hammering away at some new tool at her workshop.

“Well hiya, handsome,” she greets, looking up. She takes notice of his disheveled form: blood drips from his axe onto her wooden table. Sindri might have gagged and Brok would either laugh or throw a terrible fit, depending on his mood that day. Lúnda simply smiles. “Looks like you got into some trouble there.”

He sets the axe down for her to mend. “There was a dragon,” he says. “It is no more.”

“Was wonderin’ what all that racket was,” she says. “Well, we can all sleep a little better tonight knowin’ there’s one less dragon about. Thanks to you, Mr. God of War.”

He says nothing, simply grunts. Blood rolls from his arm onto his clenched fist, and then drops to the dirt below him.

She takes the axe and begins wiping away the blood. “I’ll fix her right up for ya. Don’t ya worry.”

Lúnda begins the process of sharpening his weapon—and his chest tightens. He sees only their burnt bodies when he blinks. Where is Atreus? Is he eating? Is he well?

“You okay, Kratos?” she questions after a moment.

“Yes,” he tells her.

“Ya sure? You seem… I dunno, maybe a little more rattled than yer usual upbeat self.”

“I am… cold.”

She senses his hesitancy. “Yep. Dragon’s blood can do that to ya.” Instead of pushing him, she returns the axe; he places it in its holder behind him. And her eyebrows lift suggestively. “Nothin’ a nice hot bath can’t fix—say hi to Freya for me, would ya?”

He nods, then sets the hacksilver he owes down onto the table and moves to the gateway. But he stops as the door appears... He hears them scream, even still.

“Something else ya need?”

The door collapses and he returns to her. “Have you…” He stops. Eight years since last they spoke, and even longer since he left to find the Giants. Jötunheimr remains empty with no hope in sight of it being otherwise. His stomach twists. The screams, they roar. “Atreus. Has he visited you during his travels?”

“You’ll be the first to know when he does, Kratos,” she assures. “Same with Sindri—wonder where he ran off to?”

“Thank you, Lúnda.”

He opens the gateway, then moves past the blinding white light awaiting the portal to open again. Blood consumes him. His heart pounds. He takes a breath, and the door opens; the bright light leads him back into the humid night. He shivers.

Home is quiet, empty and dark. He hangs up his weapons before searching for cloth to wipe away the blood. One dangles from Freya’s cabinet. Kratos uses it to wipe his hands. His eyes close—the fire burns and they scream. It is too late. He can do nothing.

Creaky floors awaken him. He turns, shaking. Hnoss stands alone in candlelight. She moves barefoot across the wooden floor in only her night clothes, her golden hair wrapped tightly in a braid to tame it during sleep. She lifts the candle to see him clearly. “Father?”

“Did I wake you?” he questions softly.

Hnoss shakes her head, placing the candle down. She then begins searching through her mother’s cabinet. Finally, she finds what she needs: ingredients Freya uses when there is sickness in the household.

“You are ill?” The back of his hand moves instinctively to check her forehead, but stops at the sight of his own blood. He pulls away.

“My… stomach hurts.” Hnoss looks almost embarrassed as she mixes the herbs into a glass jar for herself. “But it’s just… lady stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

He nods, understanding. It is the way of life. Hnoss and Gersemi are women now, Freya reminds him whenever she feels he treats them otherwise.

“What about you? What happened?” She gestures to the blood still consuming him.

He hesitates. “A dragon.”

“You’ve not… healed yourself yet?” she wonders, sipping her mixture.

He does not answer. “Where is your mother?”

Kratos looks around the empty room, seeing only remnants of Freya: their unmade bed hidden off in the corner, shielded from the rest of the area with a dark curtain; dirty plates on the table from dinner; her sword leaning against the wall beside Býleistr’s bow.

“I don’t know.”

“And Mimir?”

“He went to Valhalla,” she says, “along with Sigrun and the other Valkyries. But… Mother didn’t go with them.”

He hums, wiping his hands thoroughly to clean the blood. Hnoss’ eyes linger on him as he works. She wants to touch him, to heal his wounds, but he prevents her. “You do not need to mend me, thisavre mu,” Kratos assures, his now clean hand squeezing her own to emphasize the fact. And finally, he hears a soft distant humming—Freya. Her shadow dances on the wall from the candle light radiating outside the open window. Kratos sets aside the cloth and gently guides his daughter toward the wooden ladder leading up to the room she shares with her siblings. “Bed,” he orders. “It is late.”

She kisses his cheek, despite the speckles of blood. “Goodnight, Father.”

Outside is a large wooden barrel tub where Freya, for the moment, occupies. The steamy water remains mostly stagnant besides the disturbance of a slight breeze, providing comfort to an otherwise hot night.

Her eyes remain closed, but she senses him as he approaches: “If you’ve come for the bath, I fear you’ll have to wait your turn. The children have been bickering nonstop. I haven’t had a moment to myself all day.” He does not respond, so she opens her eyes. “Kratos?” The water becomes rapid as she sits up at the sight of him. “What happened?”

He trembles. “I have grown cold.”

And she stands, her naked form unapologetically greeting the hot air to be at his side, guiding him down onto a nearby stump. “Kratos,” she repeats, “what happened? Why can’t you heal?”

He takes a moment to find his thoughts. “The sound in the forest was not a troll like Mimir had suspected. It was… a dragon.”

“A dragon? I thought we killed them all after Ragnarök.”

“This one was not native to these lands. It belonged to a blacksmith, who used it for parts. For his weaponry. He cut its horns, removed its claws, plucked its scales… It was caged, tortured, all for the sake of profit. And his children”—he pauses, rage filling him—“treated the creature as if it were their pet.”

Freya leans down, breasts dangling, completely uncaring of her own vulnerable state to care for him. “How horrible.”

He shivers in disgust. “The creature broke out of its cage. And the children…” He takes a breath. “I could not get to them in time.”

She holds him tighter. He clutches her arm. Tears fall. He is not the God he once was, but his past will always come back to haunt him.

“Oh, Kratos… what a terrible thing to witness.”

He responds with a hum. They scream, they burn and he can do nothing. And Atreus’ whereabouts remain unknown. What if… No, he will not let in such thoughts.

“I’ll send word to Sif in the morning,” Freya says. “We will have a trial. Justice will be served.” She steps away, perhaps suddenly realizing how exposed she is, and dons her dressing gown.

He stands. “The cycle continues. It will always continue. A trial will make no difference.”

Her brows raise in disbelief. “It will,” she insists. “You of all people should know—”

“HE DID NOT MOURN!” he tells her, pacing around her. She shushes him. The children are asleep just above them. He continues quieter, “Freya, they were his children. And he did not mourn.”

“What do you want us to do then? Let him go because he doesn’t feel bad about killing his children?”

He looks away, stubbornly. “No—”

“He’s a lost cause. He’s better off dead, is that it?”

“I do not think that.” A younger version of himself might have… No, his younger self would have certainly killed him. There is no question. But he is no longer that God.

“You are letting your emotions take control here, Kratos.”

His fists clench, then release and repeat. She wraps her arms around him in an effort to comfort him and kisses his lower shoulder, despite the blood. Kratos hums at her delicate touch. “And what if his sentencing does nothing?” What if he never mourns?

“We can give consequence,” Freya reminds. “But only he can decide the outcome.”

Her fingers intertwine with the bands around his chest. She releases them from their clasps and his upper armor falls to the ground with a hard clunk. He blinks. “What are you doing?”

“You reek of sweat and blood. What do you think?” He does not understand, but allows her to strip him down. And he transforms into the vulnerable one now, completely naked for all of Vanaheim to see. “You need a bath, Kratos,” Freya tells him when she is still met with confusion. “The water can also assist in healing you.”

She urges him into the tub; he moves back to the stump instead, the screams of his children never leaving his mind. It has been twenty long years since the start of his son’s journey, and he has barely been in contact. “Why has Atreus not returned? Do you think”—he grieves Calliope, but knows not Atreus’ fate—“something has happened?”

“No,” she says firmly, understanding the implication. A fly begins circling him, buzzing radically to get his attention. He blinks in annoyance, but keeps his focus on Freya. “I don’t know where he is but I know he’s not dead somewhere. You taught him better than that.” She crouches so they are eye level, her hand reaching out to caress his cheek. “The Giants have given him a near impossible task. It was never going to be easy. He will return when the time is right. Alive.” She swats the fly away as it settles on his ear. “Now please get in the tub. You are attracting flies.”

Kratos nearly chuckles as he stands. He removes her dressing gown, then guides her back to the bath. “This is your one moment of peace today. I do not wish to take it from you. I will wash in the river.”

She dips her foot in, then her entire leg before stopping. He keeps her balanced with a firm hand. “You know the tub can fit both of us, right?”

“The blood will taint the water.”

She leans in for a kiss before climbing fully in, her hand never letting go of his own. “We can wash in the river after.”

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