#there is a universe of difference between their 4 and their 5 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amjustagirl · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 1

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 4k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

Once a month, Hoshina Soshiro drops by your apartment for tea with you.

It isn’t often that you both get the same day off. Him, with his vice captain duties that never end because Kaijus don’t deign to give him a break, as he often complains. You, spending hours if not days buried in the blade forgery at Izumo tech so much so your parents remark dryly that they’ve forgotten your face. But every so often, the universe smiles upon you and you get to spend an afternoon sitting on your narrow balcony with your oldest friend.

It always begins like this.

He drops a plastic bag full of fizzy drinks on the table that only he drinks, whilst you brew a pot of tea. There’s dessert in the fridge that you get to feed his sweet tooth, and he’ll consume both because you’ll claim you have no appetite. After a few perfunctory questions about your wellbeing - the same as always, nothing’s changed, he’ll turn his mind to the sole focus in his life.

“You gave the latest tech to my brother?!” he yells, outraged. “His main weapon isn’t even a blade.”

“Orders are orders”, you respond. “Besides, didn’t I just tweak your katanas last month?”

“About that”, he grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got more ideas -”

“Not again”, you groan.

He’ll rattle off a long list of things he wants you to work on next month. Blades made out of some kaiju bone, just to test its mettle. A blade to be worked into his boots - an idea he cheekily admits stems from some stupid shounen manga he reads in his spare time. So many of his ideas belong in the trash bin, but you entertain him anyway, studiously jotting down each of his requests.

“You’re lucky I put up with you”, you tell him.

Lazily, he flops onto the floor, rolling to lie his head in your lap. “As if you wouldn’t”, he laughs, poking up at your cheek.

You don’t get the chance to answer him. His phone goes off, as it always does, and he has to go.

“Seeya next time”, he waves, without leaving you another glance. The sliver of sky between the buildings surrounding yours is dark when you get up from your seat to clear the cups.

Your cheek still stings.

Your family always had close ties to the Hoshina clan. The clan of swordsmiths sworn to the Hoshina clan of swordsmen. A tie that can be traced centuries back to the Edo period to today. Your father crafted his father’s blades in the fires of your family’s forge, yet another in your family’s lineage who were born to serve the generations of Hoshina swordsmen.

Even though you were born a girl, you never accepted that it should be different for you.

You were only seven when you accompanied your father on a delivery to the Hoshina estate. Your stockinged feet echo in the wooden corridors that stretch out before you, seemingly without end. There are portraits of imposing swordsmen in every other room, blades displayed, their former owners’ eventual fate captioned beneath. You are too ashamed to admit that you’re afraid of one such painting with kaiju-like yellow eyes that seems to glare at you that you bolt when your father leaves you aside to talk business with the Hoshina patriarch.

Foolishly, you forget that the Hoshina estate dwarfs your family home. After the fifth rock garden you come across (which admittedly to your seven year old self, seems to blend into each other), you are well and truly lost, so you sit on the porch of some courtyard and wait to be found for a stern reprimand by your father.

Clang.

But you’re drawn by the sound of steel clashing, so you follow your ears, and your eyes thank you as you watch two boys spar with dull blades.

The older, with silver hair, has a clear edge. He’s taller and stronger, so he bullies his younger opponent into a corner. The younger, with dark hair, doesn’t seem daunted, standing his ground with precise swings and savage slashes that his older opponent only manages to parry with difficulty.

Though you hide yourself behind a pillar, the older boy spots you anyway, breaking off the fight to grab you by the front of your top.

“Intruder”, he shouts, waving his blade at you.

“I’m - I’m sorry!” you squeak. You panic, fearful that he’ll throw you out of the estate, because if you can’t even figure your way out around the compound, there’s no way you’re going to find your way back home across half of Osaka, so you hiccup and cry and beg to be let go -

“Hey! You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of a losing fight.”

Courage has never been your strong suit. It’s easier for you to hide behind your father or older brother’s legs, so you’re taken aback by how quickly the younger boy jumps into the fray on your behalf, defiant even in the face of a larger opponent.

Your captor’s nostrils flare. “What did you say?!” he demands, but he lets you go with a sneer.

“Another round then”, the younger boy says, as he tugs you to your feet, brushing the dust off the pretty kimono your mother took the effort to dress you up in. “Maybe this time you’ll actually be serious -”

His brother brandishes the blade at him. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, you insolent brat.”

You spend the afternoon watching them from a safe distance until your father finds you, apologising to Hoshina-sama for his wayward daughter.

You’re formally introduced then to the brothers - Sochiro the elder, who doesn’t even acknowledge you with a nod, and Soshiro the younger, who smiles like the sun when you tell him that he’s amazing in a fight.

“I’ll show you more next time!!”, Soshiro says. His eyes remind you of violets blooming in spring.

Your mother hears of your adventures in the Hoshina estate.

She comes to brush your hair after your bath. “The Hoshina family sees ours as a vassal clan”, she states baldly, as the comb sticks on a particularly tricky tangle. At your noise of confusion (and pain, because she’s none-too-gentle at getting the snags out of your mane), she explains. “That means our family is bound to them by our usefulness in making katanas, the instruments of their success.”

She clucks her tongue at your obtuseness, as you stare at her, uncomprehending. “We supply swords, not brides to them. There are no engagements between their sons and our daughters. If you wish to associate with the Hoshina boys, you must be of use to them.”

Perhaps, in her ungentle way, your mother was trying to do you a kindness.

But you took her warning as instruction instead. So, though you’ve always been afraid of the loud forge your father and older brother work in, you badgered your father for enough lessons in sword making, hovering over him every minute you have out of school so you can learn everything you can.

It’s worth it, when Soshiro comments on the shiny scars on your forearms the next time you visit.

“I’ve been learning how to make katanas”, you explain, suddenly shy.

“Wow!” you catch another glimpse of violets through wide eyes. “You must’ve worked really hard!”

You peek at the blooms of bruises on his shins, the angry red scratch across his face. “So have you”, you reply.

He beams, dragging you off to play.

More often than not, that devolves into him showing off his latest moves, and you applauding his every action. He revels in the attention, which you find strange because surely everyone with eyes should be able to discern that Hoshina Soshiro is wildly talented, even at the tender age of eight, but then whenever his brother surfaces with taunt regarding Soshiro’s swordsmanship, you can see the chip of his shoulder grow, an invisible burden that drags him into the ground.

As an outsider, it’s not your place to comment on the unfairness of being knocked around by a boy five years his senior, so you try your clumsy best to bandage Soshiro’s wounds and slip in an encouraging word or two. You never want to see the violets in his eyes wither and die.

“I’ll make you the best blade in the world when we grow up”, you bump your elbow against his. “So you can beat him.”

“Promise?”

You loop your little finger around his. Half moons brighten into stars.

// how abt a blade that can separate into 2 //

// or or or //

// maybe three?! //

// would your ancestors roll in their grave //

You wake up to a text. Or three.

// you wound me //

// seeya later //

// visiting Izumo tech for my new suit!!! //

// make sure you lend me your lunch discount at the cafeteria //

You snort.

<Cheapskate>. The rhythm of your conversation thrums. <are you asking me to have lunch with you>

// someone needs to keep me safe from my fangirls //

// don’t leave me in their clutches //

An eye roll.

< Die >. You turn your phone facedown, resolutely refusing to respond.

Despite your complaints, you end up eating lunch with him anyway.

It’s difficult to concentrate on your meal when your childhood friend turned the most eligible bachelor in the Japan Defense Force sits across from you in a skintight uniform, your giggly co-workers sitting two rows down watching his every move. So you push your tray away and just watch him as he chatters away through a mouth full of food (something he’d never do back home because he’s been raised with manners befitting the second son of the esteemed Hoshina clan, but around you he seems to turn into a demented manchild), but you’ve always found it endearing how he’s his chaotic true self around you -

“New recruits are coming in next month so I don’t know when we’ll have time to catch up -”

“There’s nothing to catch up on when you keep text me in the middle of the night with your train of thoughts - “

“That’s all work related”, he says. “I want to know how you are doing.”

You’re not about to tell him that your parents have informed you that they’re tired of you mooning after a man who’ll never love you back, and have started haranguing you via text to get your ass back to Osaka so you can meet suitable men your age who’d be willing to accept an unladylike wife with burn scars trailing up her forearms.

“As if you really want to know”, you grumble. “You’re only interested in talking to me when it’s about your weapons and tech.”

“You wound me”, he dramatically claps his hand to his chest, miming hurt. “You don’t believe that I care about my oldest friend?”

“Nope.”

“Rude”, he sing-songs. “C’mon.”

“The only reason we’re even lunching is because you wanted more upgrades - plus, now you want a shield against your fan-girls, who, by the way, are going to mob me in the bathroom and make me recount for the thousandth time, why and how I know you, the - I quote - cutest guy in the Japanese Defense Force, though they really should get their eyesight checked out in my opinion -”

“Oohhhh - people think I’m good-looking?” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s in some 80’s shampoo commercial, throwing an exaggerated wink over his shoulder to the nearest fangirl. You hear a thump on the floor. You hope she didn’t hit her head too hard (but perhaps it might make her sole brain cell work a little better if she did).

You tap his knuckles with the back of your chopsticks. “Get that ego on a leash.”

His grin is cheeky. “I can’t help it if people think I’m good-looking.” Your heavy sigh makes him pout. “You don’t think I’m good looking?”

The lunch bell comes to your rescue.

“I have to get back to work”, you tell him, all too ready to make your escape.

“So do I”, he gobbles down the rest of his lunch. “Seeya around.”

“Stay safe”, you add. “Don’t let a Kaiju eat you up.”

“Eat me up?!” he squawks with mock outrage. “Don’t you know I eat Kaijus for breakfast?”

As if you don’t. In Tokyo, the third division is exceedingly popular. Captain Mina Ashiro of course, takes up most of the attention with her long, dark hair and prowess as the nation’s foremost sniper, but once in a while, the newspapers and magazines run features of Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro, and you dutifully keep cuttings in a scrapbook that you hide under your bed.

In every interview, he talks about how it’s patently untrue that there’s no space in the Japan Defense Force for those who prefer to wield a blade rather than a modern gun. “Captain Ashiro believes in me”, he says, so seriously that it’s hard to recognise your usual jovial friend. “For that, I’ll be thankful for every day.”

He said the same thing to you the day of his promotion.

“She believes in me when no one else did”, he tells you in disbelief.

That’s a lie, you want to shout. You reminded him that there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d fail the entrance exam into the Japan Defense Force, and he’d indeed pass with flying colours. You calculated his unleashed combat potential from your lab in Izumo Tech, saw him exceed and excel so much so that an exception was made for him to carry katanas which you spent sleepless nights crafting for him. He won his first promotion as platoon leader nary a year in after a stunning victory decapitating yonju across Tokyo, and your congratulatory text to him was ‘See, I knew you’d do it.’

So no, Mina Ashiro was not the first person who believed in Hoshina Soshiro. You are.

Unless, in his eyes, you don’t count.

<okaa-san>

<Yes, I’ll be glad to meet your friend’s son>

< No promises on anything more>

The date your parents arranged for you is a man with a pleasing smile who has as much romantic interest in you as you in him - which is to say, very little at all. “I’m too busy with my job, but my mother insisted”, he confesses.

You like him all the better for his honesty. “So did mine”, you respond with a wry chuckle.

Yamamoto-san is good company, nonetheless, even if his only interest in life other than his demanding job as a corporate slave is tending to his houseplants, so since you both share an interest in getting your overbearing mothers off your backs, you agree to have lunch once a month just so you can say to your parents without lying that you’re seeing someone.

A part of you that you tuck deep into your chest hopes that word gets around to Soshiro, who’ll come beat your front door down, demanding that you, instead, turn your eyes to him (as if you’ve ever looked elsewhere for as long as you’ve known him). And when Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, pops into your office for his own tweaks to his tech and rounds upon you with a wicked twinkle in his eye, you’re sure that whatever you share will be conveyed as salaciously as possible to his younger brother.

“Soooo”, he drags each word out obnoxiously. “Your older brother mentioned that you’re seeing someone now who isn’t my younger brother.”

You smile blandly. “Soshiro-kun and I have always been just friends.”

“Just friends my arse”, he retorts. “You’ve had a planet sized crush on him since you were seven. It just can’t be helped that my brother’s got a katana up his arse.”

You try your best not to wince. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain Hoshina?” you gesture at the door. “As you can see, the mountain of work that’s been piling up ever since you stopped by my office needs to be done, and I really don’t have time to sit around and gossip like old women.”

“So grumpy”, he hops off your desk. “So, should I tell him that he’s missed the boat?”

“Tell him whatever you want.” You begin to type furiously on your laptop. “As if he’ll care.”

Five minutes later.

// u have a bf?! //

// and i had to find out fr Sochiro?! //

// AND u said there’s nothing to catch up on? //

You lock your phone in the drawer beneath your desk.

// are u ignoring me???? //

“You ignored my texts!”

This is a first. Hoshina Soshiro, cranky even when a stack of golden brown pancakes soaked in maple syrup wobbles enticingly in front of him. “I was busy at work”, you say. A flimsy excuse, one that fails to placate him as he continues to pout, childlike at you.

“So?” he demands, slicing right through the pancakes with his butter knife. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

His eyes narrow as he waves his knife accusingly at you. “You decided to tell Sochiro that you got a boyfriend before me?”

You take a sip of coffee to steady your nerves. “You know I don’t talk to your brother unless he decides to invade my lab. But I guess he and my brother still text from time to time.”

“Hrm.” he puffs out his cheeks, blows out a breath heavy enough to flutter his bangs. You restrain the urge to reach over and straighten his hair. “Fine.”

“I’m just seeing a guy that my parents set me up with.” You rehearsed exactly what you wanted to say, but your insides churn, the coffee you drank not doing you any favours. “I guess they’re just worried that no one will ever want me as I grow old and unmarriageable.”

His chuckle is blithe, uncaring. “Parents are all the same, aren’t they? Just last week, my mother called me to ask if I’m interested in being set up on a date with someone - as if I’d ever be interested, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date, and besides, she probably just called because my older brother’s a master at dodging such calls -”

You let him ramble on as you gather the remnants of your courage deep within your guts for a final advance.

“Soshiro.”

“Hm?” he looks up, mid-chew. “Sup.”

“If I really did get a boyfriend, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Why would I mind?” He laughs, reaching over to prod at your cheek. “I mean, I guess as long as you don’t stop making me awesome katanas, and as long as he doesn’t mind that I text you my brilliant ideas on improvements -”

Unknowingly, he cuts right through your heart. But in fairness to him, you offered your heart on a silver fucking platter, even handed him the blade to stab it with.

“I was just worried you’d be unhappy”, you mumble, blinking back tears furiously.

Thankfully, he’s too focused on clearing his plate. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious”, he laughs. “What a silly question.”

“Yeah”, you manage to croak. “What a silly question.”

He goes on to fill the rest of the afternoon with chatter about his new recruits. You sit numbly and listen to his tales of a Shinomiya slip of a girl who blows all recorded numbers for a recruit out of the window, an old man who confounds his techs by registering a big fat zilch on their combat scales, but he entertains his candidacy because he’s a great source of entertainment.

“You okay there?” he frowns, stopping mid-story. “You kinda look down.”

“Indigestion”, you lie through gritted teeth. “Never you mind.”

“You shouldn’t take milk in your coffee if you’re lactose intolerant, silly”, he teases, confiscating your iced latte.

“I’m just an idiot”, you try your best to smile. Fortunately, he accepts a pained grimace.

Your mother was both right and wrong. You know that Soshiro cares for you as a friend, because he could never be callous enough to reduce you to your usefulness to him, but it’s true that he has no space in his heart for you.

A year or two ago, you piled yourself in a car with both Hoshina brothers to brave the Obon traffic to get back to Osaka for the holidays. You hadn’t been able to afford the jacked up prices for the shinkansen, and Soshiro only found out yesterday that Captain Ashiro took pity on him for missing consecutive New Year holidays that she gave him Obon off as a consolation price, so their parents nagged Sochiro into ferrying you both home.

“Shouldn’t you have your own car?” Sochiro groused.

“Why would I need a car if I’m on base 24/7”, Soshiro replied. “Why do you need a car? Unless the sixth division is slacking off -”

The car screeched to a halt. Sochiro kicked open the door, yanked Soshiro by his collar and shoved him into the driver’s seat. “To keep your smart mouth occupied, you can drive us the rest of the way to Osaka.”

“Aren’t you scared I’ll crash?”

“If you do, I’ll skin you alive.”

Your forehead nearly split open from all the bickering. “Guys, I can drive -”

“No!” Both brothers yelled at you in unison. It’s the first time they’ve probably agreed on anything in their life.

The bickering finally ended when Sochiro fell asleep in the back, head pillowed against the window glass on one side in a way that he’s bound to wake up with a neckache. Still, you’re forced in close proximity to Soshiro, the puffs of warm air from the overworking air-conditioner blending with the scent of steel and citrus, from the shampoo he probably uses, you mused half dizzy, head heavy -

“If you puke in the car, Sochiro’ll make you lick it up.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Talk to me so I don’t focus on your terrible driving.”

By the time Soshiro’s done with his recounting of the last four fights he’s been involved in, the massive disappointment of this year’s recruitment exercise and his admiration for Captain Mina Ashiro (which made you want to scream, kick your foot through the windshield, perhaps), the afternoon sun is low to the ground, streetlights along the expressway flickering on.

You couldn’t help but ask. “Do you ever think about anything other than your job?”

“Nah.” he chuckled. “I don’t have time for anything else. I gotta spend time to train y’know, otherwise I’ll really die on the job.”

“Soshiro!”

“That’s why I got good life insurance”, he deadpanned.

“I guess that was a silly question”, you slump back in your seat.

“It really is”, he teased. “So, what else d’you wanna hear about my all consuming job?”

The memory stings your eyes.

You make up an excuse to return to your apartment without haste, waiting until he disappears around the corner before you give in to the tears that you’ve been keeping at bay all afternoon. Strangers on the train ride home give you a wide berth, because they certainly don’t want to catch whatever malady you’re clearly suffering from with your swollen eyes and hiccuped sniffles. You stumble into your shoebox apartment, kick your shoes off at the genkan.

Tonight you’ll give yourself the grace to mourn the death of a dream.

You crack open the beers he previously brought, one after another. Drunk, you sit on the balcony, the half-moon reminding you too much of a certain vice captain. You let your mother’s words flood your mind. You are meant to offer him blades, not a bride. In another lifetime, in every lifetime, perhaps, the noble born son of a samurai clan would never open his heart to the lowly daughter of a swordsmith. He would be raised to always put duty before love.

You don’t know why you hoped for anything different.

So when you roll off your sofa in the morning, you glare at yourself in the toilet mirror, eyes rimmed red, a hangover in full effect.

“You are an idiot.” you slap your cheeks so hard it turns pink.

You will not allow this to continue. Hoshina Soshiro is not yours, has never been yours, and will never be yours. You are pathetic for hoping otherwise, stupid for living in hopes that he’ll look at you some day, an utter idiot for letting every choice you’ve ever made in your life be guided by your infatuation with a boy who doesn’t have space in his heart for you.

You could’ve been like your older brother, been content with sticking to the family business of sword making instead spending every spare minute on your engineering studies so you’re well positioned to be snapped up by Izumo Tech as a weapons specialist. You had the leeway to be based in Osaka near your family, but accepted a position in Tokyo just to be closer to where Soshiro’s based. You could’ve had a social life, perhaps even friends outside of work, if you’ve not dedicated your life to your job, working after hours tirelessly, just so you secure promotion after promotion, cementing yourself as Izumo Tech (and by extension, the Defense Force) go-to for anything blade related, just so you fulfil the promise you made to Soshiro all those years ago.

You cannot live the rest of your life this way.

a/n: so...i know i've only ever written for the hq boys but the way hoshina soshiro grabbed my throat in a chokehold in that gym training scene just forced my gremlin brain to start typing and get to work on this story for him.

hope you guys like it <3

#soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro x oc #kaiju 8 #hoshina x reader

565 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 12 days ago

Text

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 6

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5

In the next letter, Eddie makes no comment about their differing opinions. Chrissy knew he wouldn’t. She doesn’t know Eddie, not really, but he’s never seemed like the kind of guy who’d stop talking to someone over such shallow, small differences, no matter how he comes off in his little cafeteria rants.

Secret Admirer,

You’re enough, just the way you are, brown eyes and all. I bet they’re real pretty. I could look into them for hours, mesmerized by every color differentiation, spend days counting every one of your eye lashes.

Just say the word—I’ll pick you up in my van and we can go to the drive-in and hold hands the whole time. I’ll wear my silver jewelry, and you can wear gold. I bet your hands would look real pretty wrapped up in mine.

I’ll be a gentleman, sweetheart, I swear.

Only the best for you.

Yours,

Eddie

P.S. Romantic meeting spot. I can’t wait to put this note right next to your heart. Next time maybe I can put my letter in Moby Dick. After all, you’re my white whale, baby, I’m always looking for you.

She likes Eddie, really she does, but the way Steve blushes as he hands the letter to her is ridiculous. The guy’s not exactly smooth, or suave, or any of the things that should leave Steve all hot and bothered.

Still, she dutifully helps him write his reply:

Eddie —

Maybe someday, we’ll get to go to that movie. When we do, you don’t have to be a gentleman at all—I’m easy, if it’s for you, and it would be such a waste not to make use of all that space in your van.

I don’t have any rings, but if I did, I think I’d want one of yours. That way, whenever I look down at them, I’d be reminded of you.

How was your day? All I want to do is ask and hear your reply.

Yours, always

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. I’ll search the seas for you.

“I know he’s your friend, but I just don’t get it,” Chrissy says to Jeff, walking close enough to his side that their shoulders brush. “The guy looks like a mangy poodle, and he’s not exactly Shakespeare.”

Jeff snorts. “Hey, he’s at least a cute mangy poodle,” he replies, bumping their shoulders purposefully this time.

“I guess if you’re into that sort of thing,” she mutters, and somehow, Steve is. It still shocks her, sometimes, when she thinks about it too much.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Jeff says, sounding wise, but when she glances at him, he’s grinning, eyebrows jumping up and down at her like this is all just some joke.

She scoffs, “I just wish what Steve wanted wasn’t leading toward a broken heart.”

Jeff’s expression drops at that, mouth pursing. He’s quiet all the way to Eddie’s locker. She slips Steve’s letter between the slats and keeps walking, only stopping when she realizes Jeff’s no longer beside her. When she turns around, he’s staring at Eddie’s closed locker like it holds the answers to the universe.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, finally turning back toward her and catching back up with quick strides.

Chrissy doesn’t respond, at a loss for what to say. She can’t see it, but for all the letters she’s helped write, her and Eddie aren’t friends. She doesn’t know him as well as Jeff, who’s been by his side for years, or even as well as Steve, who watches him every chance he can get.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replies, unwilling to let any hope build, not when it’s Steve’s heart on the line. “Want a ride home?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jeff replies.

And when he slides into her passenger seat, she feels a little less alone.

The letters keep coming, and Steve keeps blushing and pushing them across the table at her.

Secret Admirer,

Oh, a flirty one, aren’t you? I like it. But maybe I’m shy, did you ever think about that? Maybe I want to walk you to your door, slide one of my rings on your finger, and give you a little kiss. You can pick the ring, baby—I’ll even resize it to fit you just right.

My days are always brighter when I hear from you. I go to the quarry on Wednesday’s to peddle my wares, but all I want to do is go home and play my guitar (my sweetheart). I’m writing a new song and I really want to get it down by next week’s practice, but I’m stuck on a riff I just can’t get right.

Do you play any instruments?

Sincerely,

Eddie

P.S. You’re going to make me swoon, babygirl.

And Steve keeps responding using Chrissy’s pen and Chrissy’s brain, and his own bleeding heart.

Eddie —

My mom made me take piano lessons when I was little, but my dad refused to keep paying for them. I didn’t want to at first, but I really liked it. Maybe I’ll brush up my skills so I can play a song for you. Any requests?

Does your band play anywhere? I remember you from the middle school talent show, are you still going by Corroded Coffin? I bet you look hot when you play—I want to see it, someday. Your rings would glint under show lights, hypnotizing the entire audience. Especially me.

Did you figure out your riff? I’m waiting with bated breath.

Sincerely,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. leave this one in The Taming of the Shrew.

She wants to build a cage and lock him inside, or shake him and shake him until he sees what a risk he’s taking. Jeff might not see it, his priorities are different. But her first concern is Steve, always will be Steve, whose heart isn’t the only thing on the line. And she can feel it coming—the moment, inevitably, when this whole thing falls to pieces.

Secret Admirer,

Have you read this play? It’s not the romantic story you think it is. Since you’re already holding the book, why not check it out? I promise not to look at the checkout card to figure out who you are (I say, unrepentantly lying).

My band actually just got our first gig at the Hideout. It’s next Tuesday, and you should come! I would love to see you in the audience, cheering me on. I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries, but darling, I want to see you. Will you come? Please?

Thinking of you, always,

Eddie

Chrissy doesn’t want to stand by and watch Steve Harrington break.

***

Part of Eddie wonders if he won’t get another letter—if she’ll just show up at the Hideout next Tuesday with a smile. Still, when he hasn’t received an answer for a couple days, he checks if anyone’s checked out The Taming of the Shrew, but no, it’s still there, nestled on its shelf in the library, Eddie’s damning letter no longer inside.

He’s starting to wonder if he made a terrible mistake.

It’s happenstance, the way he finds out. He could have just as easily not forgotten his campaign notes. He could have been prepared, and not left all his little sheep moaning and groaning about what amounts to a five minute delay, if he’s quick about it.

He could have, but he didn’t.

Instead, Eddie stands at the end of the hall, transfixed, as he watches Chrissy Cunningham’s distinctive high ponytail sway back and forth as she walks away. From his locker. Where he just saw her slip something in.

She’s well out of sight before Eddie walks up to the looming hunk of metal on shaky legs. It takes three tries to get it open, and there, for all and sundry to see, is an envelope with his name written in a familiar scrawl.

He doesn’t open it.

“What took so long?” Doug gripes as Eddie shuffles back into the room, clutching his notebook to his chest.

Eddie walks slowly to his throne without replying, eyes still unfocused and fixed on the swishing of Chrissy’s hair.

“Are you okay?” Jeff asks.

Eddie shakes the thoughts out of his head, leans back on his throne, and smiles. “Sometimes a quester is besieged on his travels and must defeat a mighty foe before he can return from whence he came.” He says it with all the gravitas of his dungeon master voice.

Doug laughs, Gareth rolls his eyes, but Jeff’s eyes are narrowed on his face for the next ten minutes until he gets sucked into the campaign. And Eddie? Eddie’s heart isn’t in it. No matter how determined he is to put it out of his mind, it keeps sticking to his neurons.

Because Chrissy? She’s nice, sure. And pretty, definitely. Her hair’s…nice? Bouncy? It’s probably soft. And yeah, she’s a jock, but she’s not like most of them—too kind to give a kid a swirly or call any of the other girls fat.

Which brings him to the King of the jocks, Steve Harrington, whose name is practically branded on Chrissy’s shoulders by this point, whose arm is pretty much super-glued around her waist. Steve, with his perfect hair, and long eyelashes, and those big brown eyes, and all those muscles.

Something too squirmy to be hatred sinks in his gut. Jealousy, maybe? Because how could someone like him compete with King Steve for a lady’s hand, love notes or no?

He’s distracted for the rest of the campaign, says half-hearted goodbyes to the boys before finally closing the van door on them and driving away.

When he opens the letter in the safety of his bedroom, it’s shorter than usual:

Eddie —

There’s nothing more I want than to see you up on that stage, rocking out, in your element, but I’m just not ready. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. If you still want to respond, I’ll look in the big print edition of The Hobbit.

He goes over the words again and again, finger running along the lines of each character, trying to picture Chrissy pouring over them with her pen. He loves all the words in all the letters, wants to carve them all on his skin, helplessly charmed by each vulnerability shared.

He can’t quite make the words fit the girl.

Eddie still drops his next reply in the big print edition of The Hobbit the next morning. He watches Chrissy all day. He’s surprised, somehow, when she meets his eyes once across the insurmountable distances between them in the lunchroom. She ducks her head immediately and blushes, even with Harrington’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

There isn’t another note by the end of the day.

“So, wait,” Gareth says, stoned out of his mind and sprawled out on Eddie’s bed after the hell they call education finally released them. “You’re saying Chrissy has been leaving you all those notes?”

Eddie spins around in his desk chair, but it’s not one of those fancy wheeled ones that Harrington probably has, so he’s forced to turn and straddle the back, letting his head hang over the headrest as he groans.

“For the last time, yes!” he says, more to the little bits of his carpet that he can see than to Gareth himself. “It’s Chrissy!”

Gareth takes another hit, blowing smoke toward Eddie’s ceiling to swirl around and join the rest of the stains up there. “Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like her? How close to her were you?”

Eddie groans again, shuffles off his uncomfortable chair to flop beside Gareth and steal his joint back. “She was wearing a cheerleading uniform, man,” he says before taking a puff and letting all the smoke out with his next words. “And no one else on the team has that color hair.”

Gareth hums, twisting on his side to burrow his head into Eddie’s only pillow. “What is that color even? Like, blond but with a weird red in it? What’s it called, bluh-red?”

He laughs like that’s the funniest joke in the world, so Eddie doesn’t hand back the joint, just pulls on it until he’s down to the quick and ashes it on his nightstand as Gareth whines.

“It’s strawberry blond, you idiot.”

Gareth wrinkles his nose at that. “That’s a stupid name.”

Eddie smacks his hand out, lets it hit Gareth’s arm with a solid thwack. “You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“With what?” Gareth replies, rolling away from Eddie when he goes to hit him again. He ends up on Eddie’s floor, fall cushioned by all of his dirty clothes scattered about. “Just like, talk to her?”

“Chrissy Cunningham?” Eddie demands. Gareth doesn’t seem to be understanding the severity of the situation. “Whose head cheerleader and, oh yeah, dating Steve Harrington?”

“So what? The guy’s a douche,” Gareth replies.

Instead of getting back up on the bed, he snuggles further into Eddie’s dirty clothes, rolling around like a pig in a mud puddle until he’s got enough of Eddie’s discarded shirts on him to function as a makeshift blanket.

Harrington is a douche. He’s got to spend an obscene amount of time on his hair in the morning, and he hangs out with those hyenas on the basketball team all the time, and he’s Steve Harrington. Rich kid, lady killer, King Steve Harrington.

Maybe all Chrissy really wants is an excuse to leave him. If that’s what his lady wants, he will provide.

***

Steve’s been sitting on Eddie’s letter for a few days now, at a loss for what to say. He puts it under his pillow at night, hoping the perfect answer will come to him in his dreams. He finds himself unfolding it and refolding it again and again, wondering if the words will change.

Darling,

If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t blame me for trying, can you? Even still, I’ll be singing just for you.

Of course I still want your letters, never doubt that. They’re still, always, forever, the best part of my day.

Always,

Eddie

P.S. Excellent choice in hiding places, have you read it?

It’s just, a big part of him had expected Steve’s dismissal of meeting up would end this thing they have. He’d braced for it, and instead, Eddie was sweet.

And Steve can’t give him what he wants, isn’t what he wants, so he keeps the letter with him and stews on it, Chrissy sending him worried looks when she thinks he’s not paying attention.

No matter how lost in thought he is, a part of him is always tuned into Eddie’s presence, so he sees him coming before Chrissy does.

“Miss Cunningham,” Eddie says, leaning forward like a gallant knight as he takes her small hand in one of his own. She jumps, eyes darting up from her lunch to meet Eddie’s own. “Can I have this dance?”

The rest of the lunch table titters. It might have been charming, if they were at a dance, or anywhere aside from shoehorned to the side of the table with all of Steve’s shitty friends laughing.

It might have been charming if Eddie’d looked at Steve at all.

Chrissy’s sure looking at him, though—eyes all wide in her face as she shifts her gaze back and forth from Steve sitting across from her to Eddie crouched at her side.

“Um—” is all she gets out before Jason stands from the far end of the table and starts taking threatening steps forward.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Freak?” Jason demands, chin raised.

Steve’s about ready to stand, insert himself in the whole thing, but then Eddie’s lips graze Chrissy’s hand.

Jason stumbles back like he’s been shot. Eddie grins against Chrissy’s skin, turns his gaze away from Jason, and lands on Steve. He can almost feel it on his own skin as Eddie puckers his lips again and presses another kiss to Chrissy’s skin, this time to the smooth surface of her wrist.

He never looks away from Steve.

“Um!” Chrissy says again.

Only then does Eddie break eye contact with him. He drops Chrissy’s hand, placing it gently back to the table, says, “until next time, mi amore,” and saunters away, continuing until he’s out of the cafeteria entirely.

Steve doesn’t look away until the door swings shut and blocks his view of Eddie entirely.

“What was that, Chrissy?” Jason demands. He’s moved closer while Steve was distracted, absolutely towering over her, looking more like a beleaguered father than an ex. “First Harrington, and now the Freak?”

Steve wants to defend himself, defend Eddie, defend Chrissy. But despite what Jason clearly thinks, she’s never needed defending, so he asks, “do you want to get out of here?”

“God, yes,” Chrissy sighs.

They leave their lunches uneaten and their tables unbussed, hustling out the same doors Eddie’d just sauntered through, leaving a scolding Jason in their wake. Something about devil worship and blaspheming?

Steve’s not exactly the church-going type; he’s just glad when the doors swing shut and cut off Jason’s little speech.

“What was that?” Chrissy asks in a whisper despite the deserted corridor.

“Jason?” Steve asks at his normal volume. “I don’t know, he’s always been a bit like that, hasn’t he?”

“Not Jason,” Chrissy snaps, slapping at Steve’s arm, taking any sting out of the motion by wrapping her arm in his after and reeling him right back in. “Eddie!”

Steve, who had sort of been hoping that he could pretend the whole thing had been a vivid hallucination, has nothing to say.

“Do you think he knows?” she asks, voice quiet again as she looks furtively around the deserted halls, for random passerby’s or even Eddie himself.

“About you?” Steve asks, stomach sinking even further when he continues, “or about me?”

Chrissy stumbles, eyes going impossibly wider at the thought. She pulls him into an abandoned classroom and pushes him into one of the uncomfortable chairs. She sits in front of him, looking across the desk between them like he’s a sad woodland creature she’d just hit with her car.

“He can’t know about you,” she says. “He was flirting with me.”

Steve grimaces. Chrissy’s too nice, always thinking the best in people like she doesn’t have Jason Carver as living, breathing proof that sometimes, beyond all expectations, people can suck.

“He could be fucking with me. Eddie seems like the type to play with his food.” Steve stares down at the grooves of the desk he’s seated in. Someone had carved FUCK on it in big, bold letters. Steve’s never agreed with a sentiment more. “Do you think Jeff told him?”

Chrissy shakes her head so hard that her ponytail whacks her in the face. “No way, he promised!” she reminds him.

Jeff seems like a good guy, but Steve’s not sure how far that goes. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to trust like that, not with this.

“Well, what do we do?” Steve asks. “Should you just flirt back next time?”

Chrissy bites her lip, worrying at the dry skin there until Steve taps her chin in reminder, and she puts her teeth back in her mouth.

“Maybe it won’t happen again?”

Steve sighs, thunking his head down against the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs into the wood, Chrissy’s hand patting his shoulder a paltry consolation to the nightmare he’s found himself in.

***

It happens again.

“Carry your books, my lady?” Eddie asks. He’s already got his hands out expectantly, but he’s too much of a gentleman to make a move without her say-so.

She watches his hopeful grin for a moment before sliding her pile of books into his awaiting arms. Once secured, he does an endearing little fist bump before taking up residence at her side like it's his birthright.

“What are you doing, Eddie?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” he asks, almost sounding clueless enough to convince her, if it wasn’t for that little smirk on his lips.

Everyone in the hallways are giving them a wide berth, clearly shocked by the unexpected pair. It’s nice, almost, to be given so much space. But—

But.

“You know I’m with Steve, right?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie grimaces, like just hearing Steve’s name is enough to sour his mood. “What, is it illegal to walk a pretty girl to class now?” he asks.

Chrissy’s own mood sinks to the pits, and she sighs, disappointed. “No,” she replies before letting the silence between them linger uncomfortably.

Eddie’s fidgeting with her books, anxious fingers fluttering against the loose pages of one of her notebooks, and his eyes dart toward her every couple of seconds.

“Chrissy—”

“You know, for someone who spends so much time ranting about the status quo, you sure can’t seem to look past skin deep.”

Eddie jerks like she struck him. Chrissy would feel bad if she wasn’t thinking about having to tell her best friend about this in a couple hours. “I see you,” he murmurs, shifting on his feet and not meeting her gaze as he holds out her books for her to take.

When Chrissy sighs, he flinches again. “I don’t think you do,” she says, not sticking around to see how it lands.

She’s got class to get to, and a best friend’s heart to break.

Chrissy snags Steve’s hand before he can walk through the cafeteria’s swinging doors and pulls him the other way. They settle into the same, abandoned classroom in the same, abandoned seats.

“It happened again,” she says, not letting go of Steve’s hand.

He’s still got a bit of polish clinging to his nails, the chipped yellow making him look almost jaundiced with how patchy it is. She uses her own fingernail to chip at it, ignoring the sunshine yellow flakes dropping down to the empty desk separating them.

Steve doesn’t ask what happened again; he doesn’t need to.

“Did you flirt back?” he asks.

Chrissy bites her lip. “I let him carry my books.”

She hadn’t flirted, is the thing, but she hadn’t gotten rid of him either. She knew, no matter how heartbroken he looks across from her right now, he wouldn’t have wanted her to.

“Okay,” he says, like it really is, like he means it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me!” she snaps, snatching her hands back for a second before the bewildered look on his face has her reaching out again. “What are you thanking me for?”

Steve smiles—it’s small, and sad, and he’s beaming it right into her soul. “For keeping me safe.”

Chrissy groans, dropping her head onto their clasped hands and just keeps groaning. He means it—of course he does. If there’s one thing she’s learned since this whole thing started, it’s that Steve Harrington is somehow, inexplicably, too nice for his own good.

“I love you, you know,” she says, lips brushing against his skin with every word.

She’s been thinking it since he’d called her his best friend in that letter, since he’d said it and she hadn’t said it back. It sits unsaid behind her teeth every time he smiles, or frowns, or anything at all. He’s just too dang easy to love.

When he doesn’t reply, she forces herself to raise her tired head and get a look at his face. His eyes are big and round, mouth hanging open far enough that she’s tempted to close it for him, and there’s a damning sheen to his eyes that makes her own water.

“Really?” he asks, voice cracking. “You do?”

“Of course,” she replies, the way he always does to her, no matter what she asks for.

He smiles again, and it’s big this time, happy and watery around the edges as he says, “love you, too,” leaving the “I” out of the confession like that’ll somehow make the whole thing less real.

They’re smiling at each other like damn fools when Steve’s stomach growls and they dissolve into giggles.

“Buy me lunch?” she asks.

“Of course.” He jumps up from the desk and holds out his hand for her, an unknowing mirror of Eddie this morning.

She doesn’t put her books into his arms, just takes his hand.

PART 7

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic

306 notes · View notes

nasa · 1 year ago

Text

Let's Explore a Metal-Rich Asteroid 🤘

Between Mars and Jupiter, there lies a unique, metal-rich asteroid named Psyche. Psyche’s special because it looks like it is part or all of the metallic interior of a planetesimal—an early planetary building block of our solar system. For the first time, we have the chance to visit a planetary core and possibly learn more about the turbulent history that created terrestrial planets.

Here are six things to know about the mission that’s a journey into the past: Psyche.

1. Psyche could help us learn more about the origins of our solar system.

After studying data from Earth-based radar and optical telescopes, scientists believe that Psyche collided with other large bodies in space and lost its outer rocky shell. This leads scientists to think that Psyche could have a metal-rich interior, which is a building block of a rocky planet. Since we can’t pierce the core of rocky planets like Mercury, Venus, Mars, and our home planet, Earth, Psyche offers us a window into how other planets are formed.

2. Psyche might be different than other objects in the solar system.

Rocks on Mars, Mercury, Venus, and Earth contain iron oxides. From afar, Psyche doesn’t seem to feature these chemical compounds, so it might have a different history of formation than other planets.

If the Psyche asteroid is leftover material from a planetary formation, scientists are excited to learn about the similarities and differences from other rocky planets. The asteroid might instead prove to be a never-before-seen solar system object. Either way, we’re prepared for the possibility of the unexpected!

3. Three science instruments and a gravity science investigation will be aboard the spacecraft.

The three instruments aboard will be a magnetometer, a gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer, and a multispectral imager. Here’s what each of them will do:

Magnetometer: Detect evidence of a magnetic field, which will tell us whether the asteroid formed from a planetary body

Gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer: Help us figure out what chemical elements Psyche is made of, and how it was formed

Multispectral imager: Gather and share information about the topography and mineral composition of Psyche

The gravity science investigation will allow scientists to determine the asteroid’s rotation, mass, and gravity field and to gain insight into the interior by analyzing the radio waves it communicates with. Then, scientists can measure how Psyche affects the spacecraft’s orbit.

4. The Psyche spacecraft will use a super-efficient propulsion system.

Psyche’s solar electric propulsion system harnesses energy from large solar arrays that convert sunlight into electricity, creating thrust. For the first time ever, we will be using Hall-effect thrusters in deep space.

5. This mission runs on collaboration.

To make this mission happen, we work together with universities, and industry and NASA to draw in resources and expertise.

NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory manages the mission and is responsible for system engineering, integration, and mission operations, while NASA’s Kennedy Space Center’s Launch Services Program manages launch operations and procured the SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket.

Working with Arizona State University (ASU) offers opportunities for students to train as future instrument or mission leads. Mission leader and Principal Investigator Lindy Elkins-Tanton is also based at ASU.

Finally, Maxar Technologies is a key commercial participant and delivered the main body of the spacecraft, as well as most of its engineering hardware systems.

6. You can be a part of the journey.

Everyone can find activities to get involved on the mission’s webpage. There's an annual internship to interpret the mission, capstone courses for undergraduate projects, and age-appropriate lessons, craft projects, and videos.

You can join us for a virtual launch experience, and, of course, you can watch the launch with us on Oct. 12, 2023, at 10:16 a.m. EDT!

For official news on the mission, follow us on social media and check out NASA’s and ASU’s Psyche websites.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#Psyche #Mission to Psyche #asteroid #NASA #exploration #technology #tech #spaceblr #solar system #space #not exactly #metalcore #but close?

2K notes · View notes

toaarcan · 1 year ago

Text

I know this discourse is going to start flaring up again because Takes Off just released, and I've seen bits of it already, but the point of Scott Pilgrim as a series is not that Scott has to go through character development and stop being an ass in order to 'win' the girl of his dreams.

It's that Scott and Ramona are two fundamentally very similar people with a long list of exes who they hurt in very similar ways and they both need to stop that and grow as people in order to have a healthy relationship with each other.

This is highlighted mostly in Books 4-6. Volume 4, Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together, has Scott and Ramona's relationship hit a low point because they both mistake the other for cheating. Ramona thinks Scott is getting too chummy with Lisa, and Scott thinks the same about Ramona and Roxie, and they nearly fall apart because of it.

Volume 5, Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe, contrasts Ramona finding out that Scott two-timed her and Knives and becoming outraged by it, and Scott being told that Ramona did the same thing to Kyle and Ken. In fact, Scott almost loses to the Katyanagis, and only manages to pull out a win because Kim lies about Ramona having off-screen growth to give him enough motivation to fight back.

And it's in Volume 6, Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour, that this finally gets hammered home. In the aftermath of his and Ramona's breakup, Scott slips into a self-destructive depression where all he does it sit around the house and play old videogames, until Wallace convinces him to go into the wilderness to find his feet again. After Ramona returns, she reveals that she attempted to go into the wilderness and find her footing again, but all she did was sit around her dad's house and watch old TV.

They're so similar to each other that they even mope in the same general way.

They're both hot messes who did some dodgy stuff, the major difference between them is that most of the people Scott hurt were, y'know, relatively normal, while Ramona's exes are mostly crazy people who decided to join up with a "League of Evil Exes" whose main goal is apparently "Murder any of Ramona's future partners and take her back by force."

The books are relatively light on details for how the League actually worked, but it's clear from the second episode of Takes Off that all of them besides Gideon believed that whomever killed Ramona's new partner would automatically be with her again, and they're shocked when Matthew tells them that she rejected him. Meanwhile, Gideon's overall objective wasn't elaborated on in the show, but it's presumably the same as it is in the books: Cryogenically freeze his own seven exes, Ramona included, and use the Glow to brainwash them all into being his girlfriends at the same time.

In Takes Off, Ramona is able to mostly resolve her issues with the Exes herself, over the course of her investigation into who took Scott and faked his death, but the overall difference between the book timeline and the show timeline is that one spotlights Scott's growth, and the other spotlights Ramona's growth.

They're perfect for each other, and it's because they're both hot messes who need to grow the hell up before they can have healthy adult relationships.

#Scott Pilgrim #Scott Pilgrim Takes Off #Scott Pilgrim Gets it Together #Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe #Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour

1K notes · View notes

seriiousgiirl · 1 month ago

Text

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. It's in this chapter that the smut warning applies.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 5 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone, sorry for the short notice. I've had a tough few days (insomnia, mostly), and had to take a little break. But I'm back and hope to be able to post chapters 5 and 6 in the next few weeks. Thanks again for your support and patience!

Some people have also asked me to create a James bot on C.AI or Janitor.AI based on this story, I don't know if anyone would be interested?

➜ ┊: chapter 4/?.

It had been a few days since you’d ventured into James's world, and with that, a peculiar silence had settled over everything, thick and suffocating. The morning after your dinner together had dawned heavy with a sense of dread that gnawed at your stomach, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of James slipping past you like a shadow, his gaze averted as if your presence were a ghostly reminder of something he couldn’t bear to confront.

You tried to catch his eye, hoping for a fleeting moment of connection, something to bridge the chasm that had formed between you. Yet, he always seemed to look away at the last possible second, as if he feared the intensity of your gaze would draw forth feelings he wasn’t ready to face. Each time he turned his head, it felt like a small wound, reopening the ache of unspoken words and unresolved tension.

It hurt more than you expected.

He’d been around, of course, often dropping Laura off at school, looking as handsome as ever but visibly worn down by an invisible burden. On one particular evening, you caught a glimpse of him through the dim light of the setting sun, his features sharp yet shadowed, eyes heavy with fatigue. The sight pained you; it was a reminder of the struggles he was wrestling with, of the grief that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

At school, he continued to avoid you like the plague, slipping in and out during drop-offs and pick-ups. Each encounter made your heart race, a confusing mix of longing and disappointment washing over you.

One afternoon, as he picked Laura up, the air felt charged. He glanced in your direction for a fleeting moment, and your heart soared, only for it to plummet when he quickly turned away, his expression unreadable. In that instant, you caught a glimpse of his profile—handsome, defined, yet somehow haunted by the spectres of his past.

You longed for him to break the silence, to bridge the gap between you with words or even a gentle touch, but he remained ensconced in his own silence, treating you like a spectre haunting the corners of his life. And deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw you that way, too—just a ghost lingering in the echoes of his memories.

As you recalled those fleeting moments you had shared, a heaviness settled in your chest. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his large hand had cradled your face and hips, and the soft whisper of your name escaping his lips—it all felt vivid, alive in your memory. Yet, each recollection came with the stark reminder of Mary, the wife he had lost, her absence casting long shadows over everything that might have been between you.

Guilt began to intertwine with your yearning, an insidious companion that lingered in the recesses of your mind. Had you tempted him into something he wasn’t ready for? Was it selfish of you to wish for him to lean into those feelings, to seek solace in you while his heart still mourned the love he had lost? The conflict twisted within you, a complex blend of desire and sorrow that left you feeling hollow, as if you were reaching for something just beyond your grasp.

But as the days turned into an endless cycle of longing and uncertainty, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the ache in your heart—the longing for connection, for understanding, for the warmth of his touch. With every glance, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too or if he was simply drowning in his own sorrow, oblivious to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

It was an afternoon like any other, with the classroom quiet and still, the hum of the school day long gone. The children had all gone home, and you were left tidying up, humming softly to yourself as you wiped down the desks, erasing the chalk from the board. The fading light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you were almost ready to head home yourself.

Until you heard his voice.

“Y/n?”

The sound stopped you in your tracks. Slowly, you turned toward the door, and there stood James, leaning slightly against the frame. The sight of him made your heart sink. His eyes, deep and brooding, seemed weighed down by something heavier than just exhaustion. His whole demeanour—shoulders slumped, head bowed slightly—was one of someone carrying far too much on his own. He looked utterly pathetic, and it wasn’t just fatigue; it was something deeper, like a man on the edge of breaking but holding himself together out of sheer necessity.

You had never seen anyone look quite so lost. He looked so lost, like a sad puppy that had wandered too far from home. His sadness was so palpable, it made the air in the room feel thick, pressing against your chest. There was no hiding it, no masking it behind small talk or a forced smile. It was right there in his gaze, that flicker of torment that hadn’t left since you’d first met him.

It hurt to see him like this—more than it should have, more than you wanted to admit.

He was always handsome, even in his weariness, but today he looked like a ghost of himself. Before, when you didn’t know the full story, his sadness had seemed almost abstract, a mystery you couldn’t quite solve. But now, with everything you knew about his past—about Mary, Laura, and the guilt that haunted him—it was impossible to not feel his pain as if it were your own.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. The weight of his presence had stolen your voice. You tried to think of something casual, something that wouldn’t betray how much seeing him like this affected you, but everything felt inadequate. How could you offer comfort when you felt so tangled up in your own feelings for him?

Finally, your voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence. "James... why are you here?"

He looked up at you, almost startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to acknowledge him. His eyes met yours for only a brief moment before dropping again, his fingers fidgeting slightly at his side. He looked embarrassed, maybe even ashamed to be there, as if he didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Laura…” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, like it took everything in him just to speak. “She forgot her maths book.” He paused, swallowing thickly before continuing. “We started her homework, and it was only then she noticed it was missing.”

His explanation was so simple, so mundane, and yet the way he said it made it feel like so much more. Like this wasn’t just about a forgotten book. It was about him reaching out, searching for something—perhaps even without knowing what. You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral, though your heart ached for him.

He was a mess, a man so clearly lost in his own grief and guilt, and it pained you to see him standing there, barely holding himself together. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment, and yet, here he was, making the effort for Laura, for something as trivial as a schoolbook. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned toward the shelves where you kept the children’s books. “I see... Let me find it for you,” you said, your voice gentle, careful, not wanting to add to the weight he was already carrying.

As you moved to locate the book, your mind raced. James had always been distant, but today was different. He looked shattered, a man barely hanging on, and the worst part was knowing that nothing you said or did could fix that. His sadness was his own, something too deep and personal for anyone to reach, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to try. Even if you couldn’t save him, you wanted to at least ease the burden, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

When you turned to see James, he had already stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound sent a shiver through you, sharp and sudden. You hadn’t expected him to come any closer, but there he was, just a few feet away now, the air between you suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your heart began to race, and you could feel it in your chest as you inhaled the faint scent of his cologne—a subtle, masculine fragrance that was almost too quiet to notice. Yet it wasn’t too quiet for you. You had spent so many days since that afternoon thinking about him, about every detail of him, that missing his scent would be impossible.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you retrieved the book from the shelf, but when you turned back to hand it to him, your fingers trembled. You reached out, the textbook in your hand, but instead of just taking it, James’s hand brushed against yours. His touch was gentle, but there was something intentional about it, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

He didn’t pull away.

His hand remained on yours, fingers curling slightly around the book, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days. His eyes, so full of sadness and longing, seemed to search for something in you, something he couldn’t say out loud. And for a moment, everything else disappeared—the classroom, the empty halls, the world beyond those four walls. It was just you and him, standing there in the stillness, the weight of all that had been left unsaid pressing down on both of you.

You couldn’t move. His eyes held you in place, and you saw something in them you hadn’t seen before—a hesitation, a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but nothing came out at first. He just stood there, his body tense, his hand still on yours, his expression torn between so many emotions that it was almost painful to witness.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, two simple words finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit you like a tidal wave. The apology was raw, carrying with it all the weight of the things he couldn’t say—the regret, the guilt, the pain that had been eating away at him since that day. And in that moment, you realised just how much he had been struggling, how much he had been carrying alone. Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten again, this time with the surge of emotions you’d been holding back. His hand was still on yours, his touch warm, but there was a distance between you now that went beyond physical space. It was the distance of two people caught between what had happened and what could never be undone.

You wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you didn’t blame him for what happened between you. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, trembling under his gaze, as his apology hung in the air between you like a fragile, broken thing.

James’s lips trembled again, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you with those sad, haunted eyes, and for the first time, you saw how close he was to breaking.

But then, slowly, his other hand rose, trembling slightly as it reached toward you. You didn’t move, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently brushed a strand of your hair. The contact was so delicate, almost reverent, as though he feared you might break if he held on too tightly.

He pulled the strand toward his face, his movements hesitant and slow, and before you could fully comprehend what he was doing, James pressed the strand of your hair against his nose. His eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply, breathing you in as though he had been starved of the scent, like it was something he’d been longing for since the last time he held you close. His chest rose with the depth of his breath, the movement laboured, as if the act itself was painful.

The sight of him, standing there with your hair pressed against his face, was intimate—achingly so. There was a vulnerability to him that broke something inside you, as if you were seeing a part of James he had kept hidden, even from himself. His expression twisted, and though his eyes were shut, you could see the torment etched across his features—the crease of his brow, the tight line of his jaw, the way his lips parted with an unspoken agony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. He sounded broken, the words choked out like they were tearing him apart from the inside. “I’m so sorry.”

It was like he couldn’t stop apologising, each repetition heavier than the last, as though he were trying to atone for everything. His hand in your hair trembled, but he didn’t let go, as if holding onto that small piece of you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His apology was raw, relentless, his voice cracking with every word, and you could feel the storm of emotions he was fighting to contain—grief, guilt, desire, all wrapped up in that one act of holding your hair to his face like it was his lifeline. You wanted to say something, to comfort him, to reach out and tell him it was okay, that you didn’t regret what had happened between you. But all you could do was watch him, your heart pounding in your chest as his pain washed over you. His other hand still rested on yours, and for a moment, it felt like the only thing connecting him to reality was the physical touch between you.

James’ breaths grew heavier, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his emotions. His eyes remained closed, his face buried in that single strand of your hair, as if he could hide from the world in that small, fleeting connection.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible. His lips trembled as he spoke, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with the kind of torment that twisted your stomach. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried.”

Your hand moved almost instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed against James' cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, rough from the stubble that had grown in the past few days. He flinched ever so slightly at the contact, but then, as if he had been waiting for it—desperate for it—he leaned into your hand, pressing his face against your palm like a man starved of human touch.

The vulnerability in the gesture broke your heart. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the guilt he carried like a burden too heavy for one person to bear. His eyes fluttered shut again, and a shuddering breath escaped him, his body trembling as he leaned further into you.

"It’s okay," you whispered, your voice soft, trying to offer him some comfort, some relief. "You didn’t do anything wrong, James."

His brow furrowed at your words, as though they caused him physical pain. He shook his head, not moving from your touch but rejecting your reassurance with a stubbornness that spoke of the battles raging inside him. He couldn't accept it—couldn't allow himself to believe that he wasn't at fault. That this connection between the two of you wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It’s not okay... I... I shouldn’t... I—" His voice cracked, and he drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders trembling as though the emotions were too much to contain.

You could feel him holding back, the restraint in the way he stayed so close but didn’t dare cross the line again. His lips were parted, and he kept stealing glances at you as though he wanted to say something more, to let it all out—but couldn’t.

"James..." you started, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. His hand was still on yours, holding it against his face like he couldn’t bear to let go. "You don’t have to keep punishing yourself. You’re allowed to feel, to want something... someone."

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes closed, focusing on your touch. The silence was heavy, and it pained you to see him like this—so conflicted, so torn between what he felt and what he believed was right.

“I shouldn’t want this," he muttered again, voice choked. "I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done… not after Mary."

His words hung in the air, and the mention of her name felt like a knife to the chest. You knew this wasn’t just about you—this was about the weight of his past, the ghosts he couldn’t escape. His guilt over what had happened to her, the pain he still carried even though she was gone. But as he leaned into your touch, it felt like he was clinging to you, searching for something, someone to pull him out of the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

"James," you whispered again, your voice soft but firm. "You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be."

His breath hitched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his eyes—something raw and desperate, a need that went beyond anything physical. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, breaking the contact, his face a mask of anguish.

"I can't," he whispered. "I don't deserve this... I don’t deserve you."

The words hit you hard, and you could see the pain behind them, the deep-seated belief that he was beyond redemption. He tried to pull away from you, as if punishing himself further, but you didn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, closing the distance between you. "You’re not the monster you think you are," you said softly. "You’re a good man, James. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought back the torrent of emotions.

You sighed softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you searched his face. His pain, his guilt—it was unbearable to witness. You wanted to do something, anything, to take it away, to make it easier for him. You didn’t know how far you were willing to go for him, but the sight of him breaking down before you was too much.

"It’s awful to see you like this, James," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked into his tormented eyes. "If it would help... if it would relieve you, then you can claim what you want. Whatever it is, I’m here, I… I won’t say anything, it’ll be a secret. Like nothing ever happened."

The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their weight, but you meant them. The offer hung in the air like a lifeline, and as soon as they left your lips, something inside James seemed to shift. His eyes darkened, a spark of something raw and desperate flickering to life. Hunger. The same hunger you had seen before but held back by layers of guilt and self-loathing. Now, at your words, it began to surface, threatening to consume him.

The maths book you had handed him slipped from his grasp, falling forgotten to the floor with a soft thud. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were afraid to break the fragile tension between you, but he leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your cheeks. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers grazing your skin as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

His nose brushed against yours, his breath warm on your lips, and the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the raw emotion radiating from him. It was palpable, and in that moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the guilt. Not the pain.

Just him.

"I... I don’t know if I can stop," he whispered, his voice strained, almost pleading as though he were asking for permission to give in to what he wanted. "I’m so tired of fighting it..."

His lips hovered just above yours, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his hesitation, the battle waging inside him. But the hunger in his eyes was undeniable now. You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, and whispered, "Then don’t."

It was all the permission he needed. James closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and full of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. His hands tightened on your cheeks, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

His need for you was overwhelming, and in that moment, it was as if nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and emotion that neither of you could control anymore.

James's tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you with a desperation that bordered on feral. He licked along your tongue, sucking on it, as though attempting to devour you from the inside out. His hands gripped your hair, holding you in place as he plundered your mouth. Between frantic, sloppy kisses, James tore his mouth away just enough to gasp out, "We shouldn't... This is so wrong..." Even as the words left his lips, his body betrayed his true desires. His hips rocked against you, grinding his hardening length against your core.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on with breathless whispers. "Take what you need," you coaxed, your voice thick with want. "I'm yours, James. Let go and just feel..."

A low groan rumbled in his chest as James surrendered to the all-consuming need coursing through him. His tongue tangled with yours, licking into your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at it with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Fuck, you taste so good," James panted against your lips, his voice raw with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long… But I shouldn’t…"

But even as the words left his lips, his actions told a different story. His hands were roaming your body now, as if seeking to memorise every curve and dip through your clothes. He groaned when his palm brushed over your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. "Tell me to stop," James pleaded, his voice ragged with need. "Y/n, please... I don't know if I can hold back if you keep encouraging me like this."

He punctuated his words with another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. James' hands slid around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. With a low groan, he turned and pushed you up against the bookshelf, pinning you there with his body.

"I want to hear you moan for me, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands caressed up your thighs, slipping under your skirt. He nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath making you shiver. "I need to feel how wet you are for me." His fingers brushed over the damp fabric of your panties and you couldn't suppress the breathy whimper that escaped your lips. James rumbled his approval.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, rubbing his palm against your clothed slit. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me." He slipped a finger beneath your panties, teasing your slick folds. You gasped at the first touch, your walls fluttering around the digit. James curled his finger, stroking over your sensitive nerves and drawing out needy moans.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, working you with his fingers. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. I want everyone in this school to know who you belong to." He captured your lips in another searing kiss as he fingered you harder, his thumb circling your clit. The obscene wet sounds of your arousal filled the air, mixing with your wanton moans and the creaking of the bookshelf as James rutted against you.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, you could only cling to him, surrendering yourself to the intensity of his touch. In that moment, nothing existed but your rejected love and the overwhelming need consuming you both.

Your moans grew louder as James' fingers delved deeper, stroking over your most sensitive spots. Electric pleasure sparked through your body with each thrust, your walls clenching greedily around his digits. "Oh god, James!" you cried out, your hips rolling to meet his touch. "Don't stop, it feels incredible..."

He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You like being fingered in the middle of the class, don't you? Waiting for me to come claim you, to touch you like this where anyone could see." James curled his fingers just right, rubbing insistently over your G-spot. Your knees nearly buckled at the intense sensation, a flood of wetness coating his hand.

"Answer me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me how much you love being touched by me, even if someone walks by and hears what a needy little thing you are." To emphasise his point, James slipped his fingers out and pushed two back in, spreading them wide to stretch you open.

You keened at the lewd intrusion, your pussy fluttering wildly. "Please..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More, harder, anything to relieve the building pressure inside you.

"Please what?" James teased, pumping his fingers slowly. "Use your words, Y/n. Let everyone know how badly you need to be fucked."

He twisted his wrist, rubbing over that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes. Your moans reached a fever pitch, echoing off the bookshelves. Distantly, you registered the risk of discovery, but it only seemed to heighten your arousal. In that moment, pinned between James' hard body and the shelf, you didn't care who saw or heard. You just needed him to touch you more, to claim you completely. Consequences be damned.

Your body tensed, muscles pulling tight as your orgasm crashed over you. "Oh fuck, James!" you cried out, voice breaking on his name. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fingers as you came hard. James groaned, working you through it, his fingers gentling. He rubbed soothing circles over your clit as you rode out the waves, drawing out your bliss.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me," he encouraged. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

As your climax ebbed, James withdrew his hand, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, savouring your taste with a low hum of appreciation. "Mmm, you taste as sweet as I imagined," James purred. "Seeing you fall apart for me, knowing I did that... Fuck, it's almost enough to make me cum in my jeans."

He rocked his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your thigh. You glanced down and saw a damp patch spreading on the fabric where his cock twitched urgently. James was right on the edge, aching for release. "Do you want to feel me cum?" he asked, voice strained with the effort to hold back. "Want to see me lose control for you?"

“Y-Yes, please.” You said, your voice still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm.

James fumbled with his fly, freeing his throbbing cock. It sprang out, flushed and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked, hissing at the sensation. "Fuck, just like that," he grunted, working his shaft faster. "Watching you cum got me so hard, Y/n. I'm gonna... Ungh!"

With a final few tight pumps, James threw his head back with a guttural moan as his orgasm hit. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, splattering obscenely across your skirt. He milked himself through it, riding out the intense waves of pleasure. Panting, James slumped against you, his softening cock still in his hand. He captured your lips in a languid kiss, sharing your taste between you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction.

"That was... Wow," he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

Your legs trembled, the aftershocks still singing through your nerves. You'd never experienced anything so intense, so all-consuming. James had ruined you for anyone else, with a single touch. You knew you were addicted to the way only he could make you feel.

James helped you smooth your skirt back down and straighten your clothes, his touch gentle but almost impersonal now. There was a new tension in his shoulders as he tucked himself away and refastened his jeans, movements sharp. When he turned back to you, his expression was unreadable. Gone was the vulnerable, broken man who had confessed his feelings. In his place stood a stranger, cold and distant.

"We're keeping this a secret, right?" James asked, his tone almost accusatory. "Like nothing happened."

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Was this really the same man who had been kissing you so passionately and worshipped your body just minutes ago? Shame and confusion warred within you as you nodded mutely.

James searched your face for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Good."

You swallowed back the hurt, forcing a stiff nod of agreement. "Of course. I won't say a word," you murmured, your voice small.

James' expression softened slightly at your acquiescence, some of the anger draining from his posture. "I didn't mean... Fuck. This doesn't change anything, okay? You're still the teacher of my daughter. I can't cross that line again." The mixed message confused you further. If he regretted what happened, why the anger?

But before you could respond, James was already turning away, taking Laura’s maths book on the floor. The dismissal was clear. Whatever connection you thought you'd felt, it was gone now. Just a fleeting illusion born of heat and proximity. Numb, you collected your own books, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. James wasn't angry because he regretted what you shared. He was angry because he didn't.

Because he liked it too much, wanted it too much. And that scared him.

Because it terrified you as well, the intensity of your reaction to his touch. The way your heart raced and your body ached, even now. This thing between you... It was dangerous. Forbidden. But God help you, a traitorous part of you wanted to do it all again. To hell with the consequences.

Shaking your head to clear it, you slipped past James without another word. You had to get out of here, had to put some distance between your bodies before you gave in to temptation again.

As James left without another word, you fled the classroom just minutes later and you couldn't help but wonder what this meant for your future. Could you really go back to a normal parent-teacher relationship after this? Or would the memory of his hands on your skin, his lips devouring yours, be enough to drive you to distraction? Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - your feelings for James would never be the same.

And that terrified you more than any other outcome.

───────────────

Following that afternoon, you had braced yourself for James to disappear from your life, retreating back into the shadows of his grief and responsibilities. Yet, to your surprise, he returned.

James would go to great lengths to ensure these meetings remained shrouded in secrecy. He would meticulously arrange for someone to look after Laura, his little girl blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in her father's heart. The logistics felt cold and clinical, but you understood his reasoning: if Laura saw you at his home too often, she'd start asking questions. And questions were the last thing he wanted to deal with. When he suggested booking a hotel, you sensed it was more than just practicality. It was as if he wanted to keep the entire affair compartmentalised—a small, dark corner of his life that could remain untouched by the chaos of his emotions.

James often reminded you that it “meant nothing,” and part of you wanted to believe him. You had to. It was easier that way. You understood that his heart was still tethered to the past, to the memory of Mary, and what you shared could only ever be physical. Yet, despite the rationalisations, the moments you spent together ignited a fire within you, leaving you both breathless and craving more.

You wrestled with that notion, knowing deep down that it was true. It was just a carnal pleasure for him—an escape from the suffocating weight of his past and the present responsibilities of being a father. And yet, you found it hard to convince yourself that it didn’t mean anything to you, too. Every time he wrapped his arms around you, his touch igniting a fire within you, it felt more profound than mere physicality. You longed for it to be something real, but reality kept slapping you in the face, reminding you that this was just a distraction for him.

You were drawn to him, and every shared breath and fleeting glance ignited a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to let you in. But with every whispered promise exchanged in the dim light of the hotel room, the reality of the situation settled over you like a heavy cloak, reminding you of the limits you—and then James had set, the walls he had built to protect himself.

It was one of those evenings. The hotel room was nicer than usual, you noticed, dimly lit by a warm, ambient glow that softened the edges of the night. You were lying on the bed in your underwear, your body sprawled across the sheets in anticipation. The room felt empty, save for the heavy silence that hung between the moments. You could hear your own heartbeat in the quiet, and the soft rustle of the door as it clicked shut announced James' arrival.

He still wore his jacket, but it looked like a burden, one he was quick to shed as he stepped into the room. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and for a moment, he stood there, unmoving. His expression was clouded, a mixture of exhaustion and something far deeper that you’d come to recognize over these past weeks. James was multi-faceted, a puzzle of emotions that never fully aligned. Most of the time, he wore sadness like a second skin, carrying it with him like a cloak he could never quite shake off. But sometimes, beneath that sadness, there was anger—deep, raw, and bitter—or even hate. It was rare to see him happy, truly happy. The version of James that laughed or smiled felt like a ghost of who he used to be.

Tonight, though, he looked utterly tired, the kind of weariness that dug into his bones and weighed him down. He sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant. His hand found your leg almost instinctively, caressing your skin absentmindedly, as if searching for something—comfort, maybe. But you weren’t sure he could ever really find it.

You shifted slightly under his touch, the feeling of his fingers against your leg sending a small shiver up your spine. You glanced at him, watching his profile as he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. His hand traced slow, idle patterns against your skin, but his gaze was far away, his mind somewhere else.

"Long day?" you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the silence.

James didn’t answer right away. His fingers paused for a moment, then resumed their gentle motion. You could tell he was carrying the weight of something, but it wasn’t your place to ask—at least not anymore. Not in this arrangement, where your time together had become a strange kind of ritual, bound by unsaid rules.

He finally exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of him. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough. "Long day."

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of solace, but you knew better by now. James was a man trapped inside his own pain, his own regret, and as much as you wanted to break through that barrier, you also knew he would push you away if you tried. So instead, you let him sit there, his hand on your leg, and you stayed quiet, letting the silence speak for itself.

His hand lingered, caressing your skin with a kind of absent tenderness that always seemed at odds with the darkness in his eyes. This was the James you had come to know—someone who needed, who sought out comfort in the most fleeting ways, but who could never fully let himself feel it. Someone who wanted but would never allow himself to have.

James shifted beside you, his movements tense and restless, until he finally laid down against you, pressing his body close, almost too close, as if afraid you’d slip away. His head found its way to your chest, clutching at you, not with tenderness but with something more desperate—like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. The moment felt heavy, loaded with all the things he wasn’t saying but you could feel the tightness of his grip, in the ragged way he sighed.

You threaded your fingers through his ash-blonde hair, trying to soothe the tension in his body, but even your touch didn’t seem to be enough tonight. He was different—more on edge, more fragile, and the air between you was thick with unspoken need. James pressed his face deeper against your breasts, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel how hard he was holding back, how much he was crumbling inside.

“I have nightmares,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken. It wasn’t just tiredness. There was something deeper in his tone—desperation, like he was running out of time, out of hope. “I don’t sleep well. Not anymore.”

You frowned, your heart aching for him. You knew he didn’t sleep well, but hearing him admit it, the way his voice trembled, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. “What kind of nightmares?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

James stayed silent, but his grip on you tightened, his fingers curling against your skin like he was holding on for dear life. He didn’t want to tell you, couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he buried his face against you, his body trembling. “It’s bad,” he finally muttered, voice shaking. “Some days it’s worse than others. Today’s one of those days.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. He was coming apart, breaking down, and you weren’t sure how to fix it. “James…” you whispered, but he didn’t let you finish, and he groaned in protest, his head over your breasts. His pain was palpable, suffocating, and you could feel the anguish in every breath he took.

After another moment of heavy silence, James shifted slightly, his body tense as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. It was so rare for him to talk, especially about anything that truly mattered, and when his voice finally broke through the quiet, it startled you.

After another stretch of silence, James shifted again against you, but this time, instead of falling deeper into that quiet, his voice emerged, fragile yet determined. "Mary," he whispered, the name hanging heavy in the air between you. It surprised you—he hadn’t spoken about her since the time you saw her picture at his home, and you had assumed he never would. "I… I felt so guilty. When she got sick, all I could think about was how much I missed her—her warmth, just holding her like this." His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to ground himself through the contact. "But I couldn’t."

His words came out slowly, as if it pained him to say them aloud, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started. You stayed quiet, your hand still in his hair, listening as he unravelled.

"It wasn’t just the sickness, though," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing a sin he had long kept buried. "Even when she wasn’t sick, it wasn’t... right. Our intimacy." His lips twisted in discomfort, and you could feel him tense against you. "There were things I wanted to do, things I thought we’d share, but she didn’t want any of it. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, I don’t know." He sighed heavily, the sound filled with frustration and sadness. "We’d end up arguing—these cold, distant fights that never solved anything. And then we’d—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

"And then we’d have sex, just to stop the fighting," he finally finished, his voice flat, emotionless, like the memory was draining him. "But it was always… it felt so conventional. Like it was just something we were supposed to do, not something we wanted. Not something she wanted, as if I was pressuring her to do it."

James shifted again, burying his face in your chest, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. His hand still clutched you tightly, as if afraid to let go. The pain in his voice was clear, the regret, the guilt, the yearning for something that had always been just out of reach. "I loved her, but… I needed more." His confession was quiet, almost lost in the space between you. "I needed this. I needed what we never had."

It felt like a deep wound had been reopened, and you could feel the rawness of it in every word he spoke. He had been carrying this pain for so long, locked away inside, and now, lying here in your arms, he was letting it spill out. His guilt, his longing, his shame. And even though he didn’t say it, you understood—he wasn’t just missing Mary, he was missing the connection he never had with her. Something deeper, something he was still searching for.

Maybe even in you.

James stayed close to you, his face still pressed against your cleavage, his breathing uneven as the weight of his words hung in the air. You could feel his vulnerability, a kind of desperation that rarely surfaced, like a dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop the flood of his emotions. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, unsure of how to respond to something so deeply personal. But you knew he needed you, your presence, your understanding.

You gently stroked his hair, giving him time to collect himself. After a long pause, you whispered, “It sounds like you were always left wanting something more.”

James’ grip tightened on you, his fingers digging slightly into your side, as if the truth in your words pained him. He nodded against your chest, a faint, tortured sound escaping him.

“I don’t know why,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, heavy with frustration. “Maybe I was too selfish. Maybe I wanted too much. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk to her about it. I didn’t want to hurt her more than she already was.” His voice cracked, as if the weight of that guilt threatened to crush him. “But I was lonely. So damn lonely. And when we… when we were together, it felt like she was just… enduring it. Like I wasn’t allowed to want more from her, to even ask.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart ache. “I needed things I couldn’t ask her for. Things I couldn’t even bring myself to admit.” His lips trembled, his expression torn between shame and an unspoken longing. “And she’d just… shut down. It made me feel like I was a monster for wanting anything.” You listened quietly, sensing the pain in his voice but also the deep frustration that had been buried for so long. It was as though he had locked away all these feelings, all these desires, believing he was wrong for even having them. But now, with you, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“It wasn’t just about sex,” he continued, his voice rough. “It was about needing to feel connected, to feel wanted. I loved her, but… She never made me feel like I mattered that way.”

Your hand rested gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin. “You’re not a monster, James,” you said softly, your voice full of reassurance. “You just… wanted to be seen. To be close to someone.”

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for affection. His breathing hitched, and you could feel the tension in his body, like he was fighting to hold himself together.

“But I never got that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “With Mary, it was always… proper. Reserved. And after a while, I stopped trying. It just… wasn’t worth the fights anymore. We would go days without touching, without even saying much to each other. I’d come home, and she’d just be there, like a ghost, and I’d miss her… even though she was right in front of me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “God, I was such an idiot. I thought things would change, that one day she’d wake up and… see me.”

“I’m sorry, James,” you whispered, your voice thick with empathy.

He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners as he looked at you. “But what if… what if I am just selfish?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What if I always needed too much? Too much from her… too much from you.”

You shook your head softly, your hand cupping his face as you met his gaze. “No,” you said firmly, your tone gentle but resolute. “You didn’t ask for too much. You just asked to be seen, to be loved. That’s not selfish, James. That’s human.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm. “But I’ve already messed things up,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “With you… I’ve taken so much from you, and I… I don’t even know if I can give you anything back.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the rawness in his confession. He was scared—scared of hurting you, scared of repeating the mistakes of the past. But he was also scared of letting you in, of giving himself to you in a way he had never been able to with Mary.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you said softly, your voice steady. “I’m here because I want to be, James. Not because I expect anything in return.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of longing and fear, and you could see the war raging inside him. He wanted to believe you, but he had been hurt so deeply before, left feeling empty and undeserving.

“I just… I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt her.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting gently against his. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you whispered back, your breath warm against his skin. “I’m not Mary, James. I’m different.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes closing as he absorbed your words. And then, slowly, his grip on you tightened, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and unsure, but the need in his touch was undeniable. He was searching for something—comfort, release, maybe even redemption. And for the first time, you felt like he was truly letting you in.

You held his gaze, your hand still resting on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. James’ eyes, so full of pain and guilt, flickered with uncertainty as you spoke softly, trying to ease the weight he carried.

“James,” you began gently, “sometimes two people can love each other so much that it ends up hurting them. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it doesn’t mean Mary was at fault either. It’s just… sometimes things fall apart, and it’s not about who’s to blame.”

James’ brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came.

“It was a bad time,” you continued, your voice low but filled with compassion. “You both went through so much, and there wasn’t a way to fix it. Sometimes… love just isn’t enough to heal everything.”

James’ eyes closed, his breath trembling as he let your words wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your hand as if he were battling with the acceptance of what you were saying. “It doesn’t make you a bad person,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. “It doesn’t mean you failed her. You did the best you could with what you had.”

James’ grip tightened on you for a brief moment, and then he let out a deep, shaky breath, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of your words was too much to bear. His forehead pressed against yours again, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “I just… I keep thinking, maybe if I’d done something differently,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe if I’d been better, or tried harder—”

You silenced him with a gentle shake of your head, your fingers moving through his hair. “No, James. Don’t do that to yourself. You loved her, and she loved you, but sometimes that love isn’t enough to stop the hurt. It doesn’t make either of you bad people. It just… happened.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the quiet stretching between you as he absorbed the truth of what you said. His hand slipped to rest on your waist, and you could feel him relax slightly, as if the burden on his shoulders had lightened, even just a little. “I don’t know how to let go of it,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached for him, for the weight of guilt and grief he carried every day. But you knew he couldn’t keep punishing himself forever. He deserved to find peace, to let himself heal, even if it took time. “You don’t have to let go of it all at once,” you whispered, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, holding him close. “Just take it one day at a time. You’re allowed to feel everything you feel, but you’re also allowed to move forward. You deserve that, James.”

He stayed still for a long moment, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breath coming out in soft, ragged sighs. And then, slowly, he nodded, the faintest hint of acceptance in his touch as he held you close. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” you reassured him, your fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. “Just know that I’m here. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.”

His grip tightened on you, and for the first time, you felt him truly lean into your touch—not out of desperation, but out of a need for comfort. It wasn’t about running away from the pain anymore; it was about finding a way to live with it, and maybe, just maybe, to start healing.

You held James close, his head resting against your chest as you softly stroked his hair. His body felt heavy against yours, weighed down by all the unspoken emotions, the guilt, and the unresolved pain. In the silence, a thought crossed your mind—one that had been lingering in the background of your conversations. “What is it, James?” you asked gently, your voice a soft whisper in the dim light of the hotel room. “What did you always want to do… but never could?”

He was still for a moment, as if processing your question, caught off guard by the depth of it. His fingers lightly gripped your waist, and you could feel the tension building in him again, as if the memories were flooding back too quickly. His breath hitched slightly, and you knew you had touched on something buried deep.

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His head shifted slightly against your chest, and he didn’t meet your gaze, almost shyly. “I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

You continued to gently run your fingers through his hair, reassuring him with your presence. “It’s okay, James. You can tell me.

You could see the conflicting emotions playing across James' face - the fear of revealing too much warring with the desperate need for release, for absolution. His breath came faster, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrestled with himself. "I've always..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I've always wanted to dominate. To take control. But I never knew how. I was always too afraid."

He lifted his head to look at you then, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to be the one in charge, Y/n. I want to own your pleasure, make you beg for me. Like… more intense?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of excitement mingling with the tenderness in your chest.

"Show me," you whispered, your hands framing his face. "Show me how to be yours."

Something shifted in James' expression, a flicker of relief and determination. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that stole your breath. His hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you.

"You're mine," he growled against your lips. "All mine. And I'm going to make you feel so good, baby girl. Gonna take such good care of you." He nipped at your jaw, your throat, marking you as his. His touch was firm, commanding, stoking the heat between your legs. You arched into him, surrendering completely.

James' hands roamed your body with a newfound confidence, squeezing and caressing every curve. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties, teasing along the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he groaned, feeling the dampness. He hooked his fingers in the fabric and yanked, ripping your panties off with one swift motion. The cool air hit your heated flesh and you shivered. James threw the tattered lace aside, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy.

"You like that, baby? Like me taking control?" He reached out and ran a single finger along your slit, collecting the slick on his fingertip. He brought it to your mouth, painting your lips with your own arousal. "Taste how fucking wet you are," he commanded. James pushed you back on the bed, looming over you.

His clothes were still on but you could see the huge bulge straining against his zipper. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was. "Gonna worship this pretty little pussy," he promised, voice low and rough with desire. "Gonna lick up every drop, make you scream for me."

He pushed your thighs apart, settling between them. His hot breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh as he inhaled deeply. "Christ, you smell amazing," James groaned. "Can't wait to taste it."

He dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick. Your back arched off the bed, a gasp escaping your lips. James growled at the response, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you.

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers pushed inside you, pumping in and out as he ate you out like a starving man. Obscene slurping sounds filled the room, mingling with your unabashed moans.

As James buried his face between your thighs, your moans echoed off the hotel room walls. His stubble-covered cheeks brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, the delicious friction sending electric shivers up your spine. You could feel his nose nestled against your pussy, his hot breath teasing your already drenched folds. "Oh god," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. "James, please..."

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Please what, baby?" he purred, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Use your words."

Your gaze locked with his, hazy with need. "I need you," you breathed, writhing beneath his intense stare. "Please, James... I want to feel you."

A wicked grin spread across his face. "That's not what I asked, sweetheart. Try again."

His words sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. In that moment, you realised exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed to know. Craning your neck, you cried out, "Please, Daddy! I need you!"

The words seemed to ignite something primal in James. With a possessive growl, he surged forward, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, dominating every inch. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so tightly you knew you'd be marked tomorrow.

James broke the kiss with a gasp, panting harshly against your cheek. "That's right, baby girl. Call me Daddy," he rasped, voice dripping with dark promise. "This needy little cunt belongs to me."

To emphasise his point, he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked hard, making you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. He lashed the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, wringing desperate cries from your throat.

"Daddy, please!" you sobbed, fisting your hands in the sheets. "It's too much, I can't..."

James only redoubled his efforts, two fingers plunging into your soaked heat. He pumped them in and out, curling against your inner walls. The mix of pain and pleasure was exquisite, overwhelming. Your thighs trembled around his head, your toes curling into the mattress.

"So good," you panted, head thrashing on the pillow. "Fuck, James, your mouth feels amazing."

When his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles, it finally tipped you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. James worked you through it, drawing out every last aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the bed.

Pulling back, James wiped his slick mouth with the back of his hand, looking immensely pleased with himself. His hair was tousled from your desperate grip, his lips swollen from your kisses. "Goddamn," he breathed, drinking in the sight of you. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you let go like that. My perfect girl."

He crawled up your body, hovering over you. You could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your hip, hot even through his jeans. James captured your lips in another searing kiss, devouring you, consuming you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, musky and heady. "Suck me," he commanded, voice low and authoritative. "Get that pretty mouth on Daddy's dick and show me what a good girl you are." He asked, taking off his tie and shirt.

Your heart raced at the new dynamic between you, this confident, dominant side of James awakening a primal hunger in your core. You sat up and reached for his belt, eager to obey his orders.

You gripped the base of James' cock, angling it towards your eager mouth. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing the prominent vein from root to tip. Reaching the weeping slit, you swirled your tongue around it, lapping up the salty-sweet precum that beaded there. "Mmm, you taste so good," you purred, your words making James' cock twitch against your lips.

You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling gently as you savoured his flavour. Inch by inch, you worked your way down his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him deeper. James groaned above you, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Fuck, just like that," he praised, guiding your head to bob along his length.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to give James as much pleasure as he'd given you. You let him guide your movements, surrendering control as you focused on pleasuring your Daddy with your mouth. Above you, James' abs flexed and his breath came in short, sharp pants. His grip on your hair tightened and his thighs tensed, signalling his impending release. You doubled your efforts, desperate to taste him.

With a low, guttural groan, James came undone. His cock pulsed against your tongue as he spilled his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop, relishing the intimate connection. As James softened, you released him from your mouth with a final, loving kiss to the tip.

James pulled you close, peppering your face with tender kisses. "That was incredible, baby girl," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "I've never felt anything like that before." You snuggled into his embrace, giggling, happy to see him enjoying himself.

“But we aren’t done, yet,” And James rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning your ass in the air. The new angle made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused. You could feel his eyes raking over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," James growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "All ready for me."

He delivered a sharp smack to your right cheek, making you yelp in surprise. The stinging sensation quickly melted into a throbbing heat that spread through your core. James soothed the abused flesh with his palm, kneading the plump globes of your ass. "Count them, baby girl," he commanded, punctuating his words with another smack to your left cheek. "Let Daddy hear how good his little girl is taking her punishment."

"One," you gasped out, your voice hitching as James continued his sensual assault on your backside. Each stinging slap was followed by a moment of intense pressure, the heat building within you until it exploded into pure, molten need. By the time James reached ten, your ass was flushed a deep pink and you were panting with need.

You shifted your position, moving to straddle James' hips. His semi-hard cock nestled against your slick folds, already stirring back to life. You ground slowly against him, coating his length in your arousal. Above you, James groaned, hands coming up to grip your waist.

"Already so wet for me again," he praised, voice low and rough with renewed lust.

“Of course James,” You rolled your hips, sliding your slick heat along his hardening shaft. The head caught on your entrance with each pass, teasing you both with the promise of what was to come. James' fingers dug into your skin, his control fraying at the edges.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached down to guide him inside. With a single, smooth thrust, James sheathed himself fully within your welcoming heat. You both cried out at the exquisite sensation, bodies trembling with the force of your connection.

"So fucking perfect," James panted, fighting the urge to rut into you wildly. "Gonna make this last, baby girl. Gonna worship this sweet little pussy." He set a deep, steady rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before sliding home again. Each drag of his cock along your sensitive walls stoked the flames of your desire higher. Your nails raked down the sweat-slicked skin of his back as you matched his pace, meeting him thrust for delicious thrust.

You cried out at the sudden stretch, walls fluttering around his thick girth as he filled you completely. James stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm. Each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," James groaned, picking up the pace. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with increasing force. "So tight, baby. Like you were made just for me."

The wet sounds of your joining filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps. James' hands roamed your body, mapping every dip and curve as if committing you to memory. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he consumed you thoroughly. "My beautiful Y/n," he rasped against your mouth, the intimacy of your name on his lips making your heart race.

His words, coupled with the relentless pleasure building in your core, pushed you closer to the edge. Your inner muscles fluttered around James' pistoning cock, signalling your impending climax. He reached between you to circle your swollen clit, the added stimulation sending you flying.

You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to James. He gripped your hips, pulling you back against his hardness. With one swift thrust, he buried himself inside your slick heat, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," James groaned, setting a relentless pace as he began to move again.

He pounded into you from behind, the lewd slap of skin against skin filling the room. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body. James' hands roamed your curves possessively, squeezing and kneading your flesh as he claimed you again and again.

"Harder, James,," you begged, arching your back to take him even deeper. "I want to feel you in the morning."

James growled, slamming into you with renewed vigour. He hooked one arm under you, forcing you up onto your knees as he railed you with abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit spots you didn't even know existed, driving you wild with lust. For hours, James took his pleasure from your willing body. You let him explore every position imaginable, determined to bring you to the brink of madness with ecstasy. You lost count of the number of times he came inside you, his hot seed painting your walls and filling your womb.

Through it all, James remained insatiable, his stamina and appetite for you seemingly endless. He worshipped every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, marking you as his own. By the time he was finally spent, you were a quivering, sweat-slicked mess, utterly satisfied in a way you'd never known before.

As James pulled you into his arms, both of you basked in the afterglow. The shy, reserved man you once knew was gone, replaced by a confident, dominant lover who reveled in bringing you pleasure. And though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would gladly surrender yourself to James desires again and again.

You snuggled closer to James, marveling at the newfound intimacy between you. His strong arms encircled you, holding you tight against his firm chest. The warmth of his skin seeped into your own, "Tonight was incredible," you murmured, tracing idle patterns on James' chest with your fingertips. "I've never seen you let go like that before, so free and uninhibited."

James' eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. There was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache. "I've always wanted this," he confessed softly. "To lose myself in you completely, to worship every inch of your beautiful body until you screamed my name. But I was afraid, afraid of my own desires and what they might do to us."

You pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, understanding the depth of his confession. "Don't be afraid anymore, James. This is us, this is what we're meant to be. Just like this, skin on skin, hearts entwined."

James pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You poured all of your love and acceptance into it, hoping to chase away the last remnants of his fear. When he finally pulled back, there was a peace in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Smiling, you rested your head against James’ chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm, one that made you feel safe, despite the complicated nature of what you shared. His arm was draped over you, holding you close, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing mingling together.

You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, knowing that these quiet, intimate nights were rare—fleeting even. Yet, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that this, whatever it was between you and James, meant something more than just a temporary escape. The thought lingered in your mind, bittersweet, as you traced your fingers absentmindedly along the contours of his chest.

James shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers brushing against your back in slow, absentminded circles. There was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, different from the desperate, carnal need that had driven him earlier. It was softer, more vulnerable—like he was allowing himself to truly feel, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t know what this means for us,” he murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough from exhaustion. “But… I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your heart squeezing at the raw honesty in his eyes. For a man who had spent so long hiding behind his grief, his guilt, and his fear, these words felt like a fragile offering. You could see the uncertainty in him, the way he was torn between wanting to keep you close and fearing that he didn’t deserve to.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, brushing a lock of his hair away from his forehead. “I’m here, James. I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes at your words, a sigh of relief escaping him as he pulled you even closer. His hold on you tightened, like he was grounding himself in your presence, in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

For a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the weight of the night’s emotions slowly settled. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many unresolved feelings, but for now, in this moment, it felt like enough. You could feel James’ breathing slow, his body relaxing as exhaustion took hold, and you knew he was finally allowing himself to rest.

As you lay there, nestled in the warmth of James’ embrace, the words slipped out almost without thought, carried by the tenderness of the moment. "Could you stay here tonight?" you asked quietly, shyly. It felt natural—right even. The way his body fit against yours, the way his breathing synced with your own. For the first time, it didn’t feel rushed, like the encounters that had come before. Tonight, it felt… different. Deeper.

But the moment the question left your lips, you felt him stiffen beneath you. His once relaxed body tensed, his hand that had been resting so peacefully on your back froze, and you could feel the subtle shift in his breathing—faster, more shallow. The warmth you had just been enveloped in seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving a chill in its place.

"James?" you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes were wide, almost panicked, darting around the room as if he were suddenly trapped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His gaze met yours for a fleeting second before he tore it away, staring up at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched.

"I… I can’t," he finally breathed out, his voice tight and strained.

"Why not?" you asked softly, a sinking feeling forming in your chest. Tonight had been so right, so good. Why was he pulling away now? You reached for him, but he gently pushed your hand away, his movements almost frantic.

"I can't stay," he repeated, sitting up abruptly and pulling himself from your embrace. His back was to you now, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled as they reached for his discarded clothes. "I shouldn’t even be here."

"But James," you began, your voice catching with the sudden wave of confusion and hurt. "It’s different tonight, right? It felt right."

He shook his head, pulling his shirt over his head, still refusing to look at you. "It can’t be more than what it is," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "This was a mistake."

Your heart plummeted at his words, the air in the room growing thick with the weight of them. "A mistake?" you echoed, struggling to keep your voice steady. "You don’t mean that."

But James didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, buttoning his pants with shaky hands, his back still turned to you. It was like watching him retreat into himself, putting walls back up that you thought had come down, if only for a night. "Please, don’t make this harder," he finally said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you."

Your chest tightened, and the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but something in his posture told you that any more pressure would push him further away.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you whispered, the ache in your voice undeniable.

But James didn’t answer. He pulled on his jacket, his back turned to you as he tried to collect himself. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the struggle in his silence. It wasn’t just fear—it was torment. The closer he got to you, the more it hurt him.

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong—that this wasn’t just about deserving, that it was about the connection you shared, the way he opened up to you tonight. But as you sat there, staring at his back, you realised that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change the deep-rooted guilt and fear that had consumed him. It was too much for him to handle, and the reality of that hit you like a punch to the gut.

"James, wait… what happened tonight—it's okay," you tried, your voice soft, reassuring. You wanted to tell him how much you had enjoyed it, that it was more than just meaningless, that it meant something to you. But before you could get the words out, he cut you off sharply, his voice hard and cold in a way you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” he snapped, turning to face you with a desperate, almost frantic look in his eyes. “What happened tonight… it’s not me. I’m not a man like that. I shouldn’t have—" His voice wavered, but the panic in his tone was unmistakable. “You need to forget about this. Forget it ever happened.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a hollow ache in your chest as you sat there, clutching the sheet to your body. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him how much it mattered, how much he mattered. But before you could speak, James’ next words sent a shockwave through you.

“You better take your pills tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you’re not pregnant. I don’t want to be responsible for anything that comes out of this.” His words were biting, harsh. “I can’t—I won’t support anything related to tonight.”

The bluntness of it stunned you into silence. His words felt like a door slamming shut between you, a reminder of just how temporary this had always been for him. You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, the reality of his detachment settling in like a heavy weight in your chest. You wanted to say something, anything, to make him see that what you’d shared tonight wasn’t something to just brush off.

But it was like he was already gone, emotionally cut off from you.

“And don’t… don’t think this changes anything,” James continued, his voice rough with guilt and something else—self-loathing, maybe. “I still love Mary. I’ll always love her. This,” he gestured between the two of you, his face hardening, “you’re nothing like her. You’ll never be close to what she was to me.”

His words pierced through you, each one like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. He was distancing himself from you, pushing you away, making sure you understood that what happened tonight wasn’t about you—it wasn’t about love, or even connection. You were just a temporary distraction, a way for him to feel something, anything, other than the constant grief and guilt that plagued him.

As he grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door, he finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet, empty room.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you lay back on the bed, staring at the empty space beside you where he had been just moments ago. The warmth of his touch, his embrace—it all felt like a cruel illusion now, a fleeting moment of connection that had evaporated into nothing.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. The warmth of his body, his touch, his voice—it was all gone, leaving you with nothing but the cold reminder that, no matter how close you got to James, he would always pull away in the end.

And despite everything, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… this was all you’d ever get.

“Of course you’re sorry,” you whispered, crying yourself to sleep.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

291 notes · View notes

gotta-get-back-to-hatchetfield · 1 year ago

Text

Help! I loved Nerdy Prudes Must Die and am curious about Nightmare Time but don't really have time to commit to watching it all... (a handy guide)

For those of you who don't know Nightmare Time was a series of Hatchetfield one shots that starkid wrote and recorded during lockdown, all of which are of course available for free on YouTube. They go a lot deeper into the lore than the 3 Hatchetfield musicals, including explaining and explore the characters we know and love in more detail, sometimes including shocking revelations.

They also introduce new characters to the Hatchetfield universe, including Stephanie Lauter, Grace Chasity and Pete Spankoffski, who we first met in a Nightmare Time episode.

As they were filmed in lockdown the recording quality is somewhat variable, but Season 2 has a much higher production value than Season 1, and in Season 1 Episode 1 in particular they were very clearly trying to find their feet with it. That being said the actual scripts and content of the episodes is solid throughout.

I've decided to put together this handy guide of which Nightmare Time episodes people might want to check out if they want to learn more about certain things we saw in NPMD.

1) Nibbly - Honey Queen (season 2 episode 1)

If you're curious to learn more about the Lords in Black each of them (bar Wiggly) have an episode of Nightmare Time devoted to them.

For Nibbly, Wiggly's hungriest and pinkest brother that episode is 'Honey Queen' in Season 2 Episode 1.

It explores a very entertaining rivalry between Linda Monroe (from Black Friday) and Zoey (the annoying barista from Beanie's in TGWDLM) that naturally turns very very dark. We also get to meet Linda's husband Gerald who she spends most of Black Friday on the phone to.

As a heads up Nibbly doesn't appear until, shall we say, the end of the episode (with Hatchetfield there's always a twist) and he's not in the super sexy form from NPMD but it's a very strong episode and does give a bit of background to Nibbly's deal.

2) Tinky - Time Bastard (season 1 episode 2 part 2)

If you're curious to learn more about this yellow motherfucker played by Curt then you're in luck because he's in my personal favourite episode and one with a lot of interesting lore surrounding it.

If you're curious about what he means when in NPMD he says 'I could add another Spankoffski to my set', Time Bastard is focused around Pete's brother Ted (from TGWDLM) and the dodgy dealings of CCRP.

It's an extremely clever episode, with lots of really fun twists. It's unfortunately season 1 so has slightly lower production quality, but in terms of raw scripting is just outstanding and has some really interesting reveals about people in the Hatchetfield universe who may not be who we think they are...

Also worth noting that this is in the same episode (Youtube video) as a different Nightmare Time episode 'Forever and Always'. Most episodes work like this where you have two different stories per episode, they absolutely can be watched independently but usually have some sort of thematic link (in this case it's the things we do for love and how they will inevitably be thwarted by CCRP being sketch).

3) Blinky - Watcher World (season 1 episode 1 part 2)

And if you're curious about the one who's always watching you, he's actually the first Lord in Black we meet through Nightmare Time, in the very first episode when Bill and Alice Woodward (TGWDLM) go on an ill fated trip to a spooky theme park.

Again this is from the first episode so production quality is low but it's a really solid episode and a very interesting look into these characters.

While this is our first meeting of a lord in black in Nightmare Time, I don't believe he's actually referred to as such, and the concept of the Lords in Blacks being introduced as Wiggly's brothers comes in at point 5 on this list.

4) Pokey - Yellow Jacket (season 2 episode 4)

You've already met Pokey through TGWDLM (yep that was his blue shit that destroyed the world!), but you won't truly realise how fucking scary he is until you meet his incarnation 'Otho' in Yellow Jacket.

A solid episode exploring Lex, Hannah and Ethan in a lot more detail, and in a world and lives where (at least at the start of the episode) things seem to be a lot more stable for them than in Black Friday.

And yeh as I've already mentioned Pokey is fucking s c a r y in it. Also you remember James Tolbert's character, Charles that gets a little cameo in Hatchetown? Well he's the main human antagonist of this episode!

We also learn a lot of lore about 'the gift', the thing that makes Hannah able to do magic.

5) The concept of the Lords in Black generally - The Witch in the Web (season 2 episode 3 part 2)

If you're curious about why everyone's been posting pictures of those evil teddy bears and now even more confused that you've met them all as fucked up high school students, the Witch in the Web is the episode where we're first introduced to the 'they don't care bears' as a set.

This is a really cool episode, again about Lex and Hannah, but it also exploring Uncle Wiley (from Black Friday) in a lot more detail.

We also first meet two characters called Duke and Miss Holloway who together form the ship Holloduke that if you were following any of Starkid tumblr during lockdown you will definitely have heard of. They're really cool!

Here we also meet Webby, Hannah's imaginary friend in Black Friday, who turns out to be the lord in black's sister: a queen in white. And she's dope.

6) Pete Spankoffski, Stephanie Lauter and Grace Chasity - Abstinence Camp (season 2 episode 2 part 2)

We first meet the now beloved characters of Pete and Steph and the slightly less beloved character of Grace in an evangelical abstinence only camp. The episode centers entirely around these characters and plays excellently with tropes of the horror genre.

It also has the best song in all of Nightmare Time and it's up to you to decide if I'm talking about 'oh my god it's the axe-man' or 'virginity rocks' (it's both, the answer is both).

That's pretty much it in terms of Nightmare Time episodes that cover things from NPMD, but in case you're curious here's a quick run down of what the rest are about:

The Hatchetfield Ape Man - season 1 episode 1 part 1. Hidgens makes Ted pretend to be a Tarzan style half monkey, half man thing to con Angela Giarratanna out of her inheretence.

Watcher World - season 1 episode 1 part 2. See bullet 3 above. Alice and Bill Woodward go to a theme park and shit hits the fan.

Forever and Always - season 2 episode 2 part 1. Paul and Emma get married. Things are not as they seem (there are robots). One of my personal favourites.

Time Bastard - season 2 episode 2 part 2. See bullet 2 above. Ted fucks with time travel and things end very badly for him. Best episode imo.

Jane's a Car - season 2 episode 3 part 1. Turns out the soul of Tom Houston's ex-wife Jane, who died in a car crash, transferred into the car. This somewhat complicates his budding relationship with Becky Barnes.

The Witch in the Web - season 2 episode 3 part 2. See bullet 5 above. Hannah Foster's having nightmares and somehow a witch and Uncle Wiley are involved. Luckily a good witch (Miss Holloway) is there to try and help.

Honey Queen - season 2 episode 1. See bullet 1 above. Linda Monroe and Zoey Chambers compete to win the Hatchetfield honey queen beauty pageant and things spiral wildly out of control. My personal favourite episode from season 2.

Perky's Buds - season 2 episode 2 part 1. Emma's finally achieved her dream of owning her own pot farm. Just her, her non-binary farm hand Ziggs and some very evil birds.

Abstinence Camp - season 2 episode 2 part 2. See bullet 6 above. Pete, Steph and Grace go to a retreat in the very creepy woods to learn one way or another about the perils of pre-marital sex.

Daddy - season 2 episode 3 part 1. Remember Sherman Young (Jamie's weird creepy guy from Black Friday)? Turns out there's something very weird going on with his mum. We also learn a lot about Frank Pricely (owner of toyzone from Black Friday) in this episode, who turns out to be a very interesting character.

Killer Track - season 2 episode 3 part 2. Miss Holloway must take extreme action to save a young girl and then the whole world against an evil song that kills anyone who listens to it. We learn a lot more about Holloway as a character and she is soooo cool. Another favourite episode of mine.

Yellow Jacket - season 2 episode 4. See bullet point 4. Hannah seeing her sister struggling to provide for them financially decides to find a way of using her power to earn some spare cash.

Hey Melissa - episode aired only on a livestream, type it into youtube and it'll come up. If you've ever found yourself asking 'what if Mariah's secretary character from the start of TGWDLM was really into dom pup play and Paul Matthews was her little pup bitch and she was also a horrific out of control serial killer?' then a) are you Matt Lang because if not I'm concerned? and b) by god this is the episode for you!. I personally really enjoy it I think it's super funny, but obviously heavy trigger warnings for abuse and sexual content warnings (there's a reason they didn't put this in the real series). Fucking excellent tho.

#starkid #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #the lords in black #tgwdlm #nightmare time #black friday #nmt

1K notes · View notes

deadhands69 · 1 month ago

Text

Something More [than each other]

Katsuki Bakugo x gn reader

MDNI

Setting: fuckboy!Bakugo, mid-time skip, Senior Year of College. Reader did not attend UA high, just joined for university. Enemies to lovers (with a lot in between.)

Warnings, etc: smut, angst!!!, light violence/injuries, drinking/intoxication, vomiting, swearing.

[sorry, you’re a mess in this one - i'll make it up in the next one, i promise!]

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - this is part 7 - part 8

“[y/n]”

Your name in his voice haunted your dreams and followed you through the day well after you’d woken-up. Such a small thing to mean so much. Maybe you’re overthinking it, you have to be. People say things they don't mean to during sex all the time. Especially when they've had a bit to drink.

It's not like that though, this is different.

Katsuki Bakugo had never used your real name before, opting to call you ‘Backfire’ based on your quirk or some other rude nickname he came up with on the spot. If he hadn't added it to the top of a project the two of you submitted together, you could have assumed he didn't even know your full name. Even after sleeping with him for a month you still weren’t on a first name basis.

That is, until last night.

The memory is etched into your mind. Living rent free, playing on repeat.

“[y/n],” he moaned in your ear moments before whimpering into your neck as he finished. His face lingered on your shoulder, soft lips grazing your skin while he panted to catch his breath. Typically, he moved quickly. One of you being out the door of the other's room within five minutes. Last night he took his time, arms wrapped around you even after you'd both recovered. Eventually, he kissed the back of your neck, cleaned himself up a bit, and left - forgetting his hoodie on your bed.

(Like someone who is normal and totally not obsessed,) you've picked apart every detail of the night for signs of meaning. It all comes back to your name. Over and over and over again.

Nothing else exists.

Of course, you want to ask someone for advice but you haven't told anyone yet. When you tried to, it felt too personal. Also, with your friends reminiscing about their cute dates it felt weird asking them to decipher the significance of your friend with benefit’s moans. A friend they'd known since high school. Too awkward.

You couldn't even talk to Bakugo for a reaction, because he left this morning. His part time side-kick job requires him to travel sometimes. He'll be in another country the whole week and you don't think he even has cell service. It's just you now. You, here alone in your room with his voice stuck in your head.

You want to text him every time you're thinking of him, but don't want him to be overwhelmed when his flight lands and the messages come flooding in.

This is a totally normal way to feel about a friend you tell yourself while laying face down, clutching his sweatshirt in the bed he fucked you in last night.

A week later, and you still can't get him out of your head. Your closest friends have been keeping an eye on you more than usual, although they don't know the whole story. Being the only people (as far as you know) who know about your "situation" with him, they both assume you're distant this week because of his absence.

If only they knew.

In any case, Jiro and Mina are heading to a party tonight and you decide to tag along. It'll be good to get out for a bit. Quickly throwing on something cute, you don't make too much of an effort because Bakugo only just returned so he's likely jet lagged and going to bed early. You saw him out your window a bit earlier, looking tired and pretty roughed up. Tomorrow you'll reach out. For now, let him rest for the night. He needs it.

In the lobby, you meet up with your friends before leaving. Kiri texted Mina that Bakugo would be there as well. Your heart jumps more than you'd like to admit at that. The three of you almost wait for them but Kaminari wants to make a beer stop on the way so you agree you'll see them all there shortly. Everyone seems to be preparing to go harder than most nights.

There will be no crazy partying for you though.

Professor Aizawa was nice enough to offer to train with you in the morning, making space in his busy schedule. You’ve been struggling with expanding the reach of your quirk and mentioned it to him in passing. Much to your surprise, he’d offered to help. In spite of what Katsuki Bakugo believes, you absolutely do not have a crush on your teacher but he’s been your favorite hero since you were a little kid and you can’t pass the opportunity.

Speaking of Bakugo, you see Sero and Kaminari. Where is he?

This house is massive. You begin wandering around the party in search of a tall blonde, he should stand out. The living room is dimly lit but you finally spot his messy hair. And he's-

Suddenly, you wish you hadn't seen him. In a dark corner, he's letting himself be pressed into the wall by a random girl you'd never seen before. His hand on her shoulder, staring down into her eyes making that awful lovesick face.

Fuck.

Being stabbed in the heart might have felt better. You stumble out the door of the house, the contents of your stomach begging to escape. A quick visit to the bushes gains the attention of a very worried Jiro, but you're determined to get out of there. You can explain it to her later (considering how hesitant she still is of your situation, she'll completely understand.)

Carelessly, you slam straight into Shinso. His purple gaze looking you over to make sure you’re okay. There’s some unspoken communication between him and your friend before he decides to get you home safely. You know you’re completely sober but by the way you’re behaving, eyes glazed over and stumbling, no one else does. Nor would they believe it if you pressed the issue. You don’t fuss about it, simply following him on autopilot.

You’re not here though, your brain is a million miles away being forcefully wrenched from some universe where you and Bakugo had any chance together.

He’s not yours, you know that.

He’s not anyone’s. He doesn’t do that sort of thing.

You know it was just physical. Just for fun.

You know it shouldn’t be a big deal.

You know.

Then why does this hurt so bad?

Shinso grabs your wrist, helping you narrowly avoid tripping over a curb. Still, you can’t be bothered to pay attention to your surroundings.

Your heart hurts. You just want to be home in bed, but even that doesn't sound comfortable. Nothing and nowhere will make you feel better. And what's worse, you let this happen. You shouldn't have spent the last week daydreaming about someone you should have known doesn't care about you like that.

You told him you wanted more fun in your life and, feeling guilty, he gave you that. What was it he said at the beginning of the term, that you needed to get laid but no one pitied you enough to? Then he had reason to feel bad and proceeded to sleep with you. Maybe you should have listened to him when he told you who he was. Let's face it: you chose the wrong person to care for.

The boy with his hand around your arm is so fucking nice, why can’t you just like him?

Or anyone else? Or better yet, no one?

Before you know it, you’re sobbing. Concern creeps over the violet haired boy’s face, having been prepared to keep you safe physically, not knowing to expect this. He brings his face level with yours and asks if you’re okay. You don’t respond.

Because you’re not okay.

You want your life to go back to when you were happy just being alone. Before you knew what it was like to be close to Katsuki Bakugo. Before you let him get too close.

[sorry this one is so short! it made the most sense to end this part here. i won't leave you hanging too long though - part 8 will be up very soon. it's the final part, switching between Bakugo’s perspective and yours]

part 8 m.list

Taglist: @anonymity-222 @k1tk4tkatsuki @arsonfrogger @dragonscribble @kalulakunundrum

@screaming-dough @rikislove @gold24fish @ita606 @arc6021

@pikachuzhc @jeanbabygirl @nemisimp

190 notes · View notes

jonathansthickthighs · 8 months ago

Text

My Sweetest Heart 3: Yandere! Fushiguro Toji x Reader

Description: You have a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 4 here

Part 5 here

Trigger Warnings: nsfw, yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, AFAB reader, toxic behavior, violence, threats, jealousy, possessive behavior, desperate toji, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), daddy kink, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s), soft toji, toji has feelings

A/N: enjoy 😈

Not edited!

Toji watched the waiter closely from your table, alternating his gaze between the waiter and your conversation. Throughout your time there, he had been glaring daggers at the hapless waiter, whose brazen stares and pathetic attempts at flirting has tested Toji’s patience to its limits. The final straw came when the waiter’s gaze lingered on your chest shamelessly, a blatant disregard for respect that nearly shattered what was left of Toji’s composure. The self control he was practicing right now was otherworldly.

As the waiter slipped away down the bathroom hall to what Toji presumed was a back exit, he saw the perfect opportunity and a surge of adrenaline overtook him. Seizing the opportunity to confront the source of his frustration away from prying eyes, he excuse himself to the restroom, concealing his true intentions with an attempt of a sweet smile thrown your way.

Toji stepped outside. A curl of smoke wafted lazily into the night air, revealing the figure of the waiter with his back turned. With swift determination, Toji wasted no time, seizing the unsuspecting waiter by the nape of his neck before slamming him against the grimy wall, making him almost swallow his cigarette.

“What the hell, man?!” The waiter spluttered, his protests muffled by Toji’s relentless iron grip.

“You should be thankful I’m only here to warn ya,” Toji growled menacingly. “Under different circumstances, I would’ve ripped your fucking eyes out, you twink.” Toji spat out, his words coming out like venom.

“I haven’t done anything to you! Let go of me, old man!” The waiter struggled, his efforts futile against Toji’s overpowering strength. He could never scape from a man like Toji. He towered over him and he was twice his size in muscle. Toji released his hold on his neck, only to grab him by the collar, lifting him up until their eyes met.

“You’ve been ogling at my girl like a dirty pervert from the moment we stepped into this restaurant. You better stay the fuck away from us or you’re gonna force me to do what I originally had planned for ya.” Toji snarled, his voice laced with contained fury. He knew this boy had nothing on him, he could never reach his level. He had no reason to be jealous of a wimp like him, he knew you would never give a boy like him a second glance. Yet he can’t help the anger that courses through his veins when all these men look at your beauty that should be preserved for his eyes only. He just wanted to hide you away, away from all the men that weren’t worthy of being around your perfect self. You were only his.

The waiter swallowed and Toji decided to scare him a bit more by switching from the collar of his shirt to grabbing him by his neck with one hand, keeping him suspended in the air. The waiter gasped for air and his eyes widened in horror when he saw Toji pull a knife out. He traced the blade dangerously close to the waiters eye.

“Assign another waiter for us, a respectful one, at that.” Toji commanded. “And go tell your boss you quit, I don’t wanna see your face around here ever again. If I ever see your pathetic little face again, you’ll regret it.”

The terrified waiter managed to nod before Toji released his grip, allowing the trembling waiter to fall to the ground. Toji stared down at him noticing the wet spot on his pants, he had urinated himself from the terror he had caused him. Toji couldn’t help the mocking laugh that left his lips before turning away, walking towards the door.

“You’re fucking disgusting. Oh, and don’t expect a tip from us.” He joked before slamming the door closed, leaving behind and shattered remnant of a man, cowering in the wake of his wrath.

Toji returned to your table, greeted by the warmth of your smile. “Oh hey, you’re back. Everything okay? You took a little long in the bathroom.” You remarked, concern laced in your tone.

Toji, flattered by your concern, chuckled lightly. “All good, I think the appetizer the waiter brought gave me a little trouble.”

You giggled in response, raising your glass to take a sip of your drink. “Yeah, it tasted a little bit funny.” You agreed, your laughter like music to his ears.

Before Toji could utter another word, a new waiter approached your table. “How are you guys this evening? I’ll be replacing your previous waiter; he had a family emergency so he sadly couldn’t continue to service you.”

Toji interjected with feigned concern, “Damn, what a shame, he was such a nice fella. Hope everything turns out fine with his family.” He remarked, his gaze briefly flickering to yours seeing you nod in agreement, a pouty look on your face. Toji couldn’t help but get distracted by your soft looking lips. He was anticipating eagerly the prospect of being alone with you later.

“Of course, thank you for your concern,” the waiter said, visibly surprised by Toji’s unexpected display of empathy. “So, what would you like to order for your main course?” He continued, avoiding any hint of impropriety. Toji watched the waiter intently as he took the order, his hawk-like gaze ensuring that no inappropriate glances were thrown your way. Satisfied with the waiter professionalism, Toji couldn’t help but smirk, his focus returning to the delightful prospect of spending the evening in your company.

The waiter departed leaving the two of you alone once more, you seized the opportunity to delve more into Toji’s life. “So, Toji, I’ve already told you what I do for work, but you’ve yet to enlighten me about your job.” You inquired, curiosity filling your tone.

Shit.

Toji cursed internally, grappling for an answer that would veil the violent reality of his occupation. He had been an assassin for twenty five years now, his training starting in his early years of life. His childhood had been marred by exploitation at the hands of his clan, molding him to the monster he is today. How was he supposed to convey the truth to someone as pure as you? Would you recoil in horror once you found out? Was he supposed to hide this from you indefinitely? He thought perhaps he could tone down what he truly did and slowly ease your way into understanding his uncommon job.

With a nervous chuckle he attempted to give you a PG description of his job. “Well, you see, doll, my line of work is not something you see everyday. I suppose you could say what I do is… locating individuals for certain parties. I get hired to hunt down people that have done very very bad things—“ he began tentatively.

You chime in, before he could elaborate further. “So you’re a detective!”

Toji couldn’t help but smile at your innocence. “Uh— not quite, doll. I don’t work for the police work or anything in the realm of law. I operate independently. Think of me as a freelancer. People hear word of me from other people and they hire me. Confidentially.”

“Ooh, you’re like— like a bounty hunter.” You mused.

“You’re pretty much spot on, sweetheart.” Toji affirmed, chuckling at your insight. Indeed was your intuition astute; he did procure, the harder part was explaining how.

“How do you manage it? You don’t kill them do you?” You quipped, a playful glimmer in your eyes. Toji felt a bead of sweat form on his brow at the inquiry. He didn’t want to deceive you, but he also needed to protect you from his world.

“Goodness, no! I just exercise the use of force. If they’re a tough one to get, I might give them a little beating, but nothing too serious.” Toji attempted to answer smoothly. He wasn’t entirely lying, he didn’t murder every single one of his bounties. Most of them, yes, but not the entirety of them.

“Wow, I’ve never met anyone like you before! I have to admit, your job sounds quite thrilling.” You exclaimed with genuine excitement as his heart leaped with joy. I’ve never met anyone like you before. He knew you were referring to his job, but his delusional mind was making him believe you were talking about him. He also felt joy watching you be so excited over something as little as him explaining his job. He relished the fleeting moment of your admiration, knowing the truth would dispel such feelings.

“It does sounds super dangerous, Toji. Have you ever been hurt?” Gods, he loved the way you said his name.

“Oh, undoubtedly, it is a dangerous field, but I’m more than capable of handling myself. I’m a strong guy.” Toji assured with a charismatic wink, basking in the shy smile that graced your lips.

“You really are.” You agreed, slowly dragging your eyes through his big, well built arms. For some reason that made Toji’s heart rate speed up. Your eyes were simply enthralling, seductive in a way that would make any man fall on his knees, weakened by the intensity of your gaze. It was causing his dick to awaken. He could feel a tent growing in his pants, his dick feeling restrained by the fabric. That familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach that only you had ever caused him was making itself present. Knowing that you liked his physique made him unbelievably horny. If you didn’t restrain yourself from looking at him that way soon, he was going to spread you on the table and slide his cock into your tight little cunt in front of everyone in this restaurant.

Those thoughts dissipated once he saw your countenance switch. “If you don’t mind me asking. Is your job the reason you got that scar on your lip?” You inquired, your tone tinged with curiosity and concern.

Toji’s smiled faltered momentarily, but he quickly tried to hide his discomfort. “No, sweetheart. I got it when I was a kid.” He watched your face fall, aware you were probably thinking about all the bad things that could’ve possibly happened to him. He despised seeing you saddened by his past and quite frankly his childhood was not something he held close to his heart or something he enjoyed talking about. He would rather keep that part of his life hidden in the back his thoughts.

“What can I say, I was a wild child. Always in trouble.” Toji chuckled, attempting to salvage the mood. You smiled at him, but it wasn’t your normal smile. He knew you could tell there was something wrong within him, and he knew you were trying your hardest to not push about it any further. He acknowledged and appreciated your respect for his boundaries.

“If it’s worth anything, I like your scar. I think it gives you character.” You winked, reaching over the table to rest your hand atop of his. Gods, was he blushing? Never in his life had a woman made him blush this way.

“You’re sweet, doll. I appreciate it.” He responded, offering you a sincere smile. He couldn’t understand how you could possibly evoke such a good, warm feeling in him. You were going to become his wife no matter what.

The waiter returned with your order and you and Toji ate in comfortable silence, stealing glances of one another occasionally. It was hard to believe for you, but you actually found yourself enjoying your time with Toji. He wasn’t as off-putting as you initially thought. Perhaps his insistence was due to his loneliness, most men his age were settled down with families. Yet, that also made you ponder, maybe he was single at his age for a reason. Doubts swirled your mind about him and yourself. You had insisted on staying single for a while, but here you were, finding yourself drawn to him. You had decided to only go out with him once, but you really desired to keep seeing him. There was something about him that pulled you to him, yet there was also a voice of caution that told you to stay away. It felt impossible to reconcile these conflicting feelings. You sensed there was something wrong with him, something that refused his soul to find peace. Perhaps it was your savior complex, but you felt a strong urge to help him, to fix him.

Those thoughts dissipated once you were back at his place.

Not even a second after Toji slammed the door closed, he was grabbing you by the waist crashing his lips against yours and you responded back immediately by opening your mouth giving him access to your tongue. He wasted no time invading your wet cavern, making you melt into his embrace. His lips felt soft, despite the scar on his lips. You liked it.

“Fuck, I missed those sweet lips, baby.” Toji pulled away growling into your lips, sliding his big hands down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. You moaned in response before delighting him with another passionate kiss from you. “I’ve thought about your pretty body, every single day since you gave yourself to me that night. Been thinkin’ about you, the way you took me, the way you creamed all over my dick. You have no damn clue how many times I had to jerk off thinking about you. I’ve been going insane without your pussy, baby doll.” Toji confessed between kisses, his breath getting heavier, sending electric shocks all over your body. The image of him touching himself clouding your mind with an unquenchable desire for him.

Toji lifted you up into his arms, making his way to his bedroom kicking the door open. He placed you gently on his bed, treating you like the delicate flower he considered you to be. He climbed on top of you, continuing the make out session from earlier. You started grinding your hips against his bulge, groaning at the the restrain his pants had on his dick. Your dress had rilled up, exposing your underwear to him.

Toji chuckled in amusement seeing your white panties with red hearts on them. “Those are cute, sweetheart.” He retorted playfully as he started messing with the waistband teasingly.

“Oh shut it. This wasn’t in my plans today.” You responded feign being offended, you traitorous smile betraying you. Toji laughed at your cuteness before he started leaving open mouthed kisses all over your delicate neck. You attempted to rub your thighs together as you felt your panties dampening, the copious amount of fluids making the crotch of your panties translucent. Toji grabbed your thighs firmly, forcing them to stay spread for him.

Toji pulled away from you, admiring your flushed form, letting out a hiss at how unbelievably delicious you looked to him. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” He uttered, rubbing you soft thighs as he turned his gaze to your cunt, groaning at how astonishingly wet you were. “I need to taste this pretty pussy.”

He wasted no time in ripping your underwear off, lowering himself to be within sight of the object of his desires, glistening in the arousal he provoked in you. He quickly attached his mouth to your throbbing clit, attacking it with his tongue vigorously. Toji had you moaning and squirming under him like a bitch in heat. The feeling of his skilled tongue on your clit was taking you to a perfect world where only you and him existed. You felt him reaching out to play with your breasts, your tender nipples begging for the attention. The combination of being eaten out and breast play were heavenly, driving you to begin pushing your hips against his face.

Your eyelids fluttered open to find Toji’s deep, green, gaze already fixed upon you, looking at you through his dark lashes. It had to be the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. His gaze was filled with unbearable lust, causing you to become wetter by the second, as pool of your juices forming under you. He continued quenching his thirst with your pussy as he started slowly burring a finger into your tight heat, growling against your pussy at the feeling of your walls engulfing his large finger. Excitement bubbled within him as he thought about that tightness wrapping around his pulsing, hard cock.

He carefully started adding another digit, speeding up his pace enough to make you squirm in delightful pleasure. Your wanton moans making him itch with anticipation to hear more.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. I can’t wait for you to make my face drip in your sweet juices. I need you to come for me. Why don’t you give daddy what he wants?” Toji almost whimpered into your pulsing clit. He could tell you were getting close, that’s why he started lapping at your pussy like it was the most exquisite plate to ever exist.

“P-please make me come, daddy. I need you.” You moaned, eyes never leaving his, the intensity of his gaze making you almost break the eye contact.

“I want you to come right now, baby. Give it to me!” He responded, his groans sending pleasurable vibrations through your clit.

“Oh fuck, d-daddy! I’m c-coming!” You announced, moaning loudly as he continued ravishing your pussy with his mouth, thick fingers plunging in and out of you. He was driving you over the edge, squeezing your tits, teasing your sensitive nipples. It was too much, Toji had your legs quivering. You came with a scream, clenching around his digits, a tide of your juices squirting all over his face. You gasped at the feeling. Before you met Toji you had never squirted in your life and yet every time you had intercourse with this man you barely knew, he always managed to make you reach your high in such way in a matter of a few minutes.

Toji pulled himself up from your cunt, licking his lips savoring your taste. “So fucking good, sweetheart.” He complimented, wiping from his chin the remainder of your juices, making you shiver at the sight. He made you reach your high so hard you could barely move, but you wanted to return the favor.

You forced yourself up meeting him face to face, exchanging fervent kisses, tasting yourself in the process. You rose from the bed onto your feet, placing your hands on his strong shoulders leading him to the bed. “Lay down for me, daddy. Let me return the favor.” You offered, biting your lip seductively. Toji followed your orders without complaints. “Why don’t we take off your shirt? It’s so hot in here.” You suggested playfully as you climb on top of him, helping him rid of it. This man was built by the gods themselves, his body turned you on like no other. You ran your hands softly through his abdominals, making Toji visibly shudder. You kept going until you reached his pants’ waistband.

“What are you planning to do to me, sweetheart?” Toji teased with a smirk, as he placed his hands behinds his head, making himself comfortable. You only responded by climbing off him, pulling down his pants along with his underwear without hesitation, letting his big, hard member out of the restricted space. You gasped seeing how hard he was and the amount of precum that was oozing from the tip. Toji groaned with satisfaction at the feeling of being liberated.

You wasted no time, lowering yourself to your knees and grabbing the base of his pulsing cock. Toji hissed, his body responsive to your gentle caresses. You began by pressing a teasing kiss to the head of his dick, an angry red color coating it. You then proceeded to lick from the base of the shaft to the tip and in that moment, you took him unto your moist mouth. You started sucking him off zealously, forcing strained moans to escape his throat.

“S-shit, baby. Sucking daddy’s dick so good. J-just like that.” He shut his eyes, basking in the unbelievable bliss you were bringing him. He gasped out when he felt you take him deeper into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat; he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his hips into you. He then grabbed the back of your head gently to force you to remain there as he continued to thrust upwards into your mouth, his jaw hanging open in pleasure.

“Oh, that’s a good slut. Letting me fuck your pretty face.” Toji growled as he kept going, somewhat bewildered at the fact that you would were allowing him to do this to you. Nevertheless, he wasn’t one for protesting when you were giving him the best head he had ever received.

He let go you as you continued going down on him as if your life depended on it. You wanted him to come in your mouth, but your intentions lay elsewhere. You released his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, evoking a groan from Toji. You probably looked disheveled. Toji, on the other hand, didn’t agree with your line of thought. He found this to be the sexiest you’ve ever looked. A rosy hue graced your cheeks, accompanied by trails of tears running down your cheeks, your lips swollen and red, drool running down your chin. He wasn’t aware he could get more aroused than he already was.

“Please keep going, sweetheart.” Toji pleaded and you shook your head, making him growl in frustration. “Why not?!” He whined, his tone displaying evident discontent.

You giggled at his childishness. “I have something else for you.” You bit your lips, undoing your dress, exposing your nudity to him. Toji runs his tongue over his lips, eyes darkening at the sight of your wonderful body. You proceeded to grab your supple breasts, wrapping them around his cock, causing Toji’s eyes to widen. Tenaciously, you embarked on a mission to make him come on your breasts. You initiated by slowly massaging your breasts up and down his cock, making sure to squeeze them tightly around him. Toji started meeting your thrusts enthusiastically, his hips moving erratically, his hand atop of yours.

“Tell me how it feels, daddy? You like fucking my tits, don’t you?” You moaned as you continued working your tits on his twitching cock. Keenly aware that he would reach his peak imminently, you increased your speed.

“S-so much, b-baby. You’re gonna make me c-come so much. You’re gonna let me come on your perfect tits, baby?” Toji announced, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated. This was something he never expected from you, but he was incredibly appreciative of it. The sight of your breasts enveloping his cock so snug between them erased nearly every thought in his mind.

“Come all over my tits, daddy!” With that he stilled as he released a typhoon of semen on your chest, slurring out your name lethargically. Toji remained motionless, his chest rising and falling as he labored to regain his breath.

“That was so fucking hot.” Toji stated as he recovered his breath, his gaze becoming lustful as he contemplated the sight of you gathering his cum from your chest with your fingers, guiding it to your lips. Savoring his taste for the first time.

“You taste delicious. Why don’t you give me some more or it?” You smiled at him, lifting yourself from your kneeling position, to climb onto the bed on your hands and knees. Toji lifted himself to a stand, stationing himself directly behind you. He took his sweet time to appreciate the shape your exposed ass, reaching out to give the plump flesh a firm squeeze.

“And where would you like my cum now, sweetheart?” He inquired with a groan, continuing to caress your ass as he started grinding his rock hard cock against your behind. Giving a look over your shoulder, you smiled at him with heavy eyelids. If you kept giving him such glanced he was going to burst in this very moment. You were a goddess. His goddess.

You reached out to play with your pussy. “Right here.” You teased, giggling at his dumbfounded expression. “What’s wrong, Toji? Don’t you want to cum inside me?”

“God, yes. More than anything.” Toji managed to utter out, reminiscing the memories of him emptying himself in your pussy on your first time together. Allowing him to do that on your first time making love stood as the greatest gift you bestowed upon him.

“Then what are you waiti—“ Before you couldn’t finish your statement, Toji flipped you onto your back on a swift movement, settling himself on top of you carefully, making sure not to crush you with his weight. With urgency, he smashed his lips into yours, massaging your lips together into a sensual kiss. He was still astonished by the softness of your lips, enjoying the way you dragged your tongue across his scar so lovingly. Toji was experiencing such overwhelming emotions that he feared his heart could burst at any moment. He loves you. Desperately.

Toji pulled away, disappointed at the loss of the warmth of your lips, but his cock was weeping for you. He needed to feel you wrap around him.

Toji slowly started to push inside you, moaning your name as your tight heat engulfed his aching cock. He tried his hardest to not allow his heaving eyelids to block his view from your face. His need to watch your face contort with a mixture or pain and pleasure was outrageous. His cock was so big, he knew it would take a while for you to adjust yourself to it.

“T-Toji! You’re stretching me out so much.” You panted, grasping his shoulders. He finished bottoming out inside you, watching your jaw slack and squeeze your eyes shut. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your face, he could come just by staring at it.

“No, no, baby. Keep your eyes on me, look into daddy’s eyes.” Toji pleaded, hissing at the feeling of your soaked cunt clenching around him tightly. “S-shit, you’re so wet for me.” He cursed, pulling his length almost completely before thrusting back in gently, forcing a sweet moan from your lips. Your eyelids fluttered to meet his green eyes. Something about keeping eye contact with Toji as he plunged his cock in and out of your pussy made your eyes water, it was such an intimate moment.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure, tears started streaming down your face. Immediately, Toji started kissing your tears away without slowing down his steady pace.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” Toji whispered as he buried his face into your neck, peppering open mouthed kissed all over it, making sure to leave a mark so everyone knew you belonged to him. You moaned at the sensation his thrusts combined with his kisses were providing you. Toji continued lavishing your neck with kisses, lowering himself to give your nipples the same treatment. He suckled your sore nipples as he continued to work his cock in you.

“Ah, Toji. Harder, please!” You pleaded dragging your fingernails down his back. Toji complied as he turned his attention back on your face. He started plunging his cock in your cunt with rapid, smooth thrusts, getting awarded by your moans muffled by his own.

“This pretty pussy is mine, baby. I’m the only allowed to touch it, the only that can ruin it.” He grunted before continuing. “If I see you with another man, I’ll kill him!”

“Yes, daddy!” You were so fucked out of your mind, you didn’t care about any words that sputtered out his mouth. Your whole focus was on reaching your orgasm. To Toji, this was your way of agreeing to be his for the rest of your lives.

You clenched tightly around him, the arrival of you orgasm getting close. The squelching sound of his cock sinking into your wet hole filling the room.

“Tell me, d-do you want to c-come for me, sweetheart?” Toji managed to stuttered out as his thrusts became erratic, feeling his own release approaching.

“I w-want to come all over your cock.” You cried out, letting your eyes roll back at the build up you were feeling. Your legs with a quivering mess, your toes curling at the mind blowing delectation you were experiencing.

“Let’s come together, baby.” Toji commanded, picking up his pace. The moment Toji felt your cunt spasm around his cock he allowed himself to come inside you with a flow of grunts. You cried out as your clenching pussy milked him of his every drop of cum. He continued releasing ropes of his seed inside you, feeling it start to ooze out of your abused hole. Toji gave a few more sloppy thrust as you both finished reaching your high.

He pulled out of you, groaning at the sight of his cock glistening with your juices and his own cum combined. He leaned back, enjoying the view of your sweaty, panting body and his seed dripping out of your snatch.

“That was amazing, Toji.” You admitted, attempting to catch your breath.

Toji nodded in agreement, unable to say anything that wasn’t a blabbering mess. He moved to lay next to you, pulling you closer to him and you responded by snuggling yourself into his chest. Toji had to stop himself from swooning at your behavior, it was so different from that night. You were both cuddled up, relishing the warmth radiating from your nude bodies. This was all he ever needed, you completed his existence.

“How about we watch that movie now?”

843 notes · View notes