#But that doesn't mean I like being pushed far enough that I have to take action
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Steve ends up heartbroken, lonely and depressed after season 2. Nancy called him bullshit, even after he ditched all his old friends for her. Billy Hargrove took his spot at the top of the food chain. He can have it, Steve doesn't really want it anymore. But Steve does want to find some sort of connection. Someone to have in his life who isn't an 11 year old kid he barely knows. He tries to go on a date one night, take a nice-seeming girl to a party. He wants to find connection, to kill the loneliness that's been building for months, but just as he's feeling kind of good about things, his date ditches him.
So. He decides to drink his feelings. He gets majorly fucked up, and ends up laying on the ground in the backyard, contemplating how much life seems to hate him.
Only to literally get tripped over by Eddie Munson, who was at this party selling pot and is very confused as to why Steve Harrington is alone on the ground with a bottle of vodka clenched in one hand.
Eddie ends up chatting a little with Steve, nothing substantial, but enough to know that Steve is very very drunk, and also very very sad.
He asks if Steve wants to go back to the party, and Steve staunchly refuses. He doesn't want to be around a bunch of annoyingly happy people.
He asks if Steve needs a ride home, and Steve just kind of shrugs. His parents just left for another trip, so home is kind of depressing right now too. But he doesn't exactly have any other friends he can stay with so. Home it'll have to be.
Only Eddie can *tell* he doesn't really want to go home, though he has no idea why Steve wouldn't want to return to his veritable mansion after a shitty night. The reason doesn't matter much. He offers to let Steve crash at his place. Steve can take the couch, or hell he can stay in Eddie's room if he doesn't mind sharing, that way he wouldn't risk being woken up when Wayne comes home that morning.
And well, Steve agrees. Can't think of any reason not too. Munson has been nice so far, he's got a good easy-going energy that Steve likes. Why not stay the night.
By the time they get to Eddie's, Steve is *slightly* more sober. Not much, but he's slurring his words a little less, and he can walk with only a little help.
Eddie grabs them each a little plate of leftovers, because he has no idea if Steve's eaten at all. It's quiet while they eat, Eddie doesn't push Steve to talk, and Steve isn't sure what to say. Eventually Eddie sets the plates aside and give Steve an easy grin.
"So, do you want the couch, or are you crashing with me?"
Steve thinks about it for a while. He hasn't shared a bed with a guy-friend since he was a kid, and he's heard rumors about Eddie, whispers in the hall about the way he looks at other guys. But...Steve can't really bring himself to care. He's tired, and he really doesn't want to be alone.
"I don't mind sharing."
Eddie sets them both up in his room, letting Steve choose which side of the bed he wants, and they both settle in. There's a respectable distance between the two of them, and Eddie says a quick goodnight to Steve, figures they won't talk and just go right to bed.
Except Steve isn't sober, and he really isn't in a good headspace, so he can't stop himself from blurting things out into the quiet of the dark room.
"Are you really gay?"
Eddie stiffens next to him, he can feel it, he can hear the way that the other boys breath cuts off and he seems to stop breathing all-together.
"It's okay if you are, I'm not going to be an asshole about it, I'm trying not to be that guy anymore. I guess I was just curious."
It's quiet for another beat before Eddie seems to loosen just a little. He starts breathing again at least.
"Yeah I uh- I am. Gay. And if that's weird the couch is still open, I can-"
"It's not weird."
"Okay."
Steve let's himself mull over this confirmation, and then his mouth starts moving again, without his permission.
"Is it lonely? Cause I mean, it's got to be hard to date in Hawkins. People here are shitty. Unless you've got like, a secret boyfriend or something."
"No...no secret boyfriend. It does get a little lonely sometimes. I'm lucky though, I've got my uncle, and my friends are pretty great. That's enough most days."
"What do you do when it's not enough?"
"Hmmm?"
"When your uncle and friends aren't enough, what do you do? To try and...make it better?"
Eddie is quiet again for a long stretch before he shrugs.
"I try to focus on something else. I'll play my guitar or work on a new campaign, read a book. Something to take my mind off it."
"Oh."
Now Steve is the one who seems tense, his jaw is tight and he's got his arms wrapped around himself. His next words come out as a whisper, but Eddie manages to catch them.
"I don't know how to do any of that."
He sounds almost choked, and Eddie is caught off guard. He's never seen Steve Harrington as anything other than solid, as happy. He's the king, after all. He's supposed to be all smiles and great hair. Only...Eddie's noticed that he hasn't hung out with his old friends lately, that he's eaten alone at lunch too many times to be anything other than strange.
"Steve...are you lonely?"
Eddie expects a denial, for Steve to laugh it off and tell Eddie that he's perfectly fine and fulfilled. Or maybe he expects a shrug, a non-answer. What he doesn't expect is the gut-wrenching sob that seems to tear past the other boys lips.
He doesn't expect to turn and see Steve Harrington's face, a scant foot from his, shining with tears.
He panics a little at the sight.
"Fuck- I'm so sorry-"
"Don't be." Steve tries to wipe his eyes, to hide the tremble in his voice. "Not your fault there's something wrong with me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like I'm broken man, like nobody can stand to be around me. Tommy and Carol hate me now, Nancy- hell even my own parents hate being at home with me for more than a week. It's like I'm repellent or something. Couldn't even get a date to stick around for a whole night."
And Eddie's pretty sure *he* might start crying now. He'd never have expected this much from Steve, all that sadness to come pouring out. It wouldn't have happened if Steve was completely sober. Without thinking, he reaches out.
Eddie puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and waits to see if the touch gets rejected, but Steve seems to lean into him, so he lets his hand linger.
"This probably won't help, but I don't think you're repellent. And that's coming from somebody who your whole group used to torture. I don't know much about you, but I kind of liked having you around tonight."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Steve gives him a tiny smile. His eyes are still wet with tears, and the smile doesn't come close to reaching them. He seems impossibly small here in Eddie's bed.
"I don't know man. I just wish-"
He cuts himself off, apparently deciding his words are too far, but Eddie urges him to keep talking.
"What do you wish Steve?"
"I just wish that... there was somebody out there I could have a future with. Somebody who actually loved me, you know?"
It might be the saddest thing Eddie's ever heard, and he blames that fact for what he does next.
He takes his hand off Steve's shoulders and instead hauls Steve closer to him, fitting the other boy against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It's a move that might get him decked, but he doesn't think it will. And he'll be damned if he doesn't hug Steve right that second.
He doesn't get hit. Steve tenses for a second, but it's just that one instant before he's melting into the embrace.
Eddie feels more tears falling against his shirt, and he couldn't care less. He keeps Steve close, let's him cry into his chest, runs a hand through that famous mop of hair.
He isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to calm down, but eventually he does. His breathing evens out, and he shivers a little before speaking.
"Thanks man."
And Eddie takes another leap of faith.
"I could be that person, you know."
"What?"
"I mean. You know Im... not straight. It may not be exactly what you're wanting but. I think I could picture a future with you. If you want to, just for tonight...I could be that someone who loves you."
Steve looks at Eddie, like he's a puzzle that he needs to solve, before a other shiver seems to wrack his body.
"Just for tonight?"
It comes out as a whisper, but Eddie hears it all the same.
"Yeah. For tonight Steve."
"I think...I think I'd like that."
Eddie gives him the sweetest smile he can muster, and nods.
"Alright sweetheart."
Eddie isn't exactly sure what it means, to love Steve for the night. After all, Steve is straight. He figures it doesn't matter much though, it's only for a night.
He keeps a hold on Steve, let's him get comfortable tucked against Eddie, and he does what feels natural. He runs a hand up and down Steve's spine, traces shapes into the soft fabric of his shirt. He tangles their legs together, and in a moment of insane bravery he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head.
He's met with a sigh, full of relief, and figures he's on the right track.
"Just close your eyes Stevie, I've got you."
"Can you tell me about it?"
"Hmmm?"
"The future. You said you could see one. Can you tell me?"
And he asks so carefully, he sounds almost afraid, Eddie can't say no to that.
"Do you want the fantasy future, or the realistic future?"
"The real one."
"Alright then. Well, if I'm not going to be a rich and famous rockstar...I'll probably graduate and get a job somewhere in town. A real job, maybe working on cars or something. I'm good with cars. You'd come over all the time, have dinners with me and with Wayne. You'd have to meet Wayne. And we'd have more nights like this, sleeping close."
Steve let's out a pleased sounding hum, and shifts his face so it's buried even closer in Eddie's neck. He can feel Steve's breath on him.
"We could save up money and get a little place together, somewhere outside Hawkins. I have to stay kind of close, for my uncle, but maybe Indy?"
Steve nods, mutters something about staying close 'just in case'. He sounds like he might fall asleep, so Eddie keeps going.
"We could get an apartment, nothing too fancy. We would get two rooms, so nobody gets suspicious, but we would share a bed most nights. I'd play with my band on weekends, just for fun, and you'd join some little local sports team. I'd make sure to schedule DND nights so that I never miss a single game, even though I don't understand a damn thing about sports. We would come home for holidays, but most of the time it would just be us. I'd take good care of you, make sure you never go more than a few hours without me telling you I love you. I'll show up wherever you're working just to give you a hug and a kiss, and make sure you don't forget it. And I'll annoy the hell out of, but you won't mind too much, because I'll make you happy too."
Eddie can think of more. He can think about so many things. How he could give Steve one of his rings, even if they couldn't legally get married, even if Steve would never want that. Just as another reminder that he's loved. They could take trips together and go out to parties where Steve will never have to worry about getting ditched. Eddie doesn't do things halfway, and he has a hell of an imagination. He could picture them growing old together, if he tried, if he let himself. But this is just for tonight, so he doesn't. Instead he runs a hand through Steve's hair again, and listens to his quiet breathing. He thinks he may have fallen asleep, but he's wrong.
"That sounds nice."
It comes out muffled, spoken into Eddie's neck, but he manages to make it out, and he let's the vibration of it sink into his skin.
*It's only for tonight.*
He has to remind himself, because Steve is just feeling lonely. He doesn't want that future with Eddie, he just wants to feel loved.
But even if it's just pretend, just to help Steve for a few hours, he's okay with that.
Steve may think he's broken, but Eddie thinks he would be easy to love for a long time. Loving him for one night is nothing. He doesn't even have to try.
Tomorrow Steve will wake up sober, and he'll thank Eddie for letting him stay over, and they won't talk about it. Eddie will drive Steve back to his car in silence, and they'll say their goodbyes. They may not talk ever again, they never had before.
But for tonight? Eddie Munson will love Steve Harrington, and Steve? He'll let himself be loved, let himself beleive it. And he'll love Eddie right back.
Just for one night.
And if Steve ever needs it again? Eddie will love him for another night. And Steve will give that love right back. He's got plenty to spare, after all. And there's far worse people he could share it with.
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington whump#steve is sad#eddie helps#pre-season 4#this takes place between seasons 2 and 3#I wrote this in a fit of insanity while I was supposed to be working#hope yall like it
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FAILING A TEST BECAUSE OF GOJO INCLUDES . . . 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru x reader
ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. gojo being clingy (again), gojo being a tutor, serious gojo wow, cursing.
note. this is a part 2 on studying with gojo includes, took long enough i'm sorry kajsksks
[ PART 1 : STUDYING WITH GOJO INCLUDES . . . ]
failing a test because of gojo includes him practically being on his knees and apologizing for being so clingy to the point it was impossible to study with him.
"'m so sorry, please don't hate me. please still bring me to study with you — i can't stand being so far away from you," he dramatically apologized, hugging your leg.
"i never said i hated you, 'toru." you muttered, trying to brush his grip away from your leg, he was latched onto you like a magnet. it was impossible to pry him off, "get off me or i'll step on you, satoru."
"are y'hearing yourself? i can feel it in your voice, you hate me now!" he whines out softly.
if it weren't for the constant shot of worry and oddness from people passing by — you swore you would have kicked his ass already, "satoru, stop this. don't you have any shame in you? we're in public," he shook his head and buried his face into your clothed thigh.
"it's fine, 'ts not your fault 'toru. i was sure i'm gonna fail that test anyways," you found yourself telling him, tousling his hair back, "so stand up before i kick your ass."
the male begrudgingly stood up, brushing his pants, "well, why didn't you say that? so, 'ts not me but you. you're the problem," he joked, rolling his eyes, brushing his hair back hastily.
"you're not coming to study with me anymore, and i hate you."
cue the color draining from his face, and in a second, gojo was back on the ground, gripping on your leg harder than ever. whining and throwing a temper tantrum over your statement, "take that back, baby. take those words back, you don't mean that."
"y'r right. i don't," you flicked his forehead before pushing his grip off and then sauntering away from him.
failing a test because gojo includes him actually trying to help you study for the make up test — because if you haven't realized, he really does feel bad for being over your head while you were trying to study.
"no, no, baby. you put the x over here, and then just did what i told you before, step by step." he explains softly, pointing the tip of his pencil to an equation.
you mustered out a sigh of exhaustion and did what he told you to do. and miserably failed while trying to do so, your fingertips scratching your scalp in apparent frustration — the material incensed you.
maths. equations. numbers. they weren't really your forte, so even if gojo tries to convince you that he was the main reason for you failing your test; you think it was your brain capacity that failed you during this important test.
"'ts alright baby, don't stress yourself over this — y'know i'm gonna be here helping you, right?" he rubs your nape, squeezing your skin gently, "you're doing good, you just forgot to move the x, 'ts okay. everyone does that."
as much as you try not to overthink about it, moving the x was the first step of the equation. and you got it wrong.
failing a test because of gojo includes him trying to make sure you get at least a fifteen minutes worth of break to ease yourself from the stress. the male doesn't really take no for an answer — so when you tell him no to breaks, gojo manhandles you forcefully (and gently).
"y/n, take a break. you've been studying for four hours," he mumbles into your ear.
"'m fine, just a few more questions."
gojo does not take no for an answer, wrapping an arm around your waist — he pulls you back from the short legged table, tugging you up from the floor and tosses you onto the plush mattress. that was not all, the male wrapped your cotton made blanket around you, solely trapping your body inside it.
"fifteen minutes, and i'll let you go." he mutters, placing a kiss onto your lips before laying on top of your covered body, "stop kneeing my head, i'll get a concussion."
"unhand me." you muttered out in spite.
"stop moving, and stop talking. you're fine with a fifteen minutes break, y/n." gojo muttered back in reply.
failing a test because of gojo includes a "fifteen minutes" break, which in his vocabulary was apparently a two hours nap time together. even then, if gojo hadn't woke up first — it was going to be at least a four hours nap time.
"shit, y/n. wake up," he shook you gently, realizing you had been under his weight all this time, not moving; in the same position, the blanket around your body refusing to give you the access to move even an inch.
gojo unwraps the blanket delicately as you snored your exhaustion away, you had your arms by your side, and your legs were stiffly straight. it was a weird position, like you're standing — but horizontally. psycho.
"baby, wake up. we have to review the materials," it's a little ironic coming from the male who insisted that you should be the one slipping in breaks. he flicked your nose, making your eyelids twitch, "wake up, big baby."
"what time is it?"
gojo grimaces, "don't be angry but the sun isn't up anymore."
you sat up straight, looking at him. eyes tired, "what?"
failing a test because of gojo includes him reviewing the materials one more time before he has to leave — it didn't take long, because he actually took his sweet time correcting you, not even getting angry when you made a mistake in the same equations.
"that's right, you're gonna ace this make up test, baby. i just know it," he mutters out, kissing the side of your head, "'m sorry i made you fail."
"'ts okay, i suck at maths anyways. even if you didn't bother me, i'd still fail — thanks for being patient with me, 'toru."
"'m proud of you," he brushes your hair aside as you focused on the last two questions on the book, "good luck on the test," he whispers, leaning to the crook of your neck, burying his face in it like he belongs there.
"oh, i will. don't worry." you tell him confidently.
spoiler: you did in fact aced the test.
© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#fluff#gojo satoru#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo oneshot#gojo satoru oneshot
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can’t quit you / miguel o’hara
word count: 1642
tags: oral sex, size kink, friends with benefits, strength kink, slight angst, commitment issues
ao3 link: here
summary: you know what an addiction is, and the definition doesn't seem too far off.
a/n: i’d like to add a better graphic but the movie just came out. one day!
small prequel: here
“This is practically breaking and entering,” you tease. You’re less than new to returning from work to a huge form sprawled across your couch. Miguel has no issue making himself at home, at least not in your apartment. You figure it’s a sign that you don’t scream at the sight of him, even if you’re stuck on how weird it is, coming home to a shadow at night and not being bothered. It’s part of his strange charm (and you secretly revel in the fact that he’s only this comfortable with you).
“Wouldn’t have to break in if you’d let me have a key,” he’s entirely serious.
“You know why that can’t happen,” you say, like you’ve had to say a dozen times. Any number of excuses come to mind. You’re emotionally intelligent enough to know that he’s emotionally unavailable, no matter what he says, or thinks.
“I can be your man,” he says with his typical resilience, “more, if you’ll let me.”
You don’t even know what more means, if he’s already in your apartment like it’s his, if he’s already been inside you like you’re his. What will one more step do? You know what an addiction is, and the definition doesn't seem too far off.
“Miguel…” He’s run out of reasons to refuse you. You’ve run out of reasons to refuse him. Nice reasons, at least. But knowing what’s good for you doesn’t mean that’s what you want.
He rises from the couch, and it is a rise. He normally towers over every piece of furniture in your place, over you. It doesn’t take much trying. You’ve wondered if it’s hard for him to always be the biggest thing in the room, but a guy like him probably likes that, likes being unavoidable.
Miguel only knows how to kiss one way, sloppy. When his lips meet yours it’s like all the desperate parts of him come out of hiding. His tongue grazes all parts of your mouth like there’s something sweet inside, and you whimper when you realize he’s swapping spit with you. Even his saliva runs a bit hotter. It makes you pull back, panting in lieu of straight up whining.
“Baby,” he says with your face in his hands, like he knows it’ll make you weak. You try to avoid his gaze but he catches your jaw, squeezed a little the way he knows you like. “No,” he sighs, long and heavy. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna say no now.”
“I’m not saying no…”
Miguel sinks to his knees and looks up at you like you take the wind out of his sails. Being able to look down at Miguel is a hard pill to swallow. “Gonna let me taste that sweet pussy again? Or are you gonna make me beg like you did last time?”
If you remember well, denying him didn’t end well for you the last time. You have flashes of being put in a press, legs to your ears with Miguel growling, talking about the feeling of your wet cunt on his dick, about how good you felt milking him, about how if he didn’t know any better he’d think you want his cum. You didn’t even know he could talk like that, talk about anything other than preserving and protecting. It’s like a switch is flipped when he’s with you, even if it’s been weeks or months between seeing him.
You give an inch and he takes a mile. Lifts your thigh over his shoulder so he can get at what’s between your legs. His hands travel up your thighs, gripping at parts of your flesh just to hear the sighs you make. When he goes under your skirt you expect to feel something, his fingers or tongue, but instead it’s just him breathing against you. Smelling you.
“You’re disgusting,” you whine, flushed anyway.
It doesn’t stop him, probably encouraging him instead seeing as he nestles his face in deeper, grabbing your hips so you can’t pull away. Your squirming only pushes him further into you. You can feel his nose bump your clit, and his tongue pushes fabric against your pussy.
“Miguel, come on.” You feel so ridiculous, even though he can’t see you.
“I want you to beg me,” you hear him say, “I want you to beg me like you made me beg the last time. Bet you feel just as needy as I did. I can hear it in your voice. so it shouldn’t be that hard.” He starts to palm you just to prove a point, dragging thick fingers up and down your slit. It doesn’t take long for you to start soaking through the fabric.
“Please,” you murmur, “pleasepleaseplease.”
“Please what?”
“Please, Miguel, touch me. Touch my pussy.”
“All you have to do is ask, baby.”
You feel him drag your underwear down your legs, toss it somewhere in the room. Then he’s free, free to pull apart your folds so he can see you clench and drip around nothing. He leaves you just like that, before you feel the heat of his tongue, lips following soon after. And it’s not just touching, it’s like he’s making out with it. You can’t help the throb that goes through you, and you’re sure he can taste it in his mouth.
You shiver at the heat of him, aggressive and persistent, not unlike a raging fire. Your body is torn between reactions, goosebumps on your flesh and sweat on your brow.
“It’s ok, baby,” he’s saying, sounding like he’s got a mouthful of you. “I won’t look at the faces you make. I know how embarrassed you get.”
Miguel slides two fingers in deep, and then starts curling. It doesn’t make much of him for you to feel split open. He’s big all over, everywhere where it counts.
“Cute,” he mutters, when you buck against his hand, “you still think you’re strong enough to get away from me.” His words have the intended effect. You feel powerless, so you give in. You’re barely standing on your own feet, his hand and shoulder and face giving you all the support you need.
“I know,” you moan, “I know, I can’t.” You feel yourself gone boneless in his grasp. He has you.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna keep you on my fingers until you soak my hand, and then I’m gonna make us both come, okay.”
“Yes, yes, okay,” you agree without listening, “Miguel, please make me come.”
He takes away his fingers, but not before sliding them against your pussy again, like he’s trying to collect all that drips out of you. When he moans shamelessly into you, and you start to hear a slick sound, you realize that can only mean one thing.
“Are you…” You can’t say the words.
You can hear him fist his cock, spread what he took from you all over his dick, using it as lube. The sound of wet skin so loud you can almost see him. Shlick. Shlick. Shlick. You know how he gets when he’s pent up, how he leaks like a faucet if he hasn’t come recently. You’ve felt him throb in your hand, seen the dark look he gets when your hand can’t even wrap around him. Miguel moans like he knows what you’re thinking, and goes at you harder. You barely feel there, like he’s just using the taste of you to get off.
“You’re wet,” he slurs, like he’s confirming, “‘s gonna make me come.”
“Me too,” you sigh, high on the feeling of him. “I’m gonna come too.” But you can’t yet, not until you see. Your hands are clumsy and shaking as you fumble with the buttons of your skirt. You pop them out one by one until it all falls away and you can finally see Miguel.
He looks as debauched as expected. His jaw and mouth shine with what you’ve done to him, and when his eyes flicker open he looks like he’s under a spell.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is a lilting tease, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.” He looks you straight in the eyes as he leans back in, licks your clit until you whine. You’re right back on the verge of orgasm.
You know he’s close too by the way he shivers. It’s his tell, you’d realized the first time he fucks you. Miguel shakes like the pleasure is too much, and when it finally is you hear it rather than see it. Thick streams of his cum wasted on the floor beneath you. The sound of him so eleated, knowing it’s the taste of you that has him like this, has you right where he wants you.
You grab onto him as you come, feel his strong shoulders tense with the effort to hold you tight. He doesn’t let up with his mouth, licking up all of you until you shake from the stimulation.
It’s not surprising that you teeter when Miguel lets go of your legs, still weak from your orgasm. “Oh, baby,” he says, “if you needed to lay down you should have said so.”
You end up intertwined on the floor, his hand combing through your hair. You can hear him breathe deeply, and the peace of it threatens to send you into a deep sleep. It’s laughable to have him fawn over you like this, when in the morning you’ll choose to go back to separate lives, so much so that you can’t help but joke about it. “You treat all your girls like this?”
“There are no girls.”
“Sure,” you giggle, “so when I don’t see you for a month…”
You don’t believe him for a minute until you look at him, and his face is so honest, so genuine, that in the back of your mind you wonder if there could be a future for the two of you after all.
#marvel smut#marvel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#smut#my writing#spiderverse smut#spiderverse x reader#miguel o'hara#1k#2k#3k#4k#5k
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18+ content, minors dni
it's as if out of habit that one of your hands reaches down between your legs, pointer finger meeting your clit drawing out a low sigh from you. lando's too slow, you think – he's been working on undoing his belt and jeans for far too long now, so it's his own fault anyway. plus, he's been edging you on for what feels like years, fingering you and lapping you up but pulling away just before can come undone. you deserve some kind of release.
you knew you shouldn't have teased him tonight. you know how insecure he is when it comes to you flirting with his friends, especially oscar, and you know how jealous it makes him. and still, you just couldn't help it. the look on lando's face when oscar's hand grazed your thigh was almost too good to be true. but when you do something like this, you also have to take your punishment like a big girl.
do you understand it? yes. will you do it willingly without any complaints? most certainly not.
your boyfriend's eyes land on you when he has discarded his pants, and his hand immediately swoops down to grab your wrist, pulling it away from you. a dismissive 'nuh-uh' sound vibrates from the back of his throat, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. "patience, love."
you whine, the desperate look on your face making lando grin. "you're so mean to me," you mutter, shutting your eyes as if not seeing him will make time pass quicker and help you feel less needy.
but his trademark laughter meets your ears, and it doesn't make things any easier for you. it's a reminder of him, of everything you love about him, and of how much you want him – how much you need him. "oh, you think this is being mean?" he scoffs, a hand reaching for your bare side. "sweetheart, you haven't seen anything yet."
your breath hitches in your throat when his bulge presses against you, boxers already wet with his precum leaking onto them. he grinds up and down your cunt, your slick staining the fabric even further. it's too much already; you're far too sensitive to deal with this. "p-please-" you whine, buckling your hips to get more friction.
"what do you want, love?" a new, incoherent whine slips past your lips, and lando answers with a chuckle. "use your words."
"take... take them off..."
he leans back, and you instantly miss the contact. but then you hear him shuffle around a little and feel the mattress dipping. "as you wish."
you suck in a breath when you feel his touch again, the anticipation in your stomach growing as his tip drags along your folds. and when he pushes the tip right past your entrance, relief washes over you – finally, after so much teasing, you'll get what you wanted.
or, that's what you thought.
lando doesn't go any further. he pushes just a few centimeters into you before sliding right out again. then he repeats his actions yet again.
he's not being fair.
"lando," you cry out, throwing your head back and arching your chest off the mattress. he doesn't answer, too absorbed in the view before him. and to think that he's the only one who gets to see you like this: whiny, needy, helpless. he thinks he's the luckiest man in the world.
he takes the opportunity right as he's presented with it; with the way your neck is exposed like that, how could he not lean down and press his lips to it?
his kisses are sloppy and slow, traveling down your throat and along your collarbones, leaving little lovebites in their wake. you hook an arm around his neck to keep him close and you begin to grind down on him, hoping he'll give in. but he just pulls his own hips back, pulling away from you instead of meeting your thrusts.
"i know i was wrong," you finally get out. "i shouldn't have flirted with him. but don't you think i've been punished enough already?"
he laughs yet again, and the sweet sound irritates you just as much as it turns you on. "hey," he says, pressing one last kiss to the side of your neck. "i want you to look into my eyes as i thrust into you, okay?" he pauses for a second, his breath warm against your throat. "can you be a good girl and do that for me?"
it takes all of the energy in your body for you to nod, before letting your eyes flutter open slowly. your gaze meets his instantly, and it satisfies him completely. you batting your innocent eyes up at him has always worked; you always get what you want.
#f1#formula 1#formula one#lando norris#lando norris smut#lando norris fluff#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x yn#lando norris x y/n#lando norris imagine#lando norris blurb#f1 fluff#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x yn#f1 x y/n#f1 imagine#f1 blurb
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JJK men...dom, sub, or switch?
(ft. Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami)
author's note: just a little drabble??? While I work on smau. might do the other boys too.
warnings: uh straight up SMUT. Too much stuff to list here.
Satoru Gojo: switch
Satoru Gojo, who is the biggest tease. He knows your body like the back of his hand--knows exactly where to touch you, what buttons to push in order to have you writhing beneath him.
"This is where you're weak, right? RIght here?"
Satoru Gojo, who will edge you to the point of tears, and then some. He's mean, really. Plump lips latched to your nipples, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh as he curls his fingers inside you so quickly that you can't catch your breath. He can tell when you're getting close through the way your moans grow louder, the way your walls pulse around him. And just when you're about to tip over the edge, he stops completely, a wicked grin forming on his face at the sight of your pouting, cock twitching in his pants at the sound of your begging.
"Doing so good f'me, pretty. Just a bit longer, alright?"
Satoru Gojo, who is desperate and needy the moment the roles are reversed. He'll do anything to hear your praise, to feel your touch. His brain turns to mush as soon as you wrap your hand around his cock, focused solely on the pleasure you're giving him.
"F-fuck, baby, please--please don't stop, so good, so good..."
Satoru Gojo, who loves hates when you overstimulate him. He's already so sensitive, hips bucking off the mattress as you relentlessly pump his cock, his abs tensed and painted white with strings of his release. He can hardly speak, the only noises escaping him being pathetic whines and half-hearted pleas as you work him through another orgasm.
"Ohhhh, fuck, I can't, b-baby, please. I'm cumming, I'm cumming..."
Suguru Geto: dominant
Suguru Geto, who, despite his seemingly laid-back and calm nature, is the complete opposite in the bedroom. He'll manhandle you into whatever position he wants--doggy is his favorite. He'll have one hand on your waist, keeping an almost bruising grip as the other hand wraps around your hair, pulling you flush against him.
"That's it, princess. Just a pretty little slut for me, hm? Taking me so well."
Suguru Geto, who loves having you on your knees for him. Making you stick your tongue out before tapping the head of his cock against it, reveling in the way your cheeks flush with embarassment. He'll let you take the lead at first, but if you allow him, he'll fist your hair into a ponytail, and use your throat like it's his personal toy.
"Such a good girl--fuck. 'S like you were made for my cock."
Suguru Geto, who will not put up with your attitude. He's normally so patient with you, so why would you be so snippy with him? Push him too far, and he'll have you over his knee before you can blink. He'll spank you till tears are streaming down your face, and then he'll put his fingers to use until the only word you know is "sorry."
"Can't take anymore? Oh? Why are you so wet, then? I've barely even started, lovey."
Kento Nanami: dominant
Kento Nanami, who uses you to rid himself of his pent-up frustration. His favorite way to do this is by having his tongue between your legs. Him, knelt in front of you, or you sitting on his face--he doesn't care. Either way, he's hooking his hands around your thighs, and sucking on your clit until you see stars.
"Taste so good, love. Just one more for me, okay? You can do it. I can never get enough of you."
Kento Nanami, who puts his tie to work in more ways than one. Sometimes, he'll blindfold you, rough and calloused hands tracing along your body until you're pleading for him to touch you where you need it most. Other times, he'll tie your hands behind your back, or above your head, and have his way with you.
"Fuck, you're so perfect. Squeezing me so tight. Gonna fill you up, yeah?"
Kento Nanami, whose mouth is uncharacteristically filthy compared to his composure outside of the bedroom. He won't degrade you. He couldn't imagine doing that to his sweet girl. But he loves to humiliate you; loves to see the way you avoid his gaze, as though you can hide from his words.
"Soaking through your panties, and I haven't even touched you yet. Is that all it takes, sweetheart? Don't hide from me. Let me see you."
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk smut#Satoru Gojo x reader#gojo x reader#Gojo smut#Satoru Gojo smut#Suguru geto x reader#geto x reader#geto smut#Suguru geto smut#Kento Nanami x reader#Nanami x reader#Nanami smut#Kento Nanami smut#nanami headcanons#geto headcanons#gojo headcanons
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just some over-affectionate yan!sato blabbering
yandere satoru hasn't really snapped at you, he just doesn't. always playful, always an embodiment. waking you up with peppers of kisses, making sure you have your favorite breakfast, making sure you relax around him. he even indulges in your silly little hobbies, all for the sake of making his baby comfortable. if you like painting, he is going to buy you all the colors there are, premium quality canvas boards and everything you'd ever need to bring your imaginations into reality. digital art? then you have an ipad with procreate and a pencil, anything and everything you need.
he doesn't say it but he is extremely observant, he even notices things like your skincare before you were kidnapped, and goes out of his way to upgrade it if needed. he can be a little pesky at times. what if his baby is using the wrong skin-care? probably going to fly you to the skin and beauty land 'korea' to have your skin checked, and then buy you the 'recommended' skincare.
same with aesthetics, you like wearing a certain type of fits, you have them littered in your closet room. he prefers changing styles and wouldn't mind upgrading/donating your wardrobe when you're also bored with the same ol' things.
your room is a mixture of everything you are, and trinkets of satoru in it. you are really not allowed to sleep in your room though. it's your space, just your happy corner. it doesn't have a bed. it has plush couches that are better than most beds, neon-light which speaks of your name and scented candles, perfect desks with the perfect desk mats. you just need to sleep with satoru.
he gets specifically testy when you really don't want to give him company at times. why? hasn't he done enough? most people would kill to be in your place. that's when you can see the cracks in his carefully calibrated persona he harbors for you.
he is usually very mellow, clingy and would be so playful you often forget how strong he is. "baby- but i want cuddles!" satoru whined, pulling you close to him while you squirmed when you weren't in the mood. satoru hasn't really pushed himself sexually, but he treats you like a pet in other stances. meaning - if not huggable why so cute? so you can't really escape from him during those times.
if you really, really try hard. his laughter, soft eyes, all of it drops. the usual high-pitched excitement too... "i will count to three. if you don't really come to me, there would be consequences." you haven't really checked on what the consequences are because that sets you straight instantly.
satoru HATES when you fear him, some part of him snaps so hard at that he ends up scaring you more. this happens when he's pissed about something and you flinch/wince at his tone. he hasn't done anything to make you scared... yet? though sometimes the way he comes home... reeking of dead curses, reeking of torment and torture. you automatically end up fearing him.
there was one time you took things too far, taking his leniency too far and going out without asking him. he hasn't locked the doors like a barbarian and you're making him question if he should... that's when he took you to one of his missions. shaking, quivering as you cling to him while the curse in front of you begged for death, for being exorcised while satoru made sure it healed and then continued his torture. blaming it on you as you sobbed, anxiety and palpitations all over you. "see, this is what i do... when you don't behave. you cause pain from me to others." he just wants you to know he is/can be fucked up.
would eventually feel extremely bad when you throw up from the gore and anxiety and finish the job, bringing you home and forcing you in his arms, crying with you at how bad it makes him feel to see you like this. how he would kill himself than making you cry, though a part of him is grateful that you wouldn't really go against him for a long, long while.
whenever any action done by him fucks you up, satoru takes responsibility of undoing it. even if sometimes he needs to make sure you stay with him, no matter the consequences... he would try his best to make up for it. always pestering, always kissing you, praising you for being so good to him even if you're not, behaving like an ideal boyfriend to the point where even you start suspecting if the problem is you.
he loves so sickeningly hard you end up deluded enough to consider yourself the 'toxic' one. :3
#gojo satoru#yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojo imagines#gojo hcs#jjk imagines#jjk hcs#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fluff#gojo fluff
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Masturbation Headcanons for Law, Zoro, Kid, Sanji and Killer? 🔥🔥🔥
i like the way you think anon :^)
masturbation headcanons (nsfw)
ft. zoro, sanji, kid, killer, law || masterlist
18+, mdni, nsfw, cw: masturbation, jerking off in the shower, mentions of rough sex, zoro being scrungly, mutual masturbation, law is a bastard man, getting caught in the act, sanji being loud, sanji being sanji
zoro
he doesn't jerk off very often; he's fairly self-disciplined, and only takes care of his base urges when he really needs to. it's usually quick, efficient, and in the shower. definitely cums down the drain and doesn't care that other people use the shower... the water cleans the floor off anyways... right?
one day, he accidentally discovered that he likes his balls played with, and usually fondles them with his free hand while he strokes himself. it feels good and gets him off quicker, killing two birds with one stone. he is a bit embarrassed about it and will never tell you how much he likes this, so you're going to have to figure that one out on your own. ;)
if you're in a relationship with him, he'd rather go to you than do it alone. sex isn't something he paid much mind before getting into a relationship with you; all of a sudden, what once was a simple chore to get rid of the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach becomes a lot more than that. after being with you, it takes a lot to get him to the point where he feels the need to jerk off (like being apart for a while).
sanji
this man was cursed with a ridiculous libido that he doesn't know what to do with. he gets off all the time, whenever he feels like he can get away with it. the mere sight of a beautiful woman sends his heart pounding, and he needs to take care of it or he slowly drives himself insane.
sanji is the ultimate whiner, and is far louder than he really should be; no one else says anything to him out of the sheer awkwardness that the situation would create, but everyone on the sunny has been subjected to hearing his pathetic whimpers at least once.
he tries so hard to not get off by himself once he enters into a relationship with you, but he's so filled with constant need that he can't help it sometimes. guilt plagues his chest if you end up catching him in the act, but he perks right back up if you offer to help him finish up.
kid
takes care of himself frequently. he's a large man with large needs, and that applies to his sexual appetite as well. he'd rather hook up with someone for the heightened thrill, but his own hand does well enough in a pinch.
losing his left arm made it difficult for a while; even if it wasn't his dominant arm, he still was used to being able to grip at his own thigh, or the bed sheets beside him as he fucks into his hand. occasionally, phantom limb pain rushes over him and makes him involuntarily edge himself (which makes him furious).
he's rough in bed and often puts you out of commission for a few days. he doesn't mind jerking off in the mean time, as long as you're in bed getting off beside him. it keeps his mind occupied and when he comes, it feels ten times more intense when he's watching you put on a show for him.
killer
fairly well-adjusted in the membrane, jerks off a normal amount. he can swallow his urges down when appropriate, but also doesn't push them down to the point of getting pent up. he prefers to jack off in his room for a bit of privacy (that he rarely gets since kid is usually attached at the hip to him).
when he knows he's needed back at his post quickly, he's silent and efficient about it, but when he has some extra time to himself, he can get a bit loud. he cums a lot, spurting thick, white ropes along his torso, so cleaning up is usually more of a hassle than it really needs to be.
he prefers having sex with you to getting off alone, but also won't pester you if you're clearly not in the mood, and will quietly slip away and take care of things himself. he's stealthy and difficult to catch, but on the off chance you find him, he'll be extremely embarrassed, and it will take a bit of convincing if you want to take over and finish him off.
law
oh my god, this man is the biggest stress-jerker. dealing with difficult emotions? he's getting off. frustrated that one of his plans didn't work out? door is locked and his hand is already down his pants. something mildly vexes him? he's fisting his cock.
he's fairly brutal, going at it with an iron grip. every ounce of the negative emotions he is dealing with are imbued in each stroke in a desperate attempt to release them into the aether.
being in a relationship with you curbs his habits a slight bit, but the urge to temporarily relieve his stress with the dopamine rush of an orgasm is too addictive to let go. when you catch him in the act, he just grumbles and uses shambles to bring you closer, and tells you to quit watching and take care of it yourself.
#one piece x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#eustass kid x reader#eustass kidd x reader#sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#black leg sanji x reader#killer x reader#massacre soldier killer x reader#killer x you#zoro x you#law x you#eustass kid x you#sanji x you#zoro smut#law smut#one piece headcanons#one piece fanfiction#one piece scenario
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IT'S A NEED - CHOSO KAMO
✴︎ summary: after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you.
✴︎ contents: 18+ only, angst then smut, choso is confused about human emotions, he doesn't know if he deserves love, making out, groping, sex (p in v), handjob (f! + m! receiving), semi-public sex (sort of), pet names (love, pretty, lovely)
✴︎ wc: 1,965
“Why did you take that hit for me?” his words come out in a hiss, a rush of breath that he forces out between gritted teeth, as if he was both afraid to ask and afraid not to, “it was foolish, it was unnecessary—”
You blow out a sigh between your pursed lips, as you rest against a damp sheet against cold concrete of a corner of Shibuya that currently wasn’t under attack — the not too distant groans of other injured not too far, but far enough for your privacy, “You know why I did it, so why are you asking that, when you mean to ask something else?”
And you knew him — knew him a little too well for someone who only had known him a few weeks now? Is that how long it had been since he had joined up with sorcerers? Switched sides to protect his little brother — and somehow, he ended up here — sitting next to you instead of him. Yuji could handle himself — he had faith in his brother — and he knew you could too. A skilled sorcerer — he saw your skill firsthand from a distance during the fights in shibuya, and then up close when you nearly caved his head in when you found out how he almost killed Yuji.
Is that when he first started to like you?
He didn’t know.
Could he even have such emotions? He had never known any sort of love, except for that of his brothers. But that was natural? To care for his family, to watch after them, to protect them, to avenge them. And anything that helped him achieve that goal, was worth it was it not? Even if it came at the cost of a different life, right? His eyes slid to you again, so why did it huqrt so much when he saw you crumpled on the ground, blood pooling on the cement around your abdomen, the same blood he didn’t think twice about when it spilled from other humans or sorcerers alike. Now, it was different.
He was different — maybe you were, to him.
“What question am I asking then?” he finally asks, as you only sigh again, eyes fluttering open to look at him with that same gaze that felt as if you were looking right through him.
“You’re asking me why I thought you were worthy of being saved in the first place?” and his mouth parts — words ringing in his ear.
It was true — he was a cursed womb — a mixture of curse and human blood that never was supposed to exist in the first place, a thing that has no other purpose in this world, aside from his brothers. And especially after the things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the harm he’s caused, and even the body he walks in now isn’t his own, but a person killed for his gain — how was he worthy of saving? How was he worthy of the risk of your life?
“And what’s your answer?” he asks, his voice growing raw, as he can’t bear to look at you, his gaze fixed on his lap, and he doesn’t see you push yourself up, sitting, as you stare at him, lips curling in a small smile, as you leaned over, fingers brushing against his cheek, that finally pull his gaze back to you.
“Because you’re Choso, because you deserve to be saved, you deserve the same kindness you’ve given to us,” your fingers are so gentle against him, had he ever been touched so gently before? His eyes almost feel the urge to shut, and just indulge in the feeling of your skin against his, “you didn’t ask to be here, you were manipulated, you were controlled, and you were forced to be a pawn,”
“But that doesn’t change—”
“It doesn’t change the hurt you caused, no, but that’s not who you are now,” you force him to meet your gaze, lips curled in a smile, “and who are now is definitely worth saving,”
“But why?” he still doesn’t understand, he still doesn’t see his worth, and you give your third sigh, before your other hand finds his shoulder, pulling him closer, a breath away.
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Choso?” your words warm his lips, and send warmth to the tips of his fingers, warmth he hadn’t known since he had been forced to come back. And all he can feel is your hands against him, all he can see are your eyes gazing at him the way he thought anyone would, and all he can think about is when your lips are finally going to touch his, “because I think I can only show you now,” and your thumb finds his lips, dragging down the bottom one, “would you want that?”
And his eyes flutter, a sharp intake of breath when your finger touches his lips, “I don’t think I’d like anything more,” he whispers, his eyes falling to your lips, as you lean forward.
Your lips brush his, featherlight, as if you worry he’d recoil, he’d run, he’d leave, but he does none of those things. Your lips part from his and he’s staring, as you do, before his lips seek yours again. And this time, he’s sure.
His lips surge against yours, as you melt into his touch, as gentle as can be — those same hands used to slaughter, now grazing your sides as if you’d break apart in his hands. And he didn’t care if the world was falling apart — and it was all around you both — if he could have this moment with you, maybe it’d be worth it.
“What is this hold you have over me?” He murmurs, and you’re pulling him closer to your tattered blanket against the concrete, fingers running through his hair making him shiver, “you touch me and I can’t think straight, I can’t—“
“Then don’t,” you murmur, your lips pressing butterfly kisses to his jaw, “give in, let me love you,”
And he does, relinquishing his thoughts and worries in exchange for your touch, and his hands find your waist, as you move slowly, climbing into his lap, making him grunt, before concern flickers across his features.
“Your injuries—“ he starts, but your lips brush against his ear, lips curved against the soft flesh.
“Are not as serious as how much I want you right now,” your words send a shiver down his spine, as your lips find his again, and you swallow his groan with pleasure. Your tongue parts his lips, as you taste him, fingers carding through his jet-black locks, fingers pulling at the ties in his hair, pulling them around your wrists, “I’ll keep them safe,” you tease, you tug teasingly at his hair making him gasp.
You’re pulling moans and whines from his lips, as you part from him for a moment, breaths coming as pants, as you press your forehead to his, taking in his now kiss ruined lips and violet irises glazed with lust, “so pretty,” you coo, “too pretty, Choso, how am I supposed to resist?”
And your fingers find their way to his belt, pausing, “is this okay?” Your hand cups his cheek, thumb brushing the length, and he’s nodding wordlessly, as his fingers find yours, undoing his belt and letting his robe fall open.
Your breath catches as you see him, your fingers dragging over his bare chest and abs, your eyes finding your way to his cock — it was so pretty, long and thick with a pretty pearl of precum. And your gaze is hot, hypnotized, “all this f’me?” You murmur, making him swallow, and then gasp as your fingers trace the vein running up the side. Your lips curl, “oh we’re just getting started, baby,”
Your fingers curl around his cock, your thumb rubbing against his slit, making him hiss, “I—“ his hips stutter against you, bumping against your damp shorts, making you groan. And he was so good in your hand, how good would he feel inside?
No, not yet, you wanted to make him feel good first.
“It’s okay, just breath,” your fingers tease his head, smiling as his head lolls back, and your hand begins to stroke him, spreading the precum along his length, “I got you, let me make you feel good,”
And your hand squeezes at the base, and he’s groaning your name, like a curse, as your other hand teases his balls, before you’re slipping off his lap, pressing his tip against your lips, painting them with his precum.
“You taste so good, Choso,” you lick your lips clean of him, tasting his salty precum.
“Please, love,” he’s murmuring, a whine in his throat, his fingers pulling at your clothes, “I want you—I want you to feel good too,”
And you smile, guiding his hands to your shorts, “Are you sure?” You murmur, kissing his neck, “we don’t-“
He’s pulling your shorts off, as he’s lowering you onto the sheet gently, tugging them off, his calloused palms parting your soft thighs. And his gaze darkens, half lidded with lust, “You’re lovely,” his fingers brush against your soaked folds, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp, “you like that?” He hums.
And he’s leaning down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, “Choso, please—“ and his breath warms your cunt, pressing a kiss to your dripping pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I need you—“
“What do you need, pretty?” His velvet words are thick and slow like molasses, settling warm heat over your skin, as his hands draw up your thighs around his waist, “do you want my hands? My lips?”
And your hips roll against him, his tip bumping against your cunt, “what do you think?” And he’s hissing, before he’s grasping as his dick, teasing you with his head, “fuuuck, Choso,”
“Not so loud,” he murmurs, “someone could hear us, see you all spread out for me, and this view is just for me, lovely,” and his cock is parting your folds, both moaning in synchrony, your walls fluttering around him, “so tight, pretty, so fucking wet,”
You think he’s even prettier, brow furrowed and forehead slick with sweat, kiss bitten lips parted in a pant, and his violet eyes fluttering. And he’s bottoming out in you, his hips pressed against you, “so good, so perfect,” he’s murmuring, and he’s pulling out only to thrust back in. His strokes are languid at first, before he’s fucking you in earnest, hips snapping against yours, “.
“Choso, fuck, please, I’m close—“ your back is arching against him, and his lips find yours again in a searing kiss, as his fingers reach down between the two of you, and press against your clit, just as his hips piston into you just right with deep long strokes, until your walls are clamping down. He doesn’t last much longer, his hips stuttering against you, until he’s moaning, his hot load painting your walls white, as he fucks his cum into you.
And he’s panting above you, as you pull him into a sloppy kiss, pulling him beside you, as he slips out of you, making you whine at the emptiness.
“Don’t think that was part of Shoko’s instructions for recovery,” you murmur against his lips, as you grin, “but it was definitely needed,”
His lips curl, as he’s pressing kisses along your jaw, “So you need me, huh?” and the question fills him with warmth, just as you have, a sort of purpose he had never had, aside from his family — a want for him that he had never thought he’d be lucky enough to have.
And you only smile, pulling him into another kiss, “Why else do you think I took that hit for you?”
✴︎ a/n: new episode did something to me. i have a longer fic planned for choso, but this will have to do for today :). yes i'm posting this in the middle of the night, sue me.
✴︎ tag list: @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @kemitoi, @thecooldino, @moonnime, @bontensbabygirl, @wretchedinfinity, @lemonpoppy-seed, @ichikanu, @snowscaping, @kamikokii, @fwankieero, @ssaraexposs, @astridyoo15, @cascading-escapist, @sniffsnoffsniff, @raddiplomatshepherdhero, @nverwashere, @n00v4, @unohanaswetdream, @staygoldsquatchling02, @anime9ja,
#sab [mlist]#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#choso kamo#choso#choso x you#choso kamo x you#choso smut#jjk choso#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#choso jjk#kamo choso
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Dragon cocks - Neuvilette/Zhongli - drabble + mini story
Kinktober 2023: Dragon cocks - Zhongli/Neuvilette seperate
Reader is always fem aligned!!!
• Sorry for the delay but I wasn't home yesterday after 10 p.m😭🙏
CW: Zhongli is your partner and Neuvilette your boss, Mating session, Non-human body parts (horns, tail and cocks), breeding (Neuvilette mentioned and Zhongli), sexual daydreams of the reader (Neuvilette),a Manhandling (Neuvilette) Cunningulus (Neuvilette), Rough sex (Zhongli), Blowjob (Zhongli), Hair pulling (Zhongli), Double Penetration (Zhongli)
Neuvilette:
Neuvilette that begs you to let him use you... All he wants to do is to fuck that pretty, tight, little pussy of yours till you're full of his cum. His mind is flooded with images of you whining and begging him to slow down, while he's pounding you till tears starts streaming down your cheeks. All of the daydreams he's having of you because of his incoming rut is making him wild with lust.
Neuvilette that can't get enough of your natural scent, smelling you from far away that no human ever could. His eyes narrow with want when you walk over to his office desk wearing that skimpy A-line skirt, the second dots of your blouse unbottoned that he had the perfect view of your cleavage.
You notice his intense gaze on you and your body, his tail swishing behind him hard and thudding against the floor.
,,Monsieur Neuvilette..? Are you feeling alright?"
Not a long moments later, you're pushed against his wooden desk, his soft lips smashing against yours while his big hands roam desperately over your body.
Neuvilette is so needy for you, wanting to make his dirty daydreams about you come true. Having your consent and seeing the blush on your cheeks is enough for Neuvilette to take control and rip your clothes off your body, kissing his way down your body till he reaches your wet pussy.
,,Mmhm god you smell so good..." Neuvilette groans out, pushing your panty to the side to take a whiff of your scent and not a second wasted his lips wrap around your erected clit, sucking and licking it like his life depends on it. He wants you to cream on his face.
Rounds after rounds where he makes you come over and over again, edging himself he finally sinks into your awaiting and overstimulated pussy and at that moment on, he knew that this wouldn't be the last time.
Zhongli:
Zhongli was completely different when it was dragon mating season. He was ruthless, rough and clearly mean.
You were gagging on one of his cock, the almost spiky tip, hitting the back of your throat over and over again while his other cock was rubbing over your face, smearing it with his pre-cum. Zhongli was so mean, calling you degrading names and praising you. Telling you that you're his good little slut and his to breed whenever he wishes.
His hands are wrapped around your hair, guiding your head like he wants to and thrusting his hips into your mouth just to hear your gag and choke around him.
,,Archons.. Enough." His voice was rough, pushing you off him and looking down at your teary eyes, grinning proudly. He wanted to fuck you, now.
Zhongli pushes you against your shared bed, manhandling so you're laying flat on your stomach while he's spreading your ass cheeks to the side to look at your glistening cunt, spitting on it before tapping his cocks against your entrance.
,,Zhongli..out it in already!! A-Anhh!~" *He couldn't hear your whines anymore. He thought he did a good job about shutting you up to not complain anymore but he was wrong. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his cocks as he thrust in one swift motion into your wet heat. You mewl out, the stretch being so good but also so painful yet you cream around him from that alone.
Zhongli promises himself to breed you throughly, so you won't get away from him until your belly can't take much more cum from him...
Tags: @exodiam @cringeycookies @joohoneybeee
#chysalxsm#smut story#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#zhongli x reader smut#zhongli smut#zhongli genshin impact#neuvilette smut#neuvillette smut#neuvilette x reader smut#neuvillette#neuvilette genshin#neuvillette genshin impact
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quick rin hc because i need these thoughts to go somewhere before it eats me alive.
when you first starting dating itoshi rin, you never thought he'd be the clingy type.
and your theory proved true for the first few months of your relationship. most physical affection was initiated by you, you were the one holding his hand, latching yourself onto his arm, and leaving kisses on his cheek so that if he was uncomfortable, he could easily shake you off.
not that rin ever did. if you weren't so nervous, you would've seen the crack in his apathetic facade, his face turning a traitorous shade of red.
well. now that you're a year or so down into the relationship, it's safe to say that you were very wrong about your assumption.
itoshi rin loves by making his mark. he's only happy once he's sure that everyone knows who you're with.
whether that's with a protective arm around your waist, paparazzi photos of the two of you together in your own little world, or showing you off in clothes of his (or hickeys), rin will happily give you all of him.
he gets a little too grumpy when you start your day before him, making him miss the chance to cherish your warmth and admire your beauty for a little longer.
he pats your side of the bed blindly and groans when he doesn't feel you there, the space pitifully empty when he lugs his body over to where you should be. rin should get up and find you, really, but he hates starting the day when you're not the first thing he sees.
fortunately for him, you hear him from where you were doing your morning routine in the bathroom.
opening the en suite door, you're amused to see your boyfriend like this, subtly distraught and splayed all over the mattress.
"good morning, you," is what you say to him whilst walking over, now feeling rejuvenated and ready to start the day. that was your first mistake because rin then all but drags you down onto the bed with him, encasing you in his arms.
he hasn't even said good morning back.
"hey! let go, jerk!" you huff, hitting his chest lightly.
"no."
"rin!"
"no."
"what do you mean-"
"no."
"rin, c'mon, let me go."
"no. now shut up, wanna hold you."
as if helping his argument, he throws the covers over the two of you, sighing quietly in satisfaction when you return his affection, amused enough to listen to his command. "y'know it's 9am right now. shouldn't you be doing your workout?"
"don't care. shut up."
"so mean. you're lucky i'm with you, even if you're horrible," you say, mostly as a joke. he can tell by the airiness of your voice, but rin stills a little in your arms before pushing more of his weight on top of you, placing a kiss to your jaw for good measure. several kisses, actually.
"shut up. please?"
"you're so stupid," the breathy laughter that escapes you only causes rin to tuck himself further into your warmth.
rin also gets a little too grumpy when you tell him that you're going out with your friends. at this point, he stops bothering to hide his disappointment. paired with a pout, he looks at you with such glossy eyes when he asks 'what about our self-care night?' that you have to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks and kiss him silly.
you promise him another night and he's placated when you tell him that you'll give him a full spa treatment.
he grabs onto your shirt to avoid you straying too far. whenever you’re together and see something in a store window, you take a few steps before being inevitably dragged back by itoshi rin, who has a masterful poker face plastered to counter your ‘why did you do that?’ expression.
'don't go where i can't follow' type of boyfriend- why is he dramatic... like babes... i'm going to the bathroom... no you can't come with me...
anyways i'm shutting up now before i ramble too much. so. yeah. clingy!rin is really just... something else...
#not proofread at all#incoherent word vomit is the way to describe this#back to studying#itoshi rin x reader#rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#itoshi rin fluff#blue lock fluff#itoshi rin x you#rin itoshi x you#blue lock rin#itoshi x reader#blue lock itoshi rin#itoshi rin drabble#itoshi rin#itoshi rin bllk#blue lock
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can you do angsty ellie headcanons? maybe how she reacts in a fight/what makes her angry? or ellie being mean to reader and having to apologize??
a/n: of course!!! this is NOT proofread... and there is some ai audios at the bottom... enjoy!
angry gf ellie
ellie does her absolute best to not get upset with you
like she really does because her mouth is a bitch when she's mad
but sometimes you take things a little too far and ellie has to fight with herself to not lash out at you
"ellie, i wasn't actually flirting with her. i was just trying to tease you." you would say in a worried voice as you watched her pace the room and avoid eye contact with you
"in what fucking world would you think i would like that?" she would spit out, flinching at her own tone
"i jus-" you try and justify it but you know you have pushed her a little too far
she would probably cut you off with the sound of your name, her voice much gentler this time
"can you just go? i need to be alone right now."
ellie is also very good at the silent treatment which drives you crazy
she would avoid you for days after the incident, not wanting to get in a full-fledged fight with you
she keeps imagining you playfully laughing and touching someone else's forearm and it drives her crazy
she doesn't even know why you would do something like that, was she not giving you enough attention?
so she would end up at your door late at night with her foot in your mouth
upon seeing your tired face, probably from the stress she caused you, she would immediately fold (ellie is such a simp it's embarrassing)
she just forgets what she's mad about when looking into your sad eyes, your face already in the palm of her hand
"baby," she would coo
"'m sorry els, it was so stupid. i don't even know why i thought that was a good idea because if you did that to me i would probably lose my mind, so please don't break up with me. i promise it will never-" she would watch as you rambled on but get absolutely thrown by the 'don't break up with me' comment
"hey hey hey, who said anything about breaking up? i was just upset, is all. don't like seeing my girl touching anyone else, yeah? we're okay, i promise." she does her best to reassure you, but when the worried look on your face doesn't go away she decides to press a kiss on your forehead
"you promise?"
"i promise. -- now are you going to invite me in? it's fucking freezing out here!"
ellie only gets angry at the sight of two things: you with another person and you injured
it's why she tries her best to be the only one who goes on patrol with you, but since shifts rotate sometimes you have to go with someone else
and that someone was jesse, who you loved but who ellie hated for you to be on patrol with
she knows what you and jesse are like around eachother (distracted) and you always come back with a few extra scratches when you're out with him
this time you came back on the back of jesse's horse with blood dripping down your forehead
upon seeing you ellie is immediately fuming and running out from the shelter of the stable to help you off the horse
she tries to be gentle in helping you down but she's shaking and your blood has started to drip onto her hand
"what the fuck happened, jesse?" she says in a huff as the men in the stable rush over to help her get you down.
"raiders, they just came out of nowhere." he sighs, hand on his head because he knows he's about to get it from ellie
"they came out of nowhere? or were you just not paying any fucking attention?!" she glared at jesse as you toppled over into her
"c'mon baby, you're okay." she'd press a kiss to your forehead ignoring jesse as she got you to the infirmary
but once you were all stitched up and alert? she was on you in an instant
"you always do this and i tell you every time that one day it's going to cost you your fucking life! and that day was almost today! -- do you know how lucky you are?"
you were just blinking up at her with your eyes wide, it shocked you that when you finally came to you were recieving a lecture from your girlfriend
"ellie, i'm too tired for this."
"oh, you're too tired? imagine how tired i am! how tiring it must be to wait for days not knowing if your girlfriend is dead. but noooo, jesse is just that fucking interesting that you have to risk your life to laugh at his lame jokes."
"what do you want me to do?" at this point you're just trying to get the pounding in your head to stop
"i want you to focus when you are on patrol! act like your life means something!" she's practically begging at this point
"okay."
"okay?"
"anything to stop you yelling at me, i really don't feel good." you say, leaning over to throw up into the closest garbage can
and just like that ellie is your ellie again, she's rushing over to hold your hair and rub your back
when you finish she gets up to throw the trash outside so the room doesn't stink
she hates being mad at you, but she hates upsetting you
"look, about what i said earlier; i'm sorry. i don't know what would happen, what i would do, if i lost you. i didn't mean to take it out on you."
you grab her hand and squeeze it lightly, "i know and i love you."
"i love you more."
but then you're leaning in to give her a kiss and she remembers five minutes ago when you were throwing up everything inside you
"i'll give you a kiss later…after we get those teeth cleaned."
ai audios:
i had more... but there's an upload limit
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou2#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fan fic#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams oneshot#modern!ellie williams#college!ellie williams#ellie williams one shot
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Outburst
Leah Williamson x Jordan Nobbs x Child!Reader
Summary: You want hugs
The breakup with Jordan went fairly smoothly where the feelings were involved. Where it got a bit gritty was with you.
At three years old the travel between London and Birmingham was hard going and you didn't quite understand why you had to do it or why Mummy moved in the first place.
"Come on, bug." Mum tries to feed you, nudging a fork loaded with pasta against your lips. You turn you head away stubbornly.
Arsenal isn't as fun without Mummy here and you refuse to let Mum lighten your mood. So, you stay stubborn and ignore her.
Leah, for her part, is very confused at your change in attitude. She knew that there would be an adjustment period for everyone involved and she knew it would probably hit you the hardest.
But you'd had an attitude with her the whole week as soon as you got back from Jordan's and Leah can't quite work out why. She wondered if she'd been mean or rude to you but she knew that she hadn't so your change in mood is very disconcerting.
She's not getting very far with you so drops the fork and checks the time. There's still a full day of training to get through but Jordan hasn't got any so she's been driving down from Birmingham to pick you up for the week.
Leah sighs deeply at your stubbornness as you push your lunch plate away and sullenly pull at the table cloth.
"She'll come around," Lia says, reaching out to offer some comfort," It's just a hard adjustment."
Leah huffs. "Yeah, I guess so but-Bug! We don't hit!"
It was almost in slow motion that Leah watched you slap Lia's hand where it's holding hers.
"No!" You screech, not paying any attention to your mum as you scream at Lia. "No touching! She's mine! Mine! Not yours!"
You climb from your seat and grab Leah's arms to force them around you in some semblance of a hug.
"Hey," Leah forces her arms away. "No. We don't hit, bug! Say sorry!"
Your bottom lip wobbles as Mum stops hugging you, leaning away from you as she looks at you with a stern expression. "Hugs!" You whine," Hugs for bug!"
"No," Leah corrects," No hugs for bug until you apologise."
Your face turns stormy and your expression mimics Leah's perfectly. "Hugs!" You insist," Hugs! Now!"
"Say sorry," Leah continues," And then say please and you'll get hugs."
"No! Want hugs now!"
Leah squeezes her eyes shut for a moment to draw herself together before she moves. She hoists you up onto her hip and walks you over to the corner. At first, when you think that she's giving in, you go limp but as soon as you see where she's going, you start kicking and hitting.
"No! No! No!"
"Yes," Leah says firmly," We don't hit and we're not rude, especially not to me. Five minutes in the corner and then you can say you're sorry and we can have cuddles."
"No!" You bite out," Don't want cuddles from you! You're mean!"
Leah tries not to take it to heart. She knows that when she's angry she says things in the heat of the moment but you look so certain of yourself and so angry that it looks like you're being serious.
You fight being put in the corner but once you're there, you know to stay and Leah always makes sure to sit closer so you don't feel like you've been abandoned.
"What's going on?"
She hadn't even realised Jordan's arrived until she speaks.
Leah doesn't look away from you. "Bug hit Lia and she's demanding things again when she knows she needs to use her manners. She's having some corner time."
"Leah." Jordan sounds a bit worried. "She's only little. She doesn't understand."
"If she's old enough to hit and demand things then she's old enough to know that being rude and mean has consequences. It's not like I'm overreacting, Jordan."
The look Jordan gives her kind of makes Leah feel like she doesn't agree. In fact, Jordan approaches you, tapping your shoulder to let you know you can turn around.
"Hey there, bug," She says," What's going on?"
"Want hugs!" You yell, looking between her and Leah," Both! Want hugs from both!"
"Hey!" Leah says sternly again," You need to say please!"
You look at her in rage, like you can't believe that she's denying you again. Mummy never denies you cuddles. She's always touching you and giving you kisses and holding your hand.
She never makes you say please.
"Hug!" You turn to Mummy to show Mum what she's supposed to be doing. "Hug! Now!"
"Jordan!" Leah complains when Jordan immediately hugs you.
She rocks you back and forth for a moment and you instantly deflate.
You reach an arm out to Mum. "Hugs, now," You say, infinitely calmer but a lot more determined," Like Mummy."
"Bug," Leah says," You have to say please."
"Leah," Jordan interrupts," Just give her a hug. She'll stop screaming if you hug her."
Leah shifts closer but doesn't hug you. "You need to say sorry to Lia," She says again," Because it's rude to hit."
You huff. "Lia's not family," You respond," Doesn't need to be touching you."
"What?"
You shuffle out of Jordan's arms but take care to keep holding one of her hands. "Don't need to touch you," You insist. You grab Leah's hand and she lets you because you're trying to explain your feelings and she doesn't want you to be discouraged and shut down like earlier this week.
You pull Leah's hand and connect it to Jordan's, wrapping around both of them so they can't pull away.
You seem proud of yourself, puffing out your chest. "Hugs now!"
"Hey, wait, no," Leah says quickly," Manners, bug. We've talked about this."
"Mummy doesn't make me use manners when I want cuddles." You shrug. "Just have to want one."
Jordan, at least, has the sense to look a bit embarrassed.
Leah never likes to critique Jordan's parenting skills. She's a great mum but there are things that tend to grind Leah's gears. It's not that she thinks that she's better or her way is best (Leah knows that she's not the perfect parent) but giving in to your every want when you're being rude about it is one thing that really annoys her.
"It makes her happy," Jordan defends," And it saves all the tears and tantrums."
"Jordan," Leah groans," She can't just demand everything."
"Leah," Jordan says back," You haven't even scratched the surface of her tantrums. She's always been your perfect little angel." There's a hint of bitterness in Jordan's tone that makes Leah feel a bit bad.
She's right, of course. Before the breakup, you were nothing short of a little angel for Leah, following her like a shadow and lavishing in her company. Jordan had always had to work a little bit harder to gain your approval, even going back as far as the day your care worker brought you home to them.
Leah sighs deeply and pulls you a little closer.
"Bug," She says, a lot gentler than earlier," You need to go and apologise for hitting Lia." You make a face but Leah continues on. "Thank you for explaining with your big girl words but I think big girls like you understand when they've been a bit naughty."
You nod sullenly, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
"And then, if you still want cuddles, you need to say please, okay?"
You shake your head. "No! 'Cause Mummy's here now! Can't have Mum cuddles!"
Leah and Jordan exchange confused looks.
"Why can't we cuddle now Mummy's here?"
"'Cause I've got to go home with Mummy! Can't cuddle with you if I'm with Mummy!"
You look close to tears, tears of sadness rather than the tears of anger earlier.
Leah's face softens. "But do you still want cuddles with me?"
"Please!"
"Okay," Leah says," Here's what we're going to do. Mummy's going to take you over to Lia and get your lunch. You're going to say you're sorry for hitting Lia and then we'll all sit down together, have some cuddles, finish your lunch and we'll get you on your way with Mummy. How does that sound?"
You nod. "Yes, Mum."
"Okay." Leah presses a soft kiss to your temple. "Let's get started then."
#woso x reader#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson#jordan nobbs x reader#jordan nobbs#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso
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rumours (fic)
jj maybank x grumpy!fem!reader | HEAVILY inspired
content warning: mentions of drinking and smoking; absent parents
word count: 20k.
blurb: your life has been surrounded by rumours, and so has JJ Maybank's. One night, out of the blue, he strikes up a conversation with you. From there, the rumours only grow, and some rumours are far worse than others.
There was a rumour that you and your sister weren’t allowed to date until graduating high school. That one was true, until March of Junior Year.
Kildare Academy was full of spoilt assholes.
Well, in fairness, not everyone fit into that category. Some people were spoilt but bearable, and some people were assholes but not particularly spoilt. Rafe Cameron was the perfect culmination of both. He was in your junior year despite being a senior. He flunked so hard last year that the academy insisted that he retake it to graduate with a subpar diploma. At the yacht club, it had been the talk for about two months, much to the displeasure of Ward and Rose Cameron. You’d found yourself sharing nearly every class with Rafe since the year started and, man oh man, was it torture.
He found you the perfect bear to poke, never passing the opportunity to make a jab about your clothes or your face or your overall demeanour. The latter to mean that you weren’t the most approachable of people. Whilst you self-described as tempestuous, others might prefer the term ‘heinous bitch’. Rafe Cameron knew how to push your buttons it seemed, and you in turn knew how to bite back just enough to leave a mark.
“I can’t wait to get out of this town,” you complain to your friend Mia. “If I have to spend another seventeen years surrounded by these half-wits then I’ll pull a Sylvia Plath, I swear.”
“Clearly today has been a good day,” Mia chuckles. She’d known you long enough for the bitter grump of your character not to phase her. “Rafe bothering you again?”
“He’s intolerable,” you tell her, indirectly answering her question. “In music today he thought it’d be funny to put cola in the trombone. Men blow my mind with their stupidity. God knows how the patriarchy was even formed with how little brain cells they use.”
The two of you walk down the stairs of the school, heading to the parking lot amongst the herd of students. The spring weather is finally creeping in now that you're in March. The floral smell of blossoms hangs in the air, embracing the world in a warmish breeze. The briefly pleasant moment is rudely interrupted by none other but the devil-boy himself. His bright red Mercedes whips into the throughway of the parking lot. He doesn't seem to care about hitting anybody. To him, others are like bowling pins: he’d probably take delight in taking someone out.
You and Mia ignore him as you walk up to your car. At least, that was the plan, until you look up from your keys in time to see your younger sister Charlotte hopping into the back of Rafe’s pimped out ride per his offer.
“That’s an interesting development,” Mia remarks.
You watch as Rafe revs the engine - grinning like the pompous asshole he is - before jetting away. He narrowly misses knocking some poor kid off his bike in the process.
“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” you correct, promptly blinking away the surprise.
You follow Mia into your car, tossing your track bag into the backseat, and start up the engine.
Charlotte was only fifteen. She was young, innocent, carefree and (more often than not) insufferable. You couldn’t be more different. Whilst Charlotte searched for the good in people, you tried to find ways to stay as far away from them as possible. The only tell that you were related were your features. The same nose and same chin, you taking your father’s eyes and her your mother’s. At school, Charlotte enjoyed pretending that she didn’t know who you were. Your reputation didn’t pair well with hers, and at fifteen, nothing was more important to Charlotte than popularity. Those things didn’t matter to you. What someone thought of you didn’t make much difference to your mood or your future. Studying on the other hand? That was the stuff of consequence. Nevertheless, you cared for your sister. Her cushioned upbringing made her vulnerable. She had been sheltered by your family’s wealth and because of your father’s obsessive protectiveness, her experiences with boys were minimal. That to say, having her in Rafe’s line of sight certainly made you uneasy.
You drive home chatting to Mia about the plans for the weekend - planning to head to The Wreck for lunch on Saturday - but you can’t stop thinking about Charlotte sat in the back of Rafe’s car. When you pull up outside Mia’s house, she pauses just after opening the door.
“What do you think that was about? With Charlotte and Rafe?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” you reply, turning down the radio. "But I’m not gonna let it go any further.”
“Amen,” Mia agrees. With that, she gives a small wave and climbs out the car. “See you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
When you pull up outside your house, you spot your dad sitting on the porch. He’s probably reading notes about the latest case he’s taken on. As one of the best lawyers on Figure Eight, he always has plenty of work to be chipping away at. Sometimes it feels like he has a new client every week.
You make your way up the neatly kept garden path, the creaking gate giving you away.
“Afternoon sweetheart,” he says, not looking up.
“Hey dad,” you reply, walking up the steps.
“How’s your day been? Made anyone cry yet?”
“Not yet, but the day’s still young,” you return, only half joking. With that, he glances up. “How’s the case?”
“Long. Boring. Don’t let on that I said that.” he says. “Where’s your sister?”
Before you can delight in telling, as if manifested into existence, Charlotte comes floating up the pathway. Her ridiculously short white tennis skirt floats in the wind like a dove’s feathered wings taking flight. Not one hair is out of place and not one eyelash misaligned. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as she makes her way up the stairs.
“Where’ve you been?” your dad immediately quizzes.
“Nowhere daddy.”
“How come you’re later home than your sister?”
“Well, somebody wouldn’t give me ride,” Charlotte replies, shooting you a glare. Her perfect smile takes on an edge when you lock eyes.
Your dad sighs and looks up at you. “We talked about this. Until Charlotte gets her license, you drive her to and from school. Y’all are both heading to the same place anyway, so what’s the big whoop?”
“She hijacks my radio and plays fluffy pop crap.”
“Taylor Swift is not ‘fluffy pop crap’. She’s the bible itself. You’re just not used to listening to good music,” Charlotte replies.
Swallowing your anger, you correct your stance, folding your arms across your chest. Biting back a smirk, you say, “ask Charlotte which guy drove her home today.”
“Don’t change the—Guy? What guy?”
Charlotte’s face goes to drop but she recovers quickly. Taking a reproachful step towards your dad like he’s an unpredictable stray dog, she talks in a sickly-sweet voice.
“Now, daddy, don’t be angry, but there’s this boy at school and I think he—”
“Believe me, I think I know what he’ll be thinking,” your dad immediately cuts in. “And the answer is no. It is always no.”
As your little sister’s eyes flash to yours, you grin victoriously. Enjoy, you mouth to her. The angry twitch in her brow is delightful.
“Daddy, this is ridiculous! I’m the only girl in high school who isn’t dating!” Charlotte whines.
“You’re fifteen, you don’t need to be dating. And you’re not the only girl. She isn’t dating either,” your dad replies, shoving a thumb over his shoulder in your direction.
“And I don’t intend to. I got bigger fish to fry,” you say. Charlotte’s deadly stare hardens tenfold. “Besides, the boys in this town are whack jobs.”
“Like music to my ears,” your dad practically sighs. Very rarely do you seem to please him, but your stance on boys appears to be the one common ground the two of you have. “Now y’all both know the rule: no dating ‘til you graduate.”
“This is so unfair! The two of you are so unhinged!” Charlotte goes on. She seems about a minute away from stomping her feet and waving her fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You’re only half ashamed to say that you relish in every moment of it.
You see, Charlotte was a daddy’s girl. Pretty, pink and poised, she loved the theatrics of Kook life. At the yacht club gatherings and the monthly dinner parties, the two of them would soak up every minute whilst you’d skulk in the back, headphones in and bitch-face on. You’d never much connected with either of them. Your mom understood you well, but she wasn’t around now, so, what did it matter? All the Kook crap was just that to you: crap. Fickle people who were so rich that their nerves were deadened, leaving them to enjoy nothing more than gossiping about everyone and everything. Whilst one half of the island waited tables and sweated out in the sun day-and-night to keep the lights on, the other was complaining about their golf clubs not being shiny enough. It was all crap.
“Alright, fine. Here’s how we fix this. Old rule out, new rule in. You can date,” your dad says to Charlotte. Her smile is instantaneous. As your mouth goes to gape open in horror – the thought of Rafe Cameron snapping up your sister like a crocodile preying on a bunny – your dad makes your day. “…when your sister does.”
“What!?”
“Har har,” you grin.
Charlotte points accusingly at you. “But she’s a mutant! You couldn’t pay a guy to date her!”
Your grin only grows with the thought.
“Then I guess you’ll never date. Oh! I like the sound of that,” your dad gloats. God, you have never loved him more. “Now get out of my hair, the both of y’all. I need to get these notes done for tomorrow.”
“Thanks dad,” you chirp, promptly heading into the house. Charlotte is quick to follow.
“You’re evil,” she hisses.
You shrug, back facing her as you start up the stairs. “And you’re spoilt.”
“Urgh! Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like clinically insane!?”
“Don’t care!” you sing-song before darting into your room, closing the door behind you. Through the wood, you hear Charlotte let out a shriek.
Smiling, you dump your school bag and take up shop at your desk, hoping to get some studying done, peaceful at last with the thought of Rafe Cameron never getting near your sister.
There was a rumour that when JJ first spoke to you, you spat in his face. That one was false.
“Hiya princess.”
The rasp of a guy’s voice interrupts your conversation about the yacht club’s annual spring-ball with Mia. Slowing turning your head to your left, you come face to face with a dirty-blonde haired boy. He looks to be about seventeen. His skin is slightly glossy, presumably from sunscreen and sweat, and there’s a smirk hiding behind his smile. That’s when you know that this boy is trouble.
“You talking to me?” you ask, unimpressed.
“Who else?”
“Hopefully anyone,” you say.
Mia snorts. You look away from him to share a bemused look with your friend. This guy cannot be serious…
“You need’a hand there?”
Eyebrows pulling together, you glance at him. He seems to think you’re confused about what he’s referring to, nodding down to the Sprite bottle in your hand. The cap’s still on. The truth is, you’re confused as to why he’s even talking to you at all. Wordlessly, you lift the bottle to your mouth and secure your teeth around the cap. There’s the satisfying click-crack as it comes lose and you spit it on the floor by his feet. Then, holding his gaze, you take a drink. His eyebrows quirk up in surprise.
“That’s, uh, certainly one way to get a guy’s attention,” he says, chuckling to try and regain some charm.
“My mission in life,” you return. Then, before he can cook up something else to say, you turn to Mia and loop your arm in hers, guiding the two of you to the exit of The Wreck. You’d been planning on heading out anyway, having finished your lunch earlier, and this was a sign from the universe that whatever good time you’d been having was officially over.
Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t seem so easily deterred.
“I’ll pick up at eight then?”
“Oh, yeah, eight. Uh huh,” you agree dismissively.
He falls in step with you on your left, hands casually shoved in his short pockets, combat boots loudly thudding on the wooden floor.
“Well, you know, the night I take you to places you’ve never been before.”
You see his boyish grin in your peripheral, making you whip your head around to meet his stare.
“Where? The seven-eleven off main street?”
His lips part, blundering for some quick-witted reply, but you don’t give him chance.
“Do you even know my name, screw-boy?”
The smirk is back, full force. Tilting his head slightly, self-assured, he replies, “I know a lot more than you think.”
“Doubtful. Very doubtful,” you assure.
Finally, you and Mia seem to shake him. He doesn’t follow you to your car door and he probably made the right call, because you were moments away from using the bottle of Sprite as a weapon. As you unlock the car, Mia leans against the side of it.
“What was that all about?”
You spare a glance back to The Wreck to find him stood there, glancing inside the building as if debating heading back, scratching the back of his neck. His misplaced confidence seems to have dwindled significantly. Ah, success.
“God knows."
“You know, I think that’s JJ Maybank. One of them Pogues who hangs out with John B,” Mia says.
JJ seems a fitting name for him, you think. You vaguely recall seeing the Pogues hanging around. Kiara from the academy seemed quite close with them. You watch as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up and taking a drag. Gross.
Pulling open your car door, you look back to Mia. “Come on. Let’s hang out at the beach.”
“Yeah, and far away from that nutjob,” she snorts, walking around the car to the passenger side.
As you go to climb in, you find yourself looking one final time to the entrance of the restaurant. The messy haired boy is nowhere to be found. Good riddance, you think to yourself. Happiness restored, you swing into the driver’s seat and shut the car door.
There was a rumour that your mum was in witness protection. That one was false.
You weren’t entirely sure how it got so late but it was nearly one in the morning. Having spent the past three hours studying, you’d sort of lost track of time. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you’d checked your phone screen.
“Goddamn,” you mumble. Pushing away from your desk, you close your notebook and switch off your lamp.
Walking to the bathroom, you don’t bother closing the door. You know your dad’s asleep by now and with his own en-suite, there’d be no reason why he’d need to use this bathroom. Charlotte is probably asleep too: beauty rest and all that. You turn on the faucet and pull your hair out of your face. You wash and dry and reach for your toothbrush. That’s when Charlotte appears.
“Oh,” she startles. “Didn’t know you were still up.”
“Could say the same to you.”
You take in her pyjamas. They’re Roller Rabbit, selling at $150 a set. Pastel pink and plum purple, they sit sweetly on her dainty frame. You on the other hand are dressed in an oversized t-shirt that you got given for free at an indie film festival, and a pair of boxer-short bottoms.
“Cute pjs,” you tell her.
“Thanks. Daddy bought them for me,” she chirps.
Charlotte makes a b-line to the vanity. She opens the drawer and retrieves the tweezers. You watch her in the mirror as she tames her already perfect eyebrows. She makes eye contact with you through the reflections, taking in your own nightwear. “You could try a new look, you know? People might like you if you weren’t so hostile.”
“I’m not hostile,” you defend. You put toothpaste on your toothbrush, breaking the line of gaze. “I’m annoyed.”
“Potato potata. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if people didn’t like me.”
“You forget that I don’t care what people think,” you reply honestly. What would it matter if some thought you unwelcoming? Everyone ends up as bones in the ground anyway.
“Sure you do,” Charlotte says. “At least on some level.”
It’s too late in the night (or early in the morning) to argue. Instead, you start brushing your teeth. Charlotte goes on pimping and preening her appearance in the mirror silently. She produces a jade face roller and begins massaging her cheekbones and jawline. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. As you’re rinsing out your mouth, you see Charlotte’s extensive skincare routine continue. If someone was to walk in, you’d think she was heading to the Oscars at the crack of dawn. She unbuttons the top two fastenings of her polo pyjama top and shrugs it down enough to reveal her collarbones, taking the effort to jade-roll them too. That’s when you notice the string of pearls around her neck.
“Nice pearls,” you comment, putting your toothbrush away. They did suit her, as did most delicate jewellery.
“Thanks.”
“Dad buy them for you too?”
“No,” she says. “They’re moms.”
Your stomach twists like a viper. “Moms?”
“Yeah. Daddy found them in a drawer last week.”
“And what? Now you’re just gonna start wearing them?” you say aghast, spinning around.
She frowns, looking over her shoulders. “It’s not like she’s coming back to claim them any time soon.”
You scoff. “You’re woefully missing the point.”
“Whatever,” Charlotte mumbles. She looks back to her reflection, smiling at herself, lifting a hand to fiddle with the small beads. “I think they look good on me.”
“Well trust me, they don’t,” you lie before promptly leaving the bathroom.
There was a rumour that you wrecked Rafe Cameron’s car. That one was true.
“Morning Lucy,” you greet, walking into An Offer You Can’t Refuse.
“Morning. Early start for a Saturday, don’t you think?” Lucy replies from behind the counter.
You shrug and shift your tote bag further up your shoulder. “Wanna get first dibs, I guess.”
“Well, all the new stuff is back there, like always,” she says, gesturing with her head to the far end of the store.
You were somewhat a regular at the shop. It was the only spot in town that sold old movies. Not old movies like the nineties. Old movies like the early 20th century: the black and white classics, with extravagant sets and telephone-voices and an untouchable charm that modern things just couldn’t quite capture. You weren’t a film snob exactly. You’d sit through a Marvel movie and tag along with Mia to see the latest cheap jump-scare horror. But those weren’t as gripping, as enthralling, as captivating as the classics. Somewhere along the way, you’d made it your life mission to see every old movie on earth.
Flicking through the cases, you pick out a couple that had been sat on your list. One was a thirty’s flick and the other from the sixties. Lucy settles up with you and you slot one in your bag. You keep the other out to read the back, scanning over the summary as you walk out the door.
“Nice car.”
Stunned, you stop and look up, finding none other than JJ Maybank. He’s sitting on the bonnet of your car with such carelessness that one would assume he owned it.
“Are you following me?” you outright ask.
He looks offended by the insinuation. Gesturing across the street, he says, “I was in the fishing shop. I saw your car and I came over to say hi.”
Rolling your eyes, you put your movie in your bag and continue to your car. “Hi.”
Before you can reach for the handle for the door, JJ slides over, effectively blocking it and forcing you to meet his gaze once more. You catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells more modest than some of the fancy crap the guys at school practically drown themselves in.
“You’re not much of a talker, are ya?”
“Depends on the topic. My car doesn’t really whip me up into a verbal frenzy,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.
JJ takes a moment simply watching you. It’s annoying. First, he interrupts your pleasant weekend by wiping his grubby cargo shorts all over your car, and now he’s trapped you in the most disinteresting conversation of all time. You quirk a brow, hoping that your displeasure reads plain and clear on your face.
“Can I help you?” you prompt, annoyed.
The smile he gives you is less cocky than usual. It’s almost curious. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
You frown. “Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?”
He shrugs. “Well, most people are.”
“Well, I’m not,” you counter.
Whatever he was thinking before seems to have passed. His grin turns smug again, as quick and smooth as the moment dusk turns to flat-out night.
“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?”
Oh, brother.
You gasp, feigning your fluster by lifting a hand to your sternum. “Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.”
With that stellar performance, you practically shove him out the way whilst forcing the car door open. JJ seems to take the hint and backs off, shoving his hands in his short pockets. He watches you climb in your car and he pulls out a cigarette in the process. You’re half-surprised he doesn’t keep blabbering away. JJ doesn’t seem as wounded this time by your dismissal and you’re not sure whether that ticks you off more. As you glance in the rearview to reverse out the parking spot, none other than Rafe Cameron drives up behind you. He then parks illegally in the middle of the parking lot, blocking you in.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“What is it? Asshole day?”
Rafe shuts off his engine and walks past your car with a faux swagger in his stride. It makes you sick.
“Do you mind?” you loudly ask him as he goes by.
He doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Not at all.”
Your blood is bubbling under your skin, boiling up your nerves and burning up your patience. Doing one last glance at the Rafe’s back as he walks away from you, you don’t think twice before pulling your keys out the ignition. Getting out the car and slamming the door shut, you storm over to the ugly Mercedes. With the car key positioned between two fingers, you lean down slightly and dig it through the paint and into the metal, dragging it along in a satisfying streak. The sound is as pleasing as nails on a chalk board. One cut doesn’t seem to diffuse your anger enough, so you go in for a second. You debate doing a third but better to be safe than sorry. So, you pocket your keys and start walking home. You can pick up your car tomorrow. As you go to leave, you catch JJ’s impressed expression in the reflection of Rafe’s blacked out windows.
There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up at an outdoor movie night. That was completely false.
Over the dialogue over the movie, the swell of the orchestral music, and the mumbled chatter of friends and families, you can’t hear the soothing lap of the sea waves on the sand. That didn’t take away from the beauty of the scenery. Twilight had painted the sky in the most ethereal pinks, purples, oranges and blues. The boats which had taken anchor looked like shadows with how the sun had dipped. Huge trees framed the waterline cinematically. You can’t seem to help glancing at the view every now and then. It feels like something from a coffee table book. No wonder the beach was your mother's favourite place to be.
There were few island traditions which you liked, but the movie nights were one of your favourites. From March onwards, they ran bi-weekly. A huge screen would be put up in a lawn and people would come with deckchairs and picnic blankets and take up space on the grass. Snacks and cakes and drinks would be shared in the jovially calm atmosphere of the evening. There was a snack bar over near the bathrooms selling bags of candy and pre-prepared tubs of popcorn. When you hadn’t been shooting looks to the view, you’d been looking to the snack bar, debating buying some. At the rumble of your stomach, you relent.
“I’m gonna go get some snacks. Want anything?” you ask Mia in a whisper.
She doesn’t look away from the film when she shakes her head.
“Okay. Be right back.”
Standing up, you whisper out apologies to other movie-goers as you slink away from the lawn, venturing to the snack bar. It’s only when you’re seconds away do you recognise JJ Maybank. He’s wearing longer pants this time, still of the cargo material, and an old t-shirt that says Pelican Docks on the left breast. It looks well-worn at the sleeves. His hair is tucked under a cap. The most notable thing you pick up on is the fact that he isn’t smoking. Every other time you’ve seen him outside, he’s had one of those cancer sticks stuck between his lips. It’s annoying to admit to yourself that he looks good.
Ignoring him, you head straight to the girl manning the snack bar.
“A bag of Sour Patch kids please,” you smile, holding out a couple of dollar bills. She exchanges them for a bag of sweets. Candy in hand, you walk over to JJ.
“If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with,” you tell him, already disgruntled.
He looks away from the movie screen. “You mind? You’re kinda ruining this for me.”
You frown, glancing between himself and the film. “You like ‘Singing In The Rain’?”
JJ shrugs. “Course. Don’t you?”
The guilt from assuming is overshadowed by your curiosity. Before you can think of something to quiz him with, he’s talking again, eyes fixated on the actors.
“I mean, it’s no ‘Casablanca’ or ‘Some Like It Hot’, but I’ll take it,” he says casually.
Your eyebrows must shoot up into your hairline. “You know the movie ‘Some Like It Hot’?”
“No doy. It’s a classic,” JJ says. “Jack Lemmon is a natural in roles like that. It’s kinda rogue of me to say but I gotta admit, I think he’s better in that than in The Odd Couple.”
The question ‘you know The Odd Couple?’ is on the tip of your tongue but it’s silenced by a loud crash in the movie, catching your attention. You watch the theatrics of Cosmo as he performs ‘Make Them Laugh’, and you can’t help but smile. It’s one of your favourite parts of the movie.
“You know, I saw you earlier and I was gonna come over,” JJ admits, drawing your gaze to him once more. “I’ve never seen anyone look so sexy without even trying.”
The pre-teen at the counter snorts, clearly having overheard. When you and JJ look to her at the same time, she flushes bright pink and presses her lips together in embarrassment. It makes you laugh though, and when you look back to JJ, he’s holding back too. The sunset and reflection of the screen is painting his face in a youthful glow. The smile on his lips seems more genuine than before; it’s no longer bolstered up with ostentatious flare. His self-assured demeanour remains though. You can see it in how relaxed he stands, shoulders loose and back.
“You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”
“Yeah, I quit. Turns out they’re bad for you,” JJ says.
“You think?” you mirthfully reply.
Come with me to the keggar tomorrow night,” JJ asks out of the blue.
You don’t roll your eyes this time. In fact, you’re not even annoyed. Instead, you find your smile growing. “You never give up, do you?”
“Is that a yes?”
You chuckle under breath, passing your candy bag between hands and turning to return to Mia. "No."
You begin to walk away.
“Well, is that a no then?” JJ calls. Someone shushes him abruptly.
Sniggering, you call back, “no!”
“Nine tomorrow night! I’ll pick you up!”
“Hey, shut it, man!”
“Sorry, dude. Jeez,” you hear JJ mumble.
You bite back your laugh, making your way back to the film. Mia is waiting impatiently for you. Taking your spot on the blanket again, you fight the urge to look back over your shoulder to JJ. She takes the bag of candy despite her earlier turn-down.
“What took you so long? You missed the best song,” she whispers.
You shake your head and steal a gummy, eyes fixating on the screen again. “Doesn’t matter.”
And then, you’re lost to the cinema.
There was a rumour that you threw up on JJ’s shoes at the keggar. That one was (unfortunately) true.
You know you’ve made a mistake braving going downstairs for a snack the moment your foot hits the final step.
“Daddy, it’s only for one night!”
Charlotte is there, whinging away, stood beside her friend Laura. You didn’t like Charlotte all that much but you liked Laura even less. Whilst Charlotte was losing her sense of humanity bit by bit, Laura was a hollowed-out husk dressed head to toe in Shien. Maybe if she had a stellar personality you wouldn’t care, but she didn’t. She was cruel, two-faced and you trusted her as far you could throw her. So, you were obviously thrilled to find her stood in your house.
“You know anything about a party?” you dad asks you, roping you unwillingly into the conversation.
You shrug, shaking your head no.
“Of course she doesn’t know, she’s a cave troll,” Charlotte snarls.
“That’s a new one,” you mutter under breath, starting for the kitchen.
“If she isn’t going, you’re not going,” your dad tells Charlotte.
“Urgh!” Charlotte exasperates. She rushes over to you, taking you by the shoulders and forcing you to meet her gaze. You’re a little surprised to find how genuinely desperate she is to leave the house for a dumb keggar. “Can you please forget that you’re completely wicked and just be my sister for one night. Please.”
You suck your teeth, feeling your conviction dwindle. Suddenly the half-completed page of notes about maths drops in your priorities. Charlotte seems to notice. The puppy-dog eyes come out in full effect - the ones that she used to get the new Mac book and the ones that she used to get your old pair of converse when they suddenly became trendy again.
“Please,” she begs, doubling down.
You sigh, shaking your head as if in disbelief of your own actions. “Fine, I can make an appearance.”
Charlotte looks over to Laura and they begin to squeal, hopping up and down like the floor is lava. You realise that she’s wearing the pearls still, but before you can think much more about it, you’re trapped in a hug. Everything tenses, from your head to your toes, and it isn’t over soon enough. You open the downstairs cupboard and retrieve a jacket to combat the spring breeze that’s likely going to haunt the beach at this hour. Your dad is lecturing Charlotte and Laura as you shrug it on; you pass them to the door.
It's a little frightening to open the front door and come face to face with someone who you’re not expecting to be there.
“What are you doing here?” is the first thing out of your mouth when you meet JJ’s eyes.
“Nine o’clock, right?” he replies.
It’s impossible to bite back the smile that’s coming to your face at the sound of his voice. When did that start to happen?
“Well, I’m little late, so,” he admits almost sheepishly.
You blink out of your stupor with that. A man who can’t even be on time for a date that he practically begged for – once again, the bar is on the floor.
“Whatever, I’m driving,” you tell him, brushing past and down the porch steps. He follows.
“Nice digs here.”
“Thanks,” you reply. You pull open the front gate and it creaks like it might snap off any moment.
“Y’all rich and can’t afford to oil that damn thing?"
“Help yourself to it,” you jokingly quip back. You pull your keys out your coat pocket and unlock the car. “Hop in.”
The drive to the keggar is mostly quiet. JJ points out the turnings you need to take and you refuse to let him turn on the radio. He goes to put one leg up on the car seat but must see your sideways glare, making him stop. Instead, he rests an arm on the window frame and taps his fingers along to a non-existent beat.
He’s dressed rather nice. Quite casual, but you supposed for a keggar, it didn’t much matter. It wasn’t like you were dressed to the nines either. A grey sweater hangs slightly big on his frame, but it sits on his broad shoulders a little too nicely. He’s wearing a pair of black cargo shorts which are muddied with dust on the thigh, probably from biking, and those damn cargo boots again. No cap this time, he lets his blonde hair sit mussed, seemingly from running his fingers through it. That’s something he seems to do. A lot.
When the two of you park up, the beach is already buzzing. It’s swarming with people from your school and his, yapping away to one another. People are passing drinks and passing out. Some are carrying coolers in and others are shot-gunning the moment their feet touch the sand. Sighing, you mentally prepare yourself for a hellish night.
JJ tries to walk beside you but you seem to be one step ahead every time. He takes to following your tail around the keggar as you survey the scene. A girl vomiting in the corn; a group passing around a bong; a group of horny dirtbags jeering and cheering as two girls make out. A brunette girl comes stumbling over, practically throwing herself at JJ.
“Kiss me,” she slurs, clearly hammered.
JJ doesn’t look too thrilled but it doesn’t keep you from rolling your eyes and continuing on.
“Not tonight, girly,” you overhear him say. You then hear his footsteps behind you once more.
His popularity among the Pogues is startling. Soon enough, someone else is coming up to him, followed by a third. You overhear good-humoured conversation kick up, spirits high, and the smacking of hands as they enact a brief handshake. It seems a good opportunity to ditch him.
The moment of freedom is over quicker than the final week of summer. Rafe Cameron, in all his knobheaded glory, saunters over.
“Didn’t peg you as a keggar girl,” he tells you. Even on the night, you can’t catch a break from him.
“You know me: full of surprises,” you return dryly.
“Surprising in that outfit too. Nice to see the puppies out today,” he says, licking his teeth as his eyes shamelessly flit down to your top.
You roll your eyes. “Eat crap creep.”
Rafe doesn’t seem to be finished. He follows after you leisurely when you walk around him. “Your little sister coming tonight?”
“Stay away from her, Rafe,” you warn.
“Oh, sure, sure, I’ll stay away,” he nods, raising his hands in mock surrender. The most wicked, twisted grin sinks into his skin. “But I can’t promise she’ll stay away from me.”
Your disgust must read plainly on your face. Rafe chuckles darkly, apparently finished with the interaction, and you watch as he makes his way over to his pack. You shiver out your repugnance and distract yourself by making another lap of the keggar, hoping to find your sister in the process.
Unfortunately, you’re not quick enough to get to her before Rafe. He’s fiddling with a strand of her hair, looking down at her in a way that she might think is doting but you can only read as looming. Your stomach sinks as he notices you, jutting up his chin proudly.
“Yo. Look who found me,” he taunts.
Intestines are now in your shoes as you spot his hand looping around her waist and laying grip. Charlotte tangles her fingers into his, a red solo up in her other hand, and goes to lead the two of them away. You quickly dart after her.
“Charlotte, wait, can I talk to you?”
“Don’t address me in public,” she hisses, horrified.
You hope your expression is as pleading as hers was earlier, but it mustn’t be, because she continues to move away from you.
“Go, enjoy the night,” Charlotte says. She probably thinks she’s being nice, putting your mind at ease, but it makes you all the more concerned. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”
Looking around as if something or someone might tell you what to do next, your eyes fixate on the coolers. You soon find yourself taking a swig of tequila. It burns as it runs down your throat; you close your eyes with wince.
“I’ve been looking all over the place for you!”
You open them to find a very disquieted JJ.
“I’m getting trashed bro,” you reply, lifting the bottle up in proof. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”
“Not with that crap,” JJ replies.
Rolling your eyes, you take another shot. “Whatever. I’ll catch you later.”
Then you’re walking away from him and weaving through the crowds. The trashy RnB music playing over a loudspeaker thumps through the sand and rattles through your bones. You find yourself collecting drinks like a pre-teen collects trading cards. With each sip, the alcohol goes down easier and easier, and your control becomes lesser and lesser. You’re only half sure of the time. Nobody here looks familiar to you and you have no idea where Charlotte has gone. The thought of her with Rafe has you reaching for another drink but it’s taken from you before the bottle can meet your lips.
“Hey!”
“How about I have this one?” JJ offers.
You snatch it back. “No way, this one’s mine.”
Was that your voice? Jeez, maybe you’re more drunk than you thought. That doesn’t keep you from necking the whole thing, some dumbass cheering you on. Dumping the bottle in the sand, you pull a face to JJ, extending out your arms as if to say ‘see – what you gonna do about it?’ .
The makeshift dancefloor becomes randomly appealing. The rhythm of the music seems to have finally crept out of the ground and into your bones, and you stagger your way to the crowd of dancing, swaying drunks and begin to move to the music. Closing your eyes, you drag your hands up your sides and into the air, hips dipping and diving to the song. It isn’t your usual thing but you find the groove to it. The reason you lose it is the elbow that suddenly jams into your back. You wince in pain and tumble forward, balance screwed from all the drinks. The ground comes to meet you surprisingly quick and you don’t have time to put your hands out to save your head from hitting a stuck-out branch from driftwood.
“You alright?”
It’s JJ.
“I’m fine,” you slur.
When you go to stand, everything is spinning. It makes you slip in the sand and nearly face plant a second time.
“You’re not fine. Alright, come on,” JJ mumbles as his hands gently take your biceps. You grumble out complaints as he helps you off the ground.
The music drifts away from you as JJ guides you somewhere. The shakiness of the world makes you feel nauseous so you opt with keeping your eyes closed. There’s a throbbing from where you hit your head.
“Can I talk to you?” someone asks. You don't open your eyes to find out who.
“Not right now, man. I’m a little busy,” you hear JJ return, patience clearly dwindling.
“Can you give me a second?”
The firm but friendly hold JJ has on you momentarily vanishes. You hear the crunch of sand as he walks away a few steps but you’re too busy fighting to keep yourself upright to see where he’s gone. Just as you’re about to lose the fight, JJ’s back, catching you and steadying you on your feet.
“Woah, woah,” he chuckles. “Come on.”
As the mayhem of the party fades, you find the pounding in your head to lessen. You’re slowly lowered to sit on a piece of driftwood.
“This is so patronising.”
“Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed,” JJ says.
Braving to open your eyes, you find JJ digging around in his cargo pockets. “Why are you helping me?”
“I’m worried you might got a concussion,” he tells you. He produces a small box from his pocket, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and he cracks it open.
“You wouldn’t care if I never wake up,” you snort. The scrunch of your brows has you reaching up to the stinging pain of your head wound. Before you can touch at it, JJ’s pulling your hand away by the wrist.
“Sure I would.”
“Why?”
“Cause otherwise I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”
“Like you could find one.”
“See? That right there, makin’ me swoon, mama,” JJ ribs. He reaches out for your face then. “Alright, this might sting a little.”
His fingers are warm as they touch your skin. He lightly coaxes your head up and back by the edge of your jaw. You watch with half-blurred vision as he concentrates, gently dapping what must be an alcoholic wipe to your cut.
JJ has a pretty face. Dimples that are visible even when he isn’t smiling. A soft jawline that sharpens when he’s flexing, whether it be in concentration or aggravation. The long slender nose sits nicely on his face, guiding into surprisingly neat eyebrows and eyes with lashes so long Charlotte would cry with envy.
The wipe hits the deepest point of the wound. Flinching back, you hiss in pain.
“Sorry,” JJ mumbles.
“S’okay,” you quietly reply.
He finishes dabbing the blood away and sighs, pulling the wipe back. JJ seems to notice your stare at that point, flitting his eyes down to meet yours.
“What?”
“Your eyes have a little grey in them,” you observe.
His lips twitch in a smile. Maybe it’s the warmth of the booze, but you’re half sure that the boy blushes. Your eyes glance down to his lips, the one part of his face you haven’t yet analysed. JJ clears his throat and removes his hand from your head. He litters the wipe on the beach floor and shoves his hands in his short pockets, creating some distance. He doesn’t move any farther away from you though.
“How’d you know to do all that?”
“Cleaning cuts?”
“Mhm,” you say.
“Kinda have to learn, when you grow up in a house like mine,” JJ vaguely replies.
You spare a glance at his side profile to find his eyes trained ahead in an almost vacant stare. He comes back to himself, looking at you.
“So, uh, why’d you let him get to you?”
“Who? Rafe?”
“Uh huh.”
“I hate him,” you state.
JJ purses his lips and nods. “Fair ‘nough.”
Someone whoops out to another in the far distance. You try to ignore it, instead focusing on the susurrus of the wind, the sighs of the sea, and the steady inhales and exhales of the boy sitting beside you.
“So, your mom a nurse or something?” you ask.
“My ma?”
“Yeah. With the cut cleaning and all that.”
“Nah, she ain’t a nurse,” JJ replies. “Fact, I don’t know what she is. She ain’t around anymore.”
“That sucks,” you say.
He shrugs. “Happened a long time ago. She walked out on us so guess there can’t be much to miss, right?”
“I guess,” you agree, though you’re not sure if you fully do. For some reason – maybe because of the alcohol blurring your barriers – you find yourself telling him, “My mom walked out on us too.”
“Really?”
You nod, and instantly regret it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It gave the yacht club something to talk about for like a year,” you say, cracking a smile.
JJ grins. “You Kooks gotta have your gossip.”
“Oh yeah,” you whistle, nodding. “Otherwise we’d actually have to start making conversation about shit that matters. Or realise how little we all like each other.”
The two of you laugh and lock eyes. His dimples are now out in full force, teeth shining in the off-cast street lamp glow and enchanting moonlight.
“You know, you’re not as vile as I thought you’d be.”
His smile only grows. “Thanks. I think?”
The pulsating pain in your head seems to vanish for a moment. You think it’s because of JJ and his weirdly wonderful ways. You think it is, until you realise it’s because your body is distracted by a whole new problem.
Head whipping down, you aim away from your shoes and somehow directly at JJ’s.
And then bam: vomit.
There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up in the back of your car. That one was false.
It’s abnormal seeing JJ sat behind your steering wheel. His elbow is propped up on the window ledge, knuckles cracked as he grips the wheel at the top, guiding it with the other hand. You keep stealing glances. He focuses ahead on the road. It’s pitch-black asides from the glare of the headlights and the few and far between streetlamps. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this point with him, to have him driving your car and to find yourself completely okay with it.
The playlist that the radio is humming out changes to the next song. You instantly feel your body soften in the passenger seat with the swell of violins and cellos. Naturally, gradually, they find a melody. It’s solemn and serene all at once.
“I love this song,” you hear yourself say.
“What is it?”
“Love Theme, from Cinema Paradiso,” you reply.
JJ’s lips twitch with curiosity. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s my favourite piece of music of all time,” you tell him. “It makes me cry.”
“Really? Don’t know if any song’s ever made me cry.”
“Then you’re listening to the wrong things,” you're quick assert.
JJ chuckles at that, but he doesn’t disagree.
The piano chimes in now; steady waltz-like chords which complement the strings flawlessly. You sigh and watch the world pass by through the window. After throwing up, draining the alcohol from your body in the least flattering of ways, you feel more stable. There’s still a blur to the edge of the world hinting that you’re not fully sober but you no longer feel out of control. The three mints which you had the moment you got in the car helped to freshen your mouth.
“It’s a pretty song,” JJ observes. You’re surprised that he’s listening to it. “Is it meant to be happy?”
“Sort of. It’s the third version. There’s three reprises of the song throughout the film. The movie’s sort of a culmination of genres. It’s a love story about Salvatore and Elena, this girl who he’s completely infatuated with throughout his teens. But it doesn’t work out. It’s also about his relationship with Alfredo, this old man who runs the cinema. Salvatore falls in love with cinema and Alfredo is like a father figure to him. As he grows up, he’s pushed to leave the small town and live his life.”
JJ whistles lowly. “That’s a lot’a unpack.”
“Sorry,” you meekly reply. Maybe you rambled on a bit too much.
“Don’t be. It’s interesting,” JJ says.
You glance over to him and see him smiling, and you struggle to bite back your own, looking back to the road.
“You seem to have a thing for movies,” JJ notes.
“I love them,” you sigh, pushing your hair behind your ears. The music builds at that moment, with the wind instruments taking control of the melody and pushing the emotion to another level. You find your eyes slipping shut on reflex. It’s with them closed that you find the confidence to admit, “I want to write movies for a living. But nothing like the new crappy things. Films like the old ones. The ones with real emotion and meaning behind them. I’m so sick of the cheap rewrites and remakes. All the CGI junk that fills the cinema now and the empty scores.”
“So, why don’t you? Write movies, I mean?”
As JJ asks you this question, he pulls up outside your house.
You scoff. “Yeah, my dad would just love that. He wants me to go to school for accounting or economics. Something with ‘a future’.”
The engine shuts off but the song continues to play. JJ glances down at the radio, his eyes scanning over the song title. He seems lost in thought, or perhaps lost in the music, and you feel a small smile settle comfortably on your face. He’s so pretty in this light. He’s pretty in any light.
He seems to remember himself, coming out of his stupor in a similar manner to how he did back on the beach. Looking up to you, JJ catches your gaze. He reflexively switches off the radio, cutting the song off and enveloping the two of you in silence.
“You uh,” he begins, gesturing lamely to the house, “don’t seem the type to ask for your dad’s permission.”
“Oh what? Now you think you know me all of a sudden?” Your tone is teasing. It’s so different to the usual bite it has from your other interactions.
JJ shrugs. “I think I’m starting to.”
The honesty behind his words has your lips parting, somewhat taken aback. The bad-boy façade that he hides behind seems to have slipped tonight. You hold his gaze and he offers you a warm, tender smile. There’s a nervous yet excitable thrum in your chest. It's terrifying.
“Yeah, well, the only thing people know about me is that I’m scary,” you say dismissively.
“Well, I’m no picnic myself, so,” JJ muses.
And it’s things like that which catch you off guard. Your efforts to push him away and close him off are so easily dismissed. He seems to have a talent for peeling away your walls and it never feels intrusive. Instead, it makes you feel seen. Understood. It’s something that you haven’t really known since your mom walked out. Mia understood you to an extent, but you weren’t sure that she knew you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever let her, as awful as it sounds.
“Well, thank you. For driving me back,” you quietly say.
JJ nods. His eyes never stray from yours. He’s so beautiful it’s unfair.
“Course. Anytime.”
He takes a breath and it’s shaky, tempered with nerves, and that’s when you wonder if his heart is beating as fast as yours. If his stomach is full of butterflies too, bringing about the most addictive of anxieties. As his tongue darts out to dampen his lips, you find yourself taking the leap. Slowly, so slow that you’re not sure you even are, you lean forward to him, letting your eyes slip shut. In the moonlight, in your car, after the conversations of the night, you finally feel as though you have seen the real JJ, and he’s seen the real you.
A second passes.
Then another.
Then a third.
You hear the rustle of clothes and the creak of the car seat as JJ shifts. It makes you open your eyes. He’s watching his fingers trail along the leather grip of the steering wheel, knuckles uncomfortably tight and lips rubbing together.
“Maybe we should do this another time,” he eventually says.
For a moment, you just sit. You take him in. He doesn’t appear cocky or disgusted, or even amused. He seems timorous. It’s so confusing and irritating that you find yourself defaulting to anger. It’s that anger that smothers the burning hot embarrassment you feel deep in your chest. It conceals the crumbling disappointment of not having his lips on yours. Suddenly, you want to be as far away from him as possible.
You scoff and push open the car door. It slams loudly behind you as you storm back up to the house, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort as you feel your heart painfully pulling at your throat. The sting of tears is hard to fight but you manage to keep them at bay until you’re in your bedroom. It’s there that you feel safe enough to cry.
There was a rumour that JJ tracked you down in a movie shop. That one was true.
Have you ever had so much on your mind that it’s physically impossible to concentrate, even on the simplest of things? Ever since the keggar three days ago, that’s how you’ve felt. Studying was more gruelling than usual. You would start reading an exert from Romeo and Juliet and somehow, you’d find your mind drifting to the sound of JJ’s voice on the beach, telling you about his mom. Watching movies was no longer an escape because any guy on screen had you back in the passenger seat, basking in JJ’s beauty. Even now, stood in An Offer You Can’t Refuse, you find yourself staring blankly at the back of a DVD case, trying to make sense of the blurb.
Sighing, you give up and shelve it. You wander back to the main throughway of the store and look at some of the more recent releases. Tugging your cardigan tighter around you, you round the end of the shelve, heading for the exit, to instead come face to face with JJ.
It’s a shame that your stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight of him.
“Excuse me, have you seen ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s?’ I’ve lost my copy?”
You hold back a grunt and opt to roll your eyes instead. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a secret screening,” JJ tells you, humour lining his words.
You scoff. “You’re so…”
“Charming?” he offers.
You breeze past him.
“Wholesome!”
“Unwelcome,” you correct.
“You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know,” JJ suddenly tells you, tone taking an edge.
Mystified, you return, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”
“Oh, somebody’s still got their panties in a twist,” JJ quips.
Spinning around, you raise a finger threateningly. “Do not for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.”
JJ lightly taps your hand away. “What did I have an effect on then?”
It’s moments like these that you’re thankful your mouth is quicker than your mind. “Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing,” you lie.
JJ sighs, frustrated.
In the corner of your eye, you see the movies of the week. The universe works perfectly sometimes. Snatching up a copy, you shove Breakfast at Tiffany's in JJ’s chest before leaving the shop.
It sucks to be mad at JJ. You don’t want to be, but you don’t know how not to be. The whole night felt like an oxymoron. There was a moment when things felt so perfect and then he shattered it. It was abnormal. All that hard work to get you out on a date; the time taken caring for you and driving you back, checking you got home safe; and the conversations that felt far from empty and false…And then nothing. You knew JJ wasn’t a virgin. Not all rumours are based in truth – you knew that – but when it came to JJ Maybank, it was common knowledge that he had a way with girls. You weren’t the first girl for him to lay eyes on, and you certainly wouldn’t be the first girl he’d kiss, so why did he suddenly seem so discouraged? It didn’t make sense.
Whatever.
You close the car door and start up your engine.
You had more important things to sort out than deliberating over JJ’s intentions. Since when had a man ever interrupted your life before? There were some math notes which needed finishing back at home, and a track meet practice to prepare for tomorrow. Life was bigger than some pretty teenage boy.
Catching your eyes in the rearview mirror, you harden your gaze. “Get a grip.”
Your day doesn’t seem to improve when you get home. Whilst you’ve managed to put thoughts of JJ to bed, letting the irritation rest, your dad seems unwilling to give you peace. You walk through the door to hear himself and Charlotte talking animatedly about the Spring Ball at the yacht club.
“I’m not sure,” your dad sighs.
“But daddy, I’ve gone to them before.”
“But this one’s different. The guys there are older now. You’re older now. After last year, and our reputation, I’m just…”
The creaking floorboard before the kitchen doorway gives you away. Charlotte jumps at the chance to lasso you in.
“What if she comes?”
“She has a name,” you mutter, heading to the cupboard for a snack.
“I mean, if your sister goes then you can go, but I doubt she will.”
“She will what?” you ask. Cereal bar in hand, you tug away the wrapper and take a bite.
“Go to the Spring Ball.”
You guffaw loudly. “Yeah. No.”
“Knew it,” your dad says.
“Oh, come on! What’s wrong with the Spring Ball?” Charlotte carps.
You roll your eyes. “They’re stupid and performative and in bad taste. And old-fashioned. It just makes me feel icky. Whilst the Cut are trying to raise money to renovate the parks, we’re throwing balls for the fun of it. Plus, they’re boring. It’s just a bunch of rich morons talking about other rich morons. No offence, dad.”
“Plenty taken,” mutters your dad.
“You’re exhausting,” Charlotte tells you. “And unhinged.”
“Thanks,” you grin before taking another bite of your snack. You go to leave. “I’ll be upstairs.”
There was a rumour that JJ snuck into your school. That one was true.
You started running track following your school guidance counsellor’s advice. It was after you kneed Kelce so hard in the balls that he had to go to the nurse (you pride yourself for that achievement daily). Track was a good way to let off steam though. The world felt smaller and simpler on the circuit. You felt as though you could run away from all the things that were bothering you: Rafe, your dad, Charlotte, your mom. And now, JJ. The steady beat of your feet hitting the sand-topped track works like a metronome for your musings.
You’d heard the rumours that had been circulating about the night of the keggar. Charlotte hadn’t told you what happened between herself and Rafe, but there was a rumour that he didn’t drive her home. Apparently, someone called Louis had given her a ride back. You’d seen him at school every now and then. He’d only transferred a few months back so there wasn’t much to know about him. He seemed harmless enough though. Compared to Rafe, a rabid dog would be preferred.
“Good pace!” your coach praises loudly to you as you complete a third lap.
You’re panting in the warm sun. April was right around the corner now and the temperature was picking up, bit by bit, every day. Slowing to a jog, you direct yourself to the benches and retrieve your water bottle.
As your swallowing your third sip, you hear the loudspeaker system crackle to life. At first you don’t pay it much mind, assuming it’s one of the band members checking everything is working for a game tomorrow night or something. But then a voice is droning out of the speakers. It has a Carolina twang to it that is more common on the Cut and a youthful rasp that’s now all too familiar.
JJ.
‘Morning you wonderful Kook folks.’
You stare wide-eyed at the speaker.
‘Y’all are probably busy preparing your caviar or whatever the hell it is that you be doing out here on Figure Eight, but I’m here to read something I prepared. Brighten up your day and all that.’
Surely you have heatstroke. Surely this is not happening.
“’I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.’”
Sense and Sensibility. You glance around the field as if to check that you’re not the only one hearing this and - yep, you’re not.
“‘Me? I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.’”
Dirty Dancing. Lips twitching into a smile, you’re in disbelief. Some people are sniggering at the cheesiness, others are completely befuddled by the whole thing. It is rather random. If you didn’t know what he was doing, you’d be confused too. Well, you still are, in fact. Did he know you'd be at the track today?
“And my personal favourite, ladies and gentlemen: ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing. Badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’”
Your perplexed smile turns more sober with that. Something trills in your chest – most probably your heart – and you nod in quiet approval.
“Alright then, Kooks and…Kooklemen. Y’all have a blessed day.”
The speaker clicks off with a crackle and some people on the field whoop and cheer, laughing and jeering. You shake your head and finish your drink, grinning like an idiot.
Maybe, just maybe, you can find some room to give JJ another chance.
There was a rumour that JJ Maybank spent his free time fishing. That one was true.
JJ Maybank was like a candy bar. He had a way of being sweet without being sickly, and he stayed on your mind the same way one gets chocolate stuck between their teeth. After asking around, you’re told that the best place to find the so-called delinquent was at a local fishing spot, down some old jetty. The floorboards creak unnervingly with every step you take. The sun is high in the sky, it only being mid-morning, and you find JJ easily. He’s perched on the end of the jetty, leaning forward against the rotting wooden railing. In one hand he’s supporting a rod, the wire of which is submerged deep in the water, waiting for a bite. There’s a small cooler by his feet alongside a bag of fishing tack. The back of his t-shirt has a large circular graphic on it. It’s well washed but you can make out the ‘sex-wax’ text.
“Yo,” you call out.
He startles then turns. There’s a strange flurry of emotions that cross over his face in a second when he lays eyes on you.
“Hey. How’d you find me?”
“I have my ways,” you reply, finishing the journey to him.
JJ moves so his back rests against the fence, body now facing you, and you pause a comfortable foot or so apart.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“I was kind’a an asshole at the movie store, the other day,” you say, uncomfortable in your confession. The proud twitch of his brow doesn't go unnoticed. “So, I figured it was only right to fess up.”
“Mhm. Anything in particular brought this on?” JJ wonders innocently.
You smile at that, rolling your eyes. Nevertheless, you play along. “You know, it’s so weird. This voice came over the speakers at school yesterday and it got me thinking.”
“Oh? You know who it was?”
“I don’t know,” you sigh, scratching your hairline. “Maybe God?”
“You sure it weren’t an angel?” he checks, tongue poking through his teeth with his boyish grin.
“Nah, but he sure had the voice of one,” you play along.
The entertained lift of JJ’s brows makes your smile flatten into something more genuine.
“Did you get in trouble for it?”
“For breaking into Kook Academy and hacking your intercom?” JJ asks. His face scrunches up as he shakes his head falsely. “Nah.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
“I’m a pro, sweetheart. I was in and out, like an ops-mission,” he recounts, using his free hand to gesture lamely like a discount spy.
You roll your eyes once more and move to stand next to him, separated only by the cooler. Leaning your arms forward on the jetty fence, you sigh and close your eyes, basking in the sun.
“What’re you doing right now?”
“Right now?” you say, opening your eyes to look at him. He nods. “Nothing much.”
“Wanna go to the break? Hear the waves are meant to be pretty sweet today,” JJ asks.
Your lips twitch at the corners. His seem to mirror. “Sure, yeah. Sounds good.”
“Sweet. Lemme just pack this stuff up,” he says. “My friend’s lent me his car for the day so we can ride there in that.”
There was a rumour that you nearly drowned when you went surfing with JJ. That one was completely made up.
The water is so blue you can almost taste it. The gradient of blues and aquamarines is mouthwatering in beauty.
Sighing, your feet sink into the sand, desensitised to the burn on the soles of your feet. On one shoulder you have your rucksack. It’s packed with snacks that the two of you picked up from a local shop: granola bars and a large back of chips, that sort of thing. JJ found some cans of soda when turfing through the cooler. Tucked under your other arm is a surfboard that JJ’s letting you borrow; there were three attached to the roof of the beat-up camper van he’s borrowing. JJ’s carrying a tattered looking picnic blanket that he dragged off the backseats and his own board. It seems JJ’s surfboard is the thing that is the best kept out of all the belongings he has.
JJ whistles. “Pretty good swell, huh?”
“Hell yeah,” you agree.
He walks in front and dumps the picnic blanket, lazily spreading it out with his foot. You put the rucksack down with it before leaning down to place your board carefully on the sand. As you go to stand, you find your eyes falling on JJ’s back. He’s tugging off his shirt, lats and triceps tensing and relaxing with the quick change. You can’t help but stare. The guy’s in good shape – nobody can disagree with that. He turns and catches your eye just before you can divert your gaze to the water, frowning as if assessing the waves. There’s an amused smirk that comes to his face, cocky like always.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks.
Your face scrunches in deliberation. You pretend that he’s referring to the sea. “Yeah; the waves look pretty strong.”
“Mhm,” he hums, entertained.
It’s then that you decide to seek some revenge. Casually, like the whole situation doesn’t make your heartbeat with elated anxiety, you pull your top off, revealing a crotchet-style bikini top. Living in Kildare meant that bikinis instead of underwear were sort of a given. Unbuttoning your shorts, you wiggle them down your body before stepping out and tossing them on the blanket. Glancing up, acting as if you’d completely forgotten JJ was there, you quirk a brow. He’s staring shamelessly at your body.
“Something up?”
“Not yet,” he mumbles.
It’s hard to bite back your smile. Hard, but not impossible. Dipping down to retrieve the board, you strain a little as you lift it.
“Come on. We’re wasting daylight,” you tell him, walking past towards the water.
“Yes ma’am,” you hear him say.
The crunch of sand behind you tells you he’s following. Then, his pace picks up and he’s rushing past, taking a moment to dab at your head jokingly.
“Hey!”
His laugh is light like buttercream frosting. You chase after him, towards the break, and soon enough you’re sliding atop of your board and paddling through the wake. JJ’s just a bit ahead. His back glistens in the sunlight with saltwater. You swallow your pride and dignity and let your eyes trail up his legs and butt. The water makes his clothes stick more than usual. He steadily rises to his feet, finding his balance on the board in such a natural manner that one would think he was born on it. The way he leans forward and back is effortless. He tames the waves like a creature of the sea, dipping on the currents and following the dives. You can’t help but sit up on your board for a moment and watch. His face is tight with concentration but the joy is as clear as the water. The sharp edge of his jawline teases you as you watch him surf. The tremble of your heart and knot in your stomach isn’t unfamiliar and yet it still catches you by surprise. To distract yourself, you paddle out some more before rising to your feet.
You know the old saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’? You never much believed it until today. The two of you must have been on the water for an hour. Somehow, simultaneously, the two of you agree that it’s time to call it off. The scratchy over-washed cotton of the blanket is only slightly uncomfortable on your legs as you sit. JJ takes your rucksack and digs about for a snack. You opt for taking in the quietness of the beach; it feels as though you’re the only souls for miles.
“Who’s this?” JJ asks.
You glance over to find JJ holding up a photo he’d taken from your wallet. A part of you wants to make a jab about how he’s snooping around, but you don’t. Instead, you smile weakly.
“My mom.”
“Oh,” JJ says, looking back down at the photo with new interest. “She’s pretty. Can see where you get your looks from.”
“Thanks,” you smile.
JJ reaches back into the back and pulls a can of soda free. He tosses it to you and you crack it open.
“I go through phases of having it in there,” you say, nodding down to the photo that he continues to hold. “Sometimes I want it around and other times I don’t. I know that probably sounds dumb.”
“No, it doesn’t,” JJ responds rather easily.
He tucks the photo back away in the wallet, safe and sound, then grabs a can of sofa for himself. He reclines on his elbows. Your eyes fixate on the shark tooth necklace hung around his neck on a discoloured piece of yarn. It rises and falls with each steady breath he takes. As your eyes trail down his stomach, you notice the water droplets drying in the sunlight. In a desperate effort not to stare, you find yourself watching him crack his feet, outstretching them on the sand. Crossing your legs, you take a sip of your soda and glance back up to his face. Then, you follow JJ’s line of sight to the water. The routine of the waves pulling in and pulling back, over and over, is calming in a way few other things are. As the sky’s mosaic of colour darkens by the minute, the water reflects it back like a mirror with a pretty shimmer.
“Sometimes I wish I had a photo of my ma.”
“Don’t you?” you ask, looking to him again.
He shakes his head. “My dad went on this crazy rager when she left and burnt up all her stuff. I was too young and stupid to take a photo for myself and hide it somewhere.”
“Bold of you to assume that you’re not still those things.”
JJ snorts, shooting you a glance. “Thanks.”
You smile back but correct your manners. “Seriously though, that sucks. I’m sorry.” It’s a lame understatement for the reality of it, but it’s all you can think to say. Tenderness isn’t something that comes very naturally for you.
He shrugs, looking back to the water. You know he’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, and maybe if you’d only met yesterday, you’d believe it, but there’s something about his composure that tells you that it isn’t true.
“I just wish I could remember what she looks like, y’know?” he says, looking to you once more as if seeking affirmation. You give a small nod. “I mean, I can’t even remember her voice. Not that it should matter. Fuck her, right? She’s the one who left.”
He takes a hasty sip of his soda, breaking eye contact. You frown and watch him, and deliberate whether to speak your mind. I mean, of course you’re going to, but it feels good to deliberate first.
“Well, no, not ‘fuck her’,” you eventually say.
JJ looks to you, eyebrows knotted: bordering on angry.
You continue. “I think it ain’t that simple. It’s why I go through phases of having that photo of my mom in my wallet. You can be mad at someone and still miss them. At least I think you can. They’re not binary things, or mutually exclusive. So, I don’t think it’s as simple as ‘fuck her’.”
There’s a moment where JJ just looks at you, as if he’s soaking you in the same way the two of you are basking in the warmth of the sun. It’s a certain kind of stare; the kind where you don’t feel calculated under his gaze but unquestionably seen. There’s a momentary concern that you’ve offended him but then JJ gains this almost-smile that’s becoming more and more familiar to you, and he nods.
“I’ve never really talked to anyone about her before,” JJ confesses.
You smile sadly. “Me too. About my mom, I mean. Dad shuts down when I bring it up and Charlotte…She remembers things differently.”
“Well, it’s nice to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “It is nice.”
The whispering of sea waves melts into the sound of songbirds and geese, singing and squawking in a weirdly melodic harmony. There’re crickets in the dunes which chime in from time to time and you take a moment to look back to the water, close your eyes, and enjoy it all.
“So, what’s your excuse for it?”
“My excuse for what?” you wonder, never opening your eyes.
“You know.” There’s a soft scrape on your skin as JJ kicks some sand off his feet and onto yours. “For acting the way we do.”
Sighing, you deliberate on how to answer. JJ has this way of opening you up. With others, you were hard-shelled and closed off, but like a pistachio, he knew where to pry just right to get you to spill. It was like he already knew the password so you never questioned letting him through the door.
“I don’t want to care what people think of me. It makes no difference, whether I impress them or not, so what should it matter? Why should I waste my time with it?”
“‘Makes no difference?’ Like makes no difference whether they stick around?” JJ wonders.
You open your eyes and look to him, a little taken aback by how easily he translated your words. “Sure. Like that.”
“Like your mom?”
It doesn’t affect you when he asks that. If someone else were to, your fury would spike suddenly and you’d snap. Say something you’d regret. But maybe because JJ might understand more than others, it doesn’t. So, you nod.
“Yeah,” you quietly reply. “Like my mom.”
“I get that,” JJ muses. It’s with that small token that you feel comfortable to elaborate.
“I think it really came clear after she left, how fake people can be,” you say. “Seeing how all our so-called friends reacted. At the Yacht Club, my dad was the laughingstock. Everyone talked about him, about mom leaving, like they didn’t know him. Like he wasn’t this great guy - which he is - and like they hadn’t been drinking cocktails and pints on his tab for years. It was so fake. That’s when I realised that people will think whatever they want to, even if they say another thing. So…why bend yourself backwards to try and change it?”
Sniffing, JJ nods in understanding as he digests your story. His toes dig into the damp sand and you find your own spare hand reaching out and playing with the grains, sifting through them soothingly.
“What about you? Why do you act the way we do?”
“I guess the same, in a way,” JJ replies. You notice that he likes to gaze ahead when he talks about himself, like eye-contact is too painful. Too vulnerable. “With my dad being who he is, people just assume the worst about me. I’m sick of trying to prove them wrong. They’re gonna think what they wanna think so what’s the point, right?”
“The ones who care enough won’t judge a book by its cover. They’ll get to know you and see through all the bullshit,” you assure him.
His head turns with that. Unblinking, he asks, “like you?”
You’re momentarily stunned by the bluntness of the question but soon enough, you’re smiling at him.
“Yeah. Like me.”
When JJ smiles, his teeth peak through in this adorably youthful way. There’re dimples that poke through his cheeks and no tension in his forehead or jaw. Just happiness. You like him like this, all tousled and sun-kissed and seawater bathed. It’s strange. Sitting here with him on the beach feels like the first time you’ve ever been to the water and truly appreciated it. It’s like you’d always thought you would sink, so you never swam. But now, with JJ looking at you the way he is, and the way the two of you seem to click in an inexplicable manner – as if you’d been the two missing parts of the other’s jigsaw puzzle – you realise that maybe you were wrong to make such an assumption.
“It’s weird. We come from such different lifestyles but I don’t think anyone understands me as good as you do.”
JJ’s voice is quiet but not small when he tells you this. It’s a private thought that you’re honoured for him to have shared. There’s only one way you can think to answer.
Leaning forward, you leave your drink abandoned on the blanket and cup his jaw, fingers damp from condensation. His lips meet yours willingly. The kiss the two of you fall into makes your feelings for him all the more obvious to you, and all the more terrifying.
There was a lot of rumours about the both of you. Some were true, and some were not.
JJ drops the campervan off at his friend John B’s house. It’s this quaint fishing shack that could definitely do with a lick of paint on the boarding, and a few fresh nails to keep the porch from caving in on itself. But it’s homely by how clearly lived-in it is. There’s no emotionless ornaments like in your house; only fishing gear, empty cans of beer by the stairs leading up to the front door, and far-from-new throw pillows. You wait on the grass at the bottom of the stairs as JJ heads up to the door, skipping one of the steps entirely. He raps with his knuckles on the door before letting himself in.
“Yo! John B, you home?”
“Back here!” you hear a guy call back. JJ vanishes into the house, car keys in hand, ready to hand them over.
Shoving your hands in your short pockets, you glance out to the backyard. There’s an impressive sized tree from which a hammock hangs, and a less than stable looking jetty. A sort-of shed stands, filled with all sorts of tools and gear, and a half-waxed board lies on a table.
“Alright, let’s bounce,” JJ says, reappearing. He hops off the porch and grabs your hand like it’s second nature, guiding the two of you away from the house.
“You known John B a long time?”
“Since kindergarten,” JJ replies.
“Damn. Don’t think I’ve ever known someone that long. Well, apart from Charlotte.”
“What’s her deal, anyway?”
“Who? Charlotte?”
“Yeah. Like, is she as conceited as everyone says she is?”
Your brows quirk up. “People say she’s conceited?”
Watching JJ fumble and stumble over his tongue is entertaining. He looks to you, mildly panicked. “Well, like, I don’t say that but—”
“I’m just messing with you,” you grin. He unconsciously gives a small sigh of relief. “I know she’s conceited. And spoilt. And bratty.”
“Hm. Sounds like you’re really fond of her,” JJ chuckles.
You laugh under breath and rock your head from side to side in deliberation. “She’s hard to love but harder to hate.”
“That’s ice cold, girl,” JJ whistles.
The moment your feet hit the tarmac of a main road, you realise that you’ve been following the blonde-haired boy blind.
“Where are we going, by the way?”
“To mine.”
“To yours?”
JJ seems to catch onto the innuendo. He looks to you and adds, “my bike’s there. I can give you a ride home.”
“Oh.” Something inside you sinks with disappointment. You don’t dwell on it though. “Thanks.”
The weight of JJ’s fingers nestled between yours is casually intimate. Usually you’d feel coddled and clammy and want to pull away, but instead you feel safe.
“What’d you think I meant? When I said we were heading to mine?” JJ asks you.
You quirk a brow and pull a face which seems to be answer enough. He cracks up. “I mean…I’m down if you’re down…”
“Slow and steady, JJ Maybank. Slow and steady,” you return with a grin.
“That’s my motto baby,” is his sultry reply, topped off with a wink.
You’d be lying if you said your body didn’t flush with that comment.
“You’ve got a reputation, JJ. I’m not gonna be another notch on your belt,” you jokingly say.
JJ rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, half of my reputation is bullshit rumours.”
“Same here, amigo.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta admit, I’ve heard some pretty batshit things about you,” JJ tunefully says.
Smirking, you turn to look at him. “Oh really? Like what?”
He takes a moment to think. The eventide light shadows his skin like a painting. “The state trooper?”
Ah. You remember that one. Bobby Cromack spread a rumour that you’d kicked a state trooper in the balls during a protest. On accounts that no protest ever existed that month in Kildare, that was a lie.
“False,” you say. You take the opportunity to debunk some of that you’d heard about JJ. One that you were certain wasn’t true was the rumour that he ate an entire turtle raw. “The turtle?”
He blows a raspberry. “Bullshit. The college guy?”
“Hearsay,” you say. Apparently, a friend of a friend of someone at Kildare Academy saw you at a frat college party in Wilmington, snorting coke off some guy’s chest. Incredible how easily fake news flies. “The hooker?”
“Lies,” he debunks. So, JJ didn’t lose his virginity to a prostitute. “The Banksy side-gig?”
You guffaw. “Complete crap.”
Yes, it appeared that people at school thought you were spending your free time running around Kildare, throwing up mediocre spray paint art as an act of rebellion. Stunning.
“Damn. You’re just full of disappointments, ain’t ya?”
JJ leads the two of you up a small dirt road and through a culmination of trees and shrubs, a house begins to emerge. It’s slightly bigger than John B’s but still small. It is somehow even more banged up, but not in an inviting way like his friend’s. No, this place looks desolate and lonely. Sad even. You feel a sympathetic tug when you notice JJ’s shoulders tense at the sight of it. You’re not even sure he realises that he’s doing it. There’s a bright red bike that you recognise; it’s sheltered under a small shack in the garden. It seems that neither of you are ready to close off the conversation yet. Instead, JJ takes you to the steps of his porch and the two of you sit. You lean against one pillar and him against the other. The wood is splintering and the paint is peeling off in strips. Facing one another, you slot your feet between his staple combat boots.
“Tell me something true.”
“Something true?” he checks, rubbing at his jaw. You nod. “I don’t like snakes.”
Laughing, you shake your head. He seems to like your laugh, smiling at the sound and sight. “No. Something real.”
JJ reaches out and plays with one of your laces.
“Something nobody else knows,” you explicate.
“Okay,” JJ nods. He retracts his fingers from your shoe, using his hand to help him keep his balance as he leans forward. You can smell the salt on the skin of his neck from the sea as he presses a kiss to your skin. There’s something sensual about the warmth of his breath on the apple of your cheek.
“You’re sweet,” he says. Your lips push together, suppressing your smile, and JJ pulls back only to move to the other cheek. “And sexy.” He pulls back so he can plant a kiss on your lips. You love how JJ kisses. “And completely hot for me.”
You guffaw, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?”
He frowns momentarily before nodding, saying, “I tell myself that everyday, actually.”
The smile that his joking response brings you quickly fades when he kisses you again. There’s something different about this kiss. Something passionate, and emotive, and sensuous. When his hand reaches up to cup at the place where your jaw fades into your neck, you find yourself leaning into his hold, deepening the kiss. The brush of his tongue on yours sends electricity shooting from your head, down your spine, straight through your toes. It’s over all too soon. When he speaks, he’s close, and he asks his question against your lips.
“Go to the Spring Ball with me.”
“What?” you dumbly ask, eyes slowly opening.
“The Yacht club spring ball. Go with me,” JJ clarifies.
Your smile doesn’t falter as you gaze into his eyes, admiring the flecks of colour. The answer is easy. “No.”
His brows gently tug together. Smiling, he repeats, “come on, go with me.”
“Is that a request or a demand?” you half-joke. The magic of the moment is dissipating as quick as vapour. He doesn’t reply but the way he holds your gaze suggests that he’s still waiting for an answer. “No.”
“No? Why not?”
You pull away now. “Because I don’t want to. Because it’s a dumb tradition for fake rich people.”
“Come on! People won’t expect you to go. Plus, it’d be a laugh seeing the look on those Kook asshole faces when you show up with me, don’t you think?” JJ prompts.
You frown. Something manifests in your gut. It weighs heavy like a stone. Cocking your head, creating more distance between the two of you, you ask, “why are you pushing this?”
JJ’s lips part. You see them try to form words but nothing comes out. It makes you prod further.
“What’s in it for you?”
He turns, sitting fully on the porch, feet side by side on the step below. You watch his side profile and notice how his jaw ticks and tightens, like he’s annoyed. Like you telling him no has annoyed him. That stone turns into a rock.
“So, you’re saying I need a motive to be with you now?” JJ asks, tone clipped.
Your anger ticks. “You tell me.”
He scoffs and shakes his head, glancing out to the unkept yard. Suddenly, he looks to you. There’s a dark, twisted look on his face that’s so scarily unfamiliar. “You need therapy, you know that? Has anyone ever told you that before? Like you’re actually sick in the head.”
The words hit like darts aimed straight for your heart. You swallow the pain and keep your gaze steely but your voice gives you away. It’s shrinking and holds no conviction as you say, “answer the question, JJ.”
The ugliness of him only grows as he shakes his head once more. There’s a sick smile on his face that comes and goes quick like a hurricane before he sardonically says, “nothing, alright? Just the pleasure of your company.”
The rock in your gut is a boulder; it makes you feel like you’re sinking into the ground. The shock barely has time to settle before he delivers another blow. You watch JJ dig into his short pockets and pull out a pack of cigarettes, shucking one free and propping it between his lips. He said he was quitting. Scoffing, you reach out and take it as he searches for his lighter. You toss the cigarette carelessly on the ground before getting to your feet, hastily walking away from him. It’s like you can’t get away fast enough. Your arms wrap around you in a far from comforting hug the minute you feel obscured by the foliage. When you realise that JJ isn’t following you, your head dips and lips tremble. With the call of a songbird, your mind flashes back to earlier that day, at the beach, and your tears finally start to fall.
There was a rumour that your sister wanted to go to the spring ball with Rafe. That one was (thankfully) false.
Academics don’t hurt you the way people do. Math equations can’t talk back and Shakespeare quotes don’t bite. Throwing yourself into your studies seems the best way to get your mind of JJ’s cruel words. The look on his face when he snapped at you was so different to the way he’d been with you before. It was cold and callous and downright mean. It was also befuddling, how defensive he got. JJ and Spring Ball didn’t seem like the most obvious pairing to you. You knew that JJ liked to stick-it-to-the-man and get under the Kook’s skin, but pushing the spring ball just to take the piss was so abnormal. Maybe that was what hurt the most.
You’re halfway through analysing a sonnet from Romeo and Juliet when there’s a soft rap on your bedroom door.
“Come in!”
It creaks open and you glance over to find Charlotte. She softly closes it behind her. Then, she takes a seat on your bed.
“What’s up?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” you say, closing your notebook. Spinning around in your desk chair, you face your younger sister.
She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. She stands out like a sore thumb in your bedroom, amongst your old movie posters and tapestries and postcards, and the deep grey and white of your bedsheets. Her blossom pink skirt doesn’t quite fit the theme.
“Why don’t you want to go to the spring ball? Is it just to keep me from going?”
You sigh and look away, down at the floor. Shaking your head, you say, “no. I just don’t like the yacht club people. You know that.”
“You act like you’re not one of us,” Charlotte tells you.
“Because I’m not,” you reply quickly, offended. She quirks a brow.
“Look at where we live! At the car you drive! We’re in a lucky position in life and it’s stupid to act like that isn’t true!”
“I can acknowledge my privilege without leaning into it,” you say.
You weren’t stupid. You knew your socio-economic status gave you an advantage in life. Not once had you ever had to worry about money, or not having dinner on the table, or not being able to go for coffee. Your dad worked hard to get to the place where you were at now; it wasn’t handed to him. Nonetheless, spending more time with JJ, seeing his and John B’s homes, made you realise just how easy you had it. That didn’t mean that you liked the frivolities of the lifestyle, though.
“Look, I know you think the yacht club is dumb and fake and all of that stuff,” Charlotte reals off. “But I actually care about it. I really do. It means something to me.”
“But it’s so—”
“You can preach all you want, but it won’t change my opinion,” Charlotte interrupts. You slam your mouth shut. It’s a fair point (something she rarely makes). “Look, there’s a guy that I really like, and he wants to take me.”
“Rafe?”
“No.” She says it in a way that makes you think she’s almost amused at the thought. “Louis. He’s actually nice.”
“Actually?” You check.
She smiles and nods. She has a pretty smile. “Yes. Actually. But daddy won’t let me go if you don’t and I really want to go.”
You swallow. It’s clear where this conversation is going now. Sighing, you look out the window. It’s windy today. Blossoms keep getting blown from the trees and they pass by your window like fake snow.
“The thing with the yacht club isn’t just as simple as not wanting to get all dressed up for some dumb tradition,” you admit. “I don’t like how they treated dad, after mom left.”
“I know,” she says. Then, after a moment’s thought, adds, “But that wasn’t everyone. Remember how Mrs M brought us casserole for a week? And Mr Cameron invited dad out on a fishing trip? Some people are fake, that’s true, but not everyone. Not everyone has ulterior motives.”
That last sentence has your eyes snapping back to hers. She doesn’t seem to realise what she’s said. In fact, it looks like she’s waiting for you to tear into her like you usually would. But when you take her in, you see a sweet fifteen-year-old girl who’s a little tightly wrapped in cotton wool, who wants an excuse to wear a pretty dress and dance to trashy pop music and get to know a cute guy. The thought of keeping her away from that makes you feel guilty. Plus, if you’re there, at least you can keep an eye on her from the outskirts. Check that this Louis isn’t just another Rafe in disguise.
“Fine.”
She blinks at you, confused. “Fine?”
“I’ll go. We can go.”
“We can!?”
The way her whole face lights up like New York at night makes the night of horror already worthwhile. Starting to smile, you nod. The hug that Charlotte fires at you nearly sends you falling out of your chair. As much as you hate hugs, this one might be the best one you’ve ever had from her.
There was a rumour that JJ’s dad beat him. He never told you that was true, but you had a feeling.
JJ’s house seems eerily quiet. It isn’t the sort of quiet that makes you feel as though nobody’s home. It reminds you of the quiet in the movies when the hostages are hiding from the bad guys. The kind where nobody wants to step on a twig and give away their location. Something about it stops you from heading up the porch and knocking on the door. You’ve barely rounded the corner of the house, about to see what you can spot around the back, when someone is grabbing at you from behind. It’s a man, you can tell by their arms. One wraps around your middle, fastening one of your arms to your side, and the other comes to cover your mouth. It muffles your panicked yelps.
“Calm down, calm down, it’s me,” JJ’s whispering frantically in your ear.
It doesn’t stop your struggling though. He’s barely pulled you away from the house before you shake free, shoving him off you. He takes you by the wrist then, guiding you into the marshland.
“What the hell, JJ!”
“Shut up, alright? He’ll hear,” JJ shortly replies.
You do as he says begrudgingly and let him take you further from the house. Eventually, JJ lets go. He takes a second to catch his breath, bringing his arms up to clasp his hands behind his head, back facing you as he paces.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “Don’t matter.”
Turning around, it seems as though his whole demeanour has reset. Well, almost. There’s a tension in his muscles that he can’t fully shake. You overlook it the same way you overlook the bruise forming near his eye. It’s brown and purple. Definitely caused by more than a tap on a doorframe.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I had to come see you,” you say. Suddenly, with the spotlight on you, the confidence that Charlotte instilled within you falters. “About the other day.”
“The other day?”
“Yeah, on your porch…” you clumsily say.
JJ raises his brows, changing his weight from one leg to the other. It seems easier to fixate on his cap rather than meet his eyes. It’s green and purposefully frayed on the edges; it compliments his skin tone well. Swallowing your pride with a sigh, you awkwardly twiddle your fingers.
“I came to apologise for how I reacted.”
“You did?”
Your eyes dart down from his hat to meet his. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. It was dumb of me, and stupid, and…dumb.”
“Said that one already.”
“Shut up.”
“Right.”
You sigh and rub at your forehead like this conversation is causing you a headache. It turns out pride and stubbornness are sisters.
“Anyway, I just wanted to come and say sorry and see if you still wanted to go. Maybe,” you rush out.
“You wanna go to the spring ball?” JJ frowns.
“Yeah. Charlotte wants to go and my dad—You know what, that doesn’t matter. Because you’re right,” you tell him, cutting yourself off in the process.
His eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline with that. Something tells you that he doesn’t hear that phrase a whole lot.
“It would be funny to rub it in the kook-club faces. And maybe I’d actually enjoy the night if I went with you.”
JJ purses his lips and plants his hands on his hips, looking off to the greenery. You know what he’s doing. He’s basking in this moment, with you stood, tail between your legs, and milking it for what it’s worth. It isn’t exactly amusing, but it does somehow ease your anxiety.
“So, you’re saying that I’m right and that you want me to take you to your fancy spring ball?”
“Yes,” you reply through gritted teeth.
“Huh.” JJ nods, pulling a face. “So this is what it feels like to be right…"
Silence.
"It’s oddly unsettling.”
“Look, do you wanna go or not, cause I’ve got plenty of other things I can do with—”
JJ makes it to you with two large strides. Your face is enveloped by his hands as he guides your lips to yours in a smooch-like kiss. It’s awfully annoying how all of your worries seem to melt away with that one gesture.
“Yes. I’ll go with you,” JJ says the minute he pulls back.
You want his lips on yours again already, but you practice restraint. Bringing a hand up to lay over one of his, you look up into his eyes. God, he’s so dreamy.
“I’m sorry for questioning your motives,” you repeat, more sincerely now.
JJ swallows before nodding. “You’re, uh, you’re forgiven. I’m sorry too, for saying the things that I did. I gotta pretty ugly temper sometimes and I just speak without thinking.”
You missed the smile that comes to your face. Nobody makes you smile like JJ does. Nobody gets you like JJ does either. As if trying to tell him so, you lean up and kiss him again. You can feel his smile against yours, melding and merging like you’re two of the same souls. You assume that this is JJ’s way of saying yes; he’ll join you to the spring ball.
There was a rumour that your sister punched Rafe at the spring ball. That one you weren’t sure about.
The yacht club was a cream building with pastel green shutters and doors. It stood in front of the beach, surrounded by perfectly trimmed green fields and a stone’s throw from a golf course. Several flags stuck out of the thatched roof, waving proudly in the air. For the spring ball, the porch had been decorated with ivy and flowers. Purple and blue blossoms were intertwined with foliage and string-lights, dancing up the poles as if growing. The main event was held in the back, facing the sea. The extensive decorations continued, only now with white sheer-like fabric hanging from place to place, creating somewhat of a shelter. A makeshift dancefloor was put down using wooden boards directly before a small stage for live musicians to perform throughout the night. Tables for snacks which looked as though they’d been meticulously crafted by God himself lined the back wall of the building.
“Holy crap,” you can’t help but mutter at the sight of it all.
JJ whistles lowly in wordless agreement. His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing, and you look up to him.
“Ready for this?” he asks.
“Are you?”
He grins with that. “Baby, I was born ready to show these Kooks a good time.”
You roll your eyes, smile flowering on your features, and guide the two of you up the porch. The moment you pass Mr and Mrs Johnson, dressed in the over-the-top attire, you hear their hushed whispers. It makes your smile grow.
JJ manages to snag a couple of drinks for the two of you from the bar. You sip and lead the two of you outside, into the belly of the beast. Adults stand chatting away, gushing falsely over their lives. Did you hear the Carol got accepted into Yale? Oh, isn’t it just marvellous! You spot Charlotte fairly quickly and it brightens the night. She’s dancing with Louis, giggling like a child on Christmas morning, and he’s watching her like she hung the stars shining in the sky above.
You and JJ find a quieter spot to the side to people watch. Your leg rests against his as you perch, sipping on the champagne.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” JJ says, breaking the silence.
Looking to him, you smile. He’s the only person who can make you bashful. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I kinda forget to say earlier,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. You love when he does that. It makes you giddy to know you have that kind of effect on him.
“Well, what I think you said was ‘wow’,” you correct.
You know that’s what he said. You think the look on his face, somewhat mesmerised, and the way that the words made your heart hammer like you’d run a marathon, will be permanently etched in your memory.
JJ smiles, looking down to his shoes. You have no idea where he got them from. They’re seemingly brand-new leather loafers, starkly different to his worn-down combat boots.
“You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Maybank,” you clumsily compliment.
He shrugs, confidence somewhat boosted. Glancing down at you, he asks, “Oh really?”
“Mhm. Kinda like you in a penguin suit,” you say.
You fix his collar just for an excuse to touch him. He seems to realise this, wrapping his fingers around your wrist to hold it steady before dipping his head down. Your lips meet his in a chaste kiss that has your toes squirming.
“You wanna walk around. Show my penguin suit off to a few more people?”
You laugh quietly, nodding. “Sure.”
The peruse of the party is probably heightened by the alcohol that JJ keeps managing to sneak for the two of you. At any opportunity, you’re whispering in his ear or his in yours with jokes and jabs about people’s outfits. Rose, looking like lady liberty. Mr Dulany, here to haunt us from his grave. As the night rumbles on, you find yourself actually enjoying it. Somehow, someway, the two of you find yourselves on the dance floor. You’re letting JJ swing you around in some makeshift jive to the mini orchestra’s upbeat rhythm. His theatrics have you practically doubling over. JJ was born with two left feet and then some. You don’t care though. It’s perfect.
When the song ends, there’s a lull as the band catches their breath and sips on some water. The crowd applauses, including yourself, and JJ nods at you as if approving of the talent. It makes you laugh even more. Just as you go to make a joke about it, an all too familiar swell of violins emerges from the stage. Your lips part, head darting over, hands pausing mid-applause, because there’s no way. There is no way that they’re playing what you think they’re playing.
The melody materialises out of the melancholic chords and your heart breaks into a million pieces. Cinema Paradiso: Love Theme.
You scoff in wonderous disbelief, extending a finger dumbly to the stage as you look to JJ, mouth agape. He’s grinning, watching you like he was waiting for your reaction. It patches your heart back together in an instant.
“They’re…” you begin to say.
He nods. Leaning forward, beside your ear, he tells you, “I called in a favour.”
You pull back suddenly, meeting his gaze, checking for some sign of a lie. But he isn’t. He’s smiling, sweet and safe, and you can’t help but step towards him and wrap your arms over his shoulders, around his neck. He accepts your embrace willingly, hands finding solace around your waist. JJ holds you against him as the two of you sway. You practically hide your face in the lapel of his blazer, smiling like a drunk. He did this for you. He remembered this specific song, this specific reprise, for you. The weight of the realisation nearly brings you to tears. Nearly.
In this cocoon of JJ, it feels as though the music coils around the two of you like a snake, trapping you in the lovingly lugubrious song. It ties in perfectly with the distant sound of the ocean. That’s when you realise that you’ll never be able to hear either of those things again without thinking of the seventeen-year-old boy who busted his ass to win you over. You have no idea what you did to deserve him, or what possessed him to pursue you, but whatever it was, you’re eternally grateful.
It takes a split-second to register the hand shoving at your shoulder. It pushes you apart from JJ, making you stumble over your heels as they catch in your dress. After untangling it, you look up to find Rafe’s back facing you. Stepping around him, about to intervene, you see JJ’s face. Something about his expression stops you. He looks anxious.
No.
He looks terrified.
“Look, I didn’t pay you to take out her psycho sister just so some little punk can take out Charlotte instead.”
In that instant, JJ looks like someone who’s just found out his whole religion is a lie, and it’s his fault.
The words parse together slowly. Each syllable as it registers feels like another vice wrapping around your lungs, robbing you of air.
Pay you…
To take out…
Her psycho sister…
JJ isn’t looking at Rafe. He’s not even acknowledging that he exists. He’s staring at you. It doesn’t feel like his usual stare; the kind that makes you feel like he can see you through smog. No. It makes you feel exploited.
That’s when you finally find enough oxygen in your body to form some words.
“Nothing in it for you, huh?”
That same God-awful feeling from the other days returns but tenfold stronger. The urge to just get as far away from JJ as humanly possible. The urge to run. You turn and rush away from the dancefloor, from the crowds, from whatever chaos is bound to follow Rafe like a shadow. From JJ. From the only person you’ve ever really trusted since your mom.
Even though you’re outside, the air feels suffocating. You’re trying to navigate your way around the building, to the carpark where you can call an Uber or just walk home. Anything, anything¸ but stay here, near him.
But JJ’s persistent. You’d known that from the moment you met him. You can hear him calling for you, his voice desperate, and it makes everything hurt even more. He’s faster than you, especially when you’re wearing heels. When he catches up to you, his fingers wrap around your upper arm.
“Please! Please, just lemme explain!” JJ pleads.
“You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate.”
You shake him off and turn to face him. He looks guilty as sin and you can’t do it. Can’t bare it. Turning again, you continue to walk away.
“I knew this was a set up.”
The gut feeling from the porch is so horrifically ironic. You should have known. You should have known.
“It wasn’t like that!” JJ insists.
“Really?” You snap. He grabs for you again and you stop, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure how you’re not sobbing. “What was it like? A down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”
“No, look, I didn’t care about the money, alright!?” JJ desperately insists. You can’t seem to look away. His eyes hold so much feeling but it all feels so lifeless now. “I…I cared about you.”
It all feels so fake.
“I don’t believe you,” you whisper.
Shaking your head, you swallow thickly. The tears finally come, teasing at your waterline, stinging like Rafe’s words from moments ago.
“You’re so not who I thought you were.”
JJ almost physically winces. You push his hand off your arm and go to leave but he’s relentless. He takes you by the wrist with a firm grip, his other hand taking you by the jaw. Then his lips are on yours. The kiss isn’t like the others. It’s dirty and disgusting and disingenuous and desperate, and you shove him off by the shoulders. You glance over him, wet cheeked, like he didn’t cause this. But he did. He hurt you. He hurt you.
This time, when you walk away, JJ doesn’t chase you. Maybe that’s what hurts most of all.
There was a rumour that JJ was paid to take you out. That one was horrifically, painfully true.
When your mom left you cried for a week. Endlessly, morning through to night, tear after tear. It would sometimes pass, but then it would hit again, out of the blue, like a boat colliding with an iceberg in the sea in the vast darkness of night. But after a week, you didn’t have anything left. You just felt hollow and empty. Then you promised that you wouldn’t cry about her anymore.
“You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”
You sigh and try to focus on the comforting black and white picture on your laptop. George Bailey stands beside sweet little Mary, stood in the night.
“Hey, that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”
“I’ll take it.”
The gentle knock on your door is almost a blessing. It’s hard to distract yourself from the awful pain in your chest.
“Come in,” you call out.
Charlotte creeps in, closing the door behind her. She leans against it and looks at you. You’re wallowing in your bed, tucked under a blanket, surrounded by comfort snacks that Mia brought for you and tissues.
“What’s up?” you ask her when she doesn’t speak.
She shakes her head and walks over, climbing onto the bed. She crawls around so she can lie on her back, and you wordlessly turn yourself over, rest your head on her stomach, and begin to cry for what feels like the millionth time. Her fingers lovingly stroke your hair, soothing you through your pain. Suddenly, you’re immensely thankful for your sister. You wouldn’t want her any other way than how she is, no matter how whiny and spoilt she can sometimes get.
“Charlotte?” you sniffle.
“Yeah?” she quietly asks.
It feels like another splinter cracks into your heart as the confession falls from your lips. “I really miss mom.”
She’s still a moment, and then she’s wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tight and close. For once, you don’t pull back. You let yourself be held by your little sister.
“I know,” she whispers. “I do too.”
There was a rumour that JJ regretted what he did. You weren’t sure if that one was true, but you wanted to know.
About a week after the spring ball, you finally brave the outside world. The old movie shop is your first point of call considering you made your way through all your ‘to be watched’ films in the past seven days. It’s nice knowing that you won’t run into anyone in the shop; that you can lose yourself to the world of fiction in sepia and black and white.
The brass bell chimes as you walk through the door.
“Hiya Lucy,” you say.
She glances up from the spreadsheet she’s ticking at, smiling at the sight of you. Then, as if something dawns upon her, she’s waving out her hands for you to pause. “I have something to give you!”
“Oh?”
You didn’t put anything on hold. Wandering over to the counter, you lean against it as Lucy ducks down to rummage for something under the desk. Eventually, she heaves an old typewriter onto the counter.
“What…”
“There’s a note, too,” she says, bobbing back down to search.
Whilst she looks, you reach out a finger and trace it over the iron letters. They’re cold and a little dusty, and beautifully ornate. It’s painted black with gold accents. You’ve never seen something so beautifully vintage. Maybe your dad or Charlotte put it aside for you, as a pick-me-up. You can’t imagine it to be very cheap, not with the quality it is in and the year it was made.
“Here,” Lucy sighs. She holds out a small envelope for you. You take it with a small thanks and open it up.
For you to write your movies.
JJ
The two initials printed in black ink make you pause. You stare at it, throat constricting painfully at the sight. You look to the typewriter again and then back to the note. Just like everything else with JJ, you’re overcome by a confusing concoction of emotions.
Remembering Lucy, you flash her a hopefully unbothered smile and tuck the note in your back pocket.
“Thanks, Lucy,” you say. You brace yourself and lift the typewriter with a huff.
“You got it?”
“Yep, yep,” you strain, beginning towards the door. Some nice old lady holds it open for you as you struggle out, hollering a farewell to the storeowner as you go.
The whole drive home, the typewriter watches you. It watches you as you park and it watches you fight your way up the stairs. Finally, in the quiet of your room, you sit and digest the note. It’s funny that a one sentence message has left you so stumped. But you don’t know what it means. An apology, most likely. But is that enough? An apology for lying to your face for over a month. For letting you open up to him and for letting you believe that he was doing the same, only to find out there was a paycheck at the end.
It's so frustrating that no matter how you try to, and no matter how much easier it would be if you did, you just don’t hate him. You don’t. You can’t. You can’t believe that everything that happened between you was a front. Every little anecdote and gesture, ever look and kiss, was all an act. It just can’t be. Just like you’d said to JJ on the beach, feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. ‘You can be mad at someone and still miss them.’ Is that what this was?
Pulling open your desk drawer, you turf around for some pages of plain paper. You tuck them into the typewriter and practice a few of the keys. There’s the aesthetic clack as they mark the page and the ping when the edge of the page is met. Once you feel confident in how it works, you slot a new piece of paper in the machine and sigh. And then, you begin to type.
I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick.
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh
Even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you’re not around
And the fact that you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.
Not even close.
Not even a little bit.
Not even at all.
You reread the poem time and time again. It feels like healing, in a strange way, almost as if you’re soothing your wounds with a homemade balm. Finally, for the first time in a week, you feel yourself give a genuine smile. Gently taking the paper from the typewriter, you deliberate what to do with it. The answer comes to you clear like the water at daybreak.
There was a rumour…
Like clockwork, you find JJ on the fishing jetty. His back is to you once more, only this time he’s wearing a loose navy-blue button shirt. Those same cargo shorts and those same combat boots adorn his lower half. His long, tousled mousy-blonde hair is out free, not buried under a cap: your favourite style on him. You make your way down the jetty slowly, giving yourself time to change your mind. There’s a nervousness in your stomach and it doubles when JJ glances over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. The moment he sees you, he leaves his rod propped and turns around fully.
“Hey,” he breaths.
You come to a stop in front of him, leaving a safe distance. “Hey.”
“What, uh…I didn’t know you were coming here,” he eventually says.
You shrug. “I didn’t know I was, ‘til now.”
He nods, uneasy, and pushes his fingers through his hair. His wonderful nervous fidget. You love that one almost as much as the neck scratch.
“The typewriter?”
“Hm?”
“The typewriter. What’s that for?”
He shrugs, gesturing out to you. “For your movies. So you can write those films that you wanna make.”
“But what’s it for?”
JJ catches your gaze and flounders. He shakes his head and glances off, inspecting a corner of the jetty. You take a step forward but he seems to think you’re going to leave, because suddenly he’s looking up at you again and talking. “I’m really sorry about how everything went down.”
You pause in place and watch him. In one of your hands is the poem, folded up into a tiny rectangle, withered at the seams from fiddling.
JJ shakes his head. “I’m not proud of it. At first, I was happy to. I mean, I was getting paid to take out some random chick. I don’t come from much and that amount of money can stretch a long way.”
“I know,” you quietly say.
“No, you don’t,” JJ says. He isn’t exactly angry; it seems he just wants to be clear. “My dad’s a deadbeat, alright? He gets fired from every gig he gets and I gotta help keep the lights on. It ain’t your fault, and I’m not blaming you, but you don’t know what it’s like living from paycheck to paycheck. You ain’t ever had to worry about going hungry, or not having gas or power for a week, or going without internet for a month. So, when Rafe offered me $50, course I said yes. I’m a scumbag who’s dirt-broke with no fucking morals.”
You can’t help but close your eyes. It hurts to hear him talk about himself like that. It hurts to hear him admit to taking the money.
“But then I actually got to know you,” JJ continues.
He’s watching you when you open your eyes. Gauging your reaction.
“And I meant everything I said to you. I didn’t make any of that shit up – the real stuff. And I meant it when I said nobody has ever understood me like you do,” JJ tells you. His voice is thick and weighty with emotion.
You purse your lips in a bid to keep from crying. “What about the movies?”
“Well, I didn’t like them all that much before I met you,” JJ admits. “But you’ve made me a fan. To be honest, they make me think of you.”
“And the typewriter?” you can’t help but ask.
JJ’s lips tease to smile. “Well, this asshole paid me a whole bunch of money to take this really cool chick out. But I messed up and I fell for her, so I had to do something useful with the money.”
Your thumb brushes over the paper of the poem. It feels like a safety blanket. You can’t tear your eyes from his and it seems he feels the same. He nods, gently, as if confirming whatever doubt you have.
“I don’t expect you to just forgive me. I know you don’t trust easy and I threw that in your face. But I don’t wanna lose you. I want you around forever, if you’d let me.”
The heaviness in your gut is gone. There’s a feeling of enlightenment that washes over you. Here, stood before you, honest and open, pockets empty and heart on a platter…You find yourself taking a chance. The pain from your mom leaving you without rhyme or reason fades behind one simple fact: all people are different people.
You no longer want to give JJ the poem. It doesn’t feel right to, at least not right now. Pocketing it, you dampen your lips and deliberate.
Eventually, you nod, “I’ll let you. It’ll take time for me to trust you again, like I did before…But I don’t want to lose you either.”
JJ’s smile slowly grows. It’s your smile, the one he saves just for you, and you feel the pain already passing just by seeing it. Stepping towards him, you make the first move to reconnect. He’s more than happy to accept, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, tired kiss.
“‘Sides,” you say, looking up at him, arms thrown around his shoulders. “Everyone knows the best movies are when the couple gets together at the very end.”
#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj x reader#jj#outer banks#outerbanks#obx#obx fic#jj maybank fic#jj fic#outerbanks fic#10 things i hate about you
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of seas and torment
a regency au—
pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader feat. younger brother!percy
warnings: a bit suggestive in the beginning, also defo unfinished because this is just a blurb i don't actually plan on writing a proper one shot with 😭 do with this what you will, i suppose 😋
to vex a viscount (of seas and torment entry), make do (of seas and torment entry)
⚔°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
"do you honestly think," luke says through gritted teeth. the fire blazes behind him casting a warm glow through his eyes, strong enough to rival the heat of his ire. "that there is a place on this earth you can run to far enough to free me from this torment?"
you glare into his eyes. you see a flash of desire shine through them. you feel your knees weaken, your hands immediately clutching at the desk behind you. "lord castellan—"
he leans in closer, your noses touching. the distance between your lips is agonizingly magnetic. you wish to press yours against him, to finally give fruition to the images that plague your mind before you sleep.
"no," he shakes his head. he doesn't move away. his fingers brush against the expanse of your neck, thumb pressing lightly into the pulse beneath your jaw. "you could swim yourself ragged into the depths of the sea or even hide amidst the pillars of olympus, but i will never be free."
you shiver against his touch. he moves himself into the open space between your parted legs. his other hand traces your thighs, lingers on your hips, then squeezes your waist.
"marry me, hm?" he asks. he finally pushes his lips against yours, wanting and greedy with lust. luke moves his hands down to your knees, rubbing soothing lines into them. you gasp when he pushes his palms up to your derriere; he takes the opportunity to slot his tongue into your mouth. "marry me and bring me peace."
"alright." you respond, completely dazed from a lack of air but indescribably needing more of him.
⚔°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
"i shall defend your honor!" percy declares, wrenching a sword from one of the rather gaudy display cases in your father's study.
"you are barely six and ten years of age!" you yell as you rush after him, breathless. his gait is far quicker than yours. "you will do no such thing!"
he's out of the door before you reach him, his linen shirt billowing in the wind as it pounds against the rocky shores. you glance down the cliff of the estate and see the chaos of the sea below. you pale at the sight.
"i am the lord of the house!" he yells back, pausing in his steps for a moment to turn to you. he raises the sword into the air as if to prove his point. "no man shall disrespect my sister!"
the soles of your shoe dig into the mud, the heels simultaneously sticky and slippery. you lift your skirts still, even if they are soiled. percy begins to move again when you approach closer. at least one of you had the forethought to put on proper footwear.
you groan in irritation. "he did not disrespect me! we are betrothed!"
"he kissed you before your engagement!" he turns to you again. even through the distance, you could hear his voice crack. "return home, sister! it is improper for him to see you like this!"
"i will not return unless you come with me!" you screech over the temperamental weather. you stomp your foot on the ground, even if it doesn't come off as impactful as it should have. "perseus!"
"do you see how the tides have turned?" he asks when he reaches the gate. you're a few metres behind him. "clearly, father agrees with me!"
"you're being irrational!" the ground rattles before a wave of saltwater hits you. you're unscathed, of course— you could not say the same for your hair.
"ha! see?!" he proclaims triumphantly before pushing the gate open, locking the gate. he plays with the keys and dangles it mockingly in front of you.
"you're going to lose that!" you grasp the silver metal bars, attempting to free the hinge. percy shakes his head.
"all the better," he grins. "that means you can never leave! the castellan boy shall never see you again. that is his payment for his offense."
"fool!" you huff. "losing the key means you can't get in."
"yes but unlike that little heathen," he curls his mouth in distaste, "i can swim."
"yes, but he can fly!" you exclaim as he begins to pick up his pace and walk away once more. he waves his hand to dismiss your qualms before disappearing into the thick of trees that led to town.
#luke castellan x you#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy pjo#pjo tv show#pjo fandom#percy series#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians
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It's well past midnight when you finally bring yourself to climb the stairs to your bedroom, grumbling to yourself as you flip light switches and plunge yourself into abject darkness before going step by step up the creaky old staircase. You can hear the floorboards shift and protest against any weight being put upon them, and you hope against hope the noise of your steps doesn't wake your partner; they certainly deserve the rest.
As you crest the top of the stairs you see a strange shape; where you had expected to see your partner's dimly outlined sleeping form instead you see a dim glow under the covers, little moans and wet noises... A smile spreads across your face and you move closer; you don't have anything to be up for tomorrow morning, why not offer your love a little stress relief?
You pull back the covers and start climbing into bed, leaning down to kiss your partner when you notice the shock on their face, staring at you like they're afraid. At first you're confused, but then you feel something against your leg, damp and warm, and you look down. Whatever you expected to see between their legs, a mass of writhing tentacles slithering out of them, curling around their legs and now reaching up to take hold of you by the waist... That certainly wasn't it. At first you think this might be the cause of their fear, but then they open their mouth and manage to stammer out a few words.
"L-love, I'm so sorry, I- I mean I was planning to tell you soon and- But I-" they keep cutting themself off but you can gather enough context through the shock to realize this is just another facet of your partner, of the love of your life that you hadn't yet learned. A smile creeps onto your lips and before they can stammer out any more apologies you move in for a kiss. Their worry begins to melt away and you feel their arms wrap around you, their tentacles now moving with purpose, given permission to touch you for the first time. You feel the wriggling tendrils wrap around your waist, a few carefully slithering into the waistband of your panties, seeking out your soaked cunt.
The kiss turns into a deep make out, you feel their tongue push at your lips for entry and open your mouth to let it in only to realize it's another tentacle slithering up your lover's throat and into your mouth. Their eyes open to look at you, to keep their gaze locked on you to gauge your reaction as this new tentacle tests how far it can go. At first it only slips an inch into your mouth, then two, then you feel it touch your throat and start easing down. The tentacle is just a little thinner than their tongue, and they've made you take things down your throat before, held you between their thighs to see how long you could last... And it was hard to focus on having your throat fucked when you could also feel a tentacle in your pussy slithering deeper than anything was meant to enter you.
It prodded at your cervix and you felt a jolt of pain, pulling back reflexively, but it was determined to gain entry to your womb, and as soon as it was all the way inside you could feel why; the first egg was pushing against your labia, the bulge in their tentacle stretching you further as it moved up and into you. Another egg followed shortly, then another, and another; a near constant stream of eggs dropping comfortably into your womb until your belly was swollen out and full, so round you looked at least six months pregnant.
The stretching, the weight of your belly, the feeling of just how *full* you are is enough to push you over the edge. Your legs turn to jelly as you cum, letting out a desperate little moan over the tentacle in your mouth. It's clear from your partner's writhing body that they're close, too, and soon you feel the hot sensation of cum flooding down your throat, sticky and viscous all the way down into your belly. Gush after gush, pulse after pulse, the tentacle in your mouth starts to pull back out of your throat, leaving one last load on your tongue before re-entering your partner's lips to hide away once more. The cum tastes salty, but ever so slightly sweet, warm on your tongue...
As you break free from your orgasmic stupor you see an embarrassed grin on your lover's face, their hands up on their mouth to try and hide it but you can see the joy in their eyes. You know exactly what they're thinking and you blush, closing your eyes and rolling off of them to let the weight of your belly rest on the mattress instead of being pressed between you and them. They run a hand over the curve of your belly, the tentacles cradling it gently... You were going to be a mother, and not even remotely how you expected.
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one piece men: when you're jealous (vol. iii)
as promised, the cross guild edition of these jealousy headcanons! these are suggestive, (especially in crocodile's part)
ft. buggy, mihawk, crocodile
vol. i (zoro, sanji, law) || vol. ii (luffy, ace, kid)
masterlist
buggy
buggy the clown is a slut for praise, there's no way around it. though he's painfully insecure at his core and is of the opinion that he had gotten insanely lucky to even have had the opportunity to be in your presence, let alone date you, he sometimes succumbs to the allure of soaking in the admiration of others. being told he's flashy and talented and fearsome is like a drug to him, but sometimes a woman will go too far and leave you feeling left behind and stewing in the corner as you watch the scene play out.
buggy is surprisingly good at cutting things off when they start to go past the point of simple praise and dip into flirtation; once he picks up on the woman's interest, he's quickly scanning the room until he finds you, sending his hand over to yank you towards him.
you're a part of his life, and his bombastic nature means he will show you off in a glaringly obvious way; it dispels any and all uneasiness that had been building in your stomach to see buggy so proud of you that he shoves your "flashing beauty" in the face of anyone who looks at him funny.
he struggles a lot with not feeling good enough for you, so the last thing he wants is to make you experience those same feelings. he's willing to give you as much reassurance as you need (both verbally and physically—he is still, at his core, a perverted clown) until you feel secure in his arms again.
mihawk
mihawk had brought you with him on a job for the world government; he had tended to business rather quickly, and had made plans to meet you in the lobby of the hotel you were staying at afterwards. evidently, you were still getting ready; by the time you make your way down the stairs, a woman is sitting beside mihawk, desperately vying for his attention. a bored expression graces his face, but that doesn't expel the feelings of jealous that crop up in your chest when she places her hand on his knee.
he is irritated that you're placing distrust in him, and is a little miffed that you think he would even consider an offer from someone else. it had been difficult enough to get him to succumb to your attempts to woo him, so why would it be any different with some meaningless stranger? mihawk is a man that only gets involved with things he deems worthwhile, and the insinuation that he would throw something meaningful away leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
he gives you the silent treatment, unwilling to admit any fault—he hadn't been the one flirting, after all. if anything, he feels like he is owed an apology. for better or worse, mihawk is a man of his principles and refuses to budge.
however, after a few days he loses interest in having a disagreement with you and grows bored. after a tense conversation about expectations and boundaries, both of you give a little, and come to a compromise to avoid an argument like this in the future. he feels much better now that your head is resting in his lap; he'd feel even better if you dropped to your knees in front of him, but he lets the idea leave him with a deep sigh—that would almost certainly be pushing it right now...
crocodile
women taking interest in crocodile was a given, seeing how tall, dark, and handsome he was; however, it was impossible for you to take their advances on him with anything but frustration and scorn—especially when the hopeful romantic hanging on your partner's arm is a potential business associate. it's too much to watch as she coos and traces her fingers along his hook, the hook that's meant to pull you by the waist and drag you towards him.
when he finds you moping in your shared bedroom, he lets out a sigh of disappointment. there's a hint of confusion in his exhale; you'd seen him lie, scam, gamble, and take lives, but this is where you draw the line, somehow. "it's just business, dear. you know better than to act like this." he says as he crawls into bed next to you, extinguishing his cigar in the ashtray on your nightstand.
as he ruminates on it more, he supposes it was only a matter of time until his possessive streak rubbed off on you—he'd killed men before for merely looking at you with a hint of disrespect in their eyes, after all. deep down it pleases him, that the hold you had on each other was mutual, though he struggles to find the words to express that sentiment.
he doesn't directly apologize, but the way he holds you is firm, secure, and a silent reassurance that he's yours. still, you refuse to even look at him, gaze fixed towards the wall. he lets out a deep sigh that turns into a dark chuckle. "don't be like that. you want me all to yourself—now you've got me." he says huskily, rolling you over to face him, knowing you'll soon be nothing more than putty in his hand.
#one piece x reader#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#dracule mihawk x reader#mihawk x reader#crocodile x reader#sir crocodile x reader#one piece headcanons#one piece scenario#one piece fanfiction#you do not know how much i want crocodile
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