#sometimes plots are kept hidden

[mssishipi]

okay? okay. — sjy

two awkward nobodies turns tension into physical.

content tags: set in 1990's, no plot just loser!jake & loser!reader, s-stuttering? bear with them. explicit content (smut): cunnilingus, fingering, little bit of nipple play. MDNI! WC: 2.3k

It wasn't like Jake had no friends, at least not entirely. Technically, he had three people he occasionally talked to. Maybe not friends in the traditional sense, more like peripheral figures, one he sometimes exchanged notes with before class started, another who shared the same lunch table out of habit, and the third... well, Jake wasn't quite sure who the third was anymore.

When his mother found out it was his birthday, she lit up with an enthusiasm so disproportionate to the occasion that Jake felt immediately suffocated. She insisted on celebrating—went out and bought cake, plastic streamers that sagged against the living room wall, and even set out paper plates. Then she turned to him with a forced smile and said, "Invite your friends, sweetheart. All of them. It'll be fun!"

So, he'd done exactly that. Messaged the three people whose numbers sat unused in his contacts list. He waited until the very last minute, typing out a bland, uncertain invitation that he almost deleted several times before finally pressing send. Predictably, none of them replied.

Except for you.

You showed up ten minutes after the time listed on the message. Jake opened the door like he'd just been caught off guard, blinking behind his crooked glasses as if unsure whether to smile or hide.

"U-uh... H-happy b-birthd-day, J-Jake," you stammered, eyes flicking away from his.

He moved aside to let you in without saying a word, and now the two of you sat at the edge of the couch in his living room.

You kept tapping your foot against the carpet. Jake sat beside you, hunched slightly forward, hands wringing together in his lap, shoulders high. He kept adjusting his glasses even though they didn't need adjusting, the same way you kept picking at your nails or brushing invisible lint from your sleeve. Both of you mirrored each other's awkward tics without realizing it. The half-eaten cake on the coffee table sat untouched, its frosting slowly melting.

Jake finally broke the silence. "S-so... you came."

You nodded once, eyes flicking briefly toward him before darting away again. Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. "Y-yeah. Um. I d-didn't have anything else, so..."

The sentence trailed off, neither of you bothering to pretend it was a convincing excuse. There was no music playing. No other voices in the house. His mother had retreated to the kitchen, likely pretending to busy herself while eavesdropping.

Minutes dragged of another silence, Jake reached for a slice of cake, changed his mind, pulled his hand back. You leaned forward like you might say something, then leaned back instead.

Jake cleared his throat, “uh… want to go to my room?”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, heat rising from your collar to your ears. You adjusted your glasses with shaky fingers, blinking once, then nodding. “Y-yeah… okay.”

"R-right there, Jake… ahhh. Just like that, please."

The faint static hum of the cassette player filled the air, mixed by the breathy sound of your voice that was something Jake never imagined he’d hear.

He never thought the first time he'd taste someone—you, of all people—would feel like this.

It was like a discovery. A minute ago, it had been all small talk and the awkward thuds of your steps across his carpeted floor. Now, his mouth was buried between your legs, and his world had narrowed to the rhythm of your breath and the sweetness of your skin.

Jake seen you at school, always half-hidden under oversized jumpers and layers. You’d sit beside him sometimes at lunch, two losers orbiting the same cafeteria table in silence, sharing glances that lasted just a second too long, and yet neither of you had ever said anything

Now, he realized what he’d missed, what had been concealed beneath the quiet demeanor and deliberately plain clothes. Your body was insanely hot, sinfully curved in ways that had Jake's hands unsure of where to settle, his brain desperately trying to keep up with what his body was experiencing. His glasses were slightly askew, fogged with heat, and the tips of his ears were burning as he adjusted his angle and listened to every sound you made in response to his tongue.

He licked tentatively at first, awkward, but then you moaned his name and something in him snapped. His hands gripped your thighs with more certainty. He moved his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, testing what made your hips twitch or your breath hitch. Each reaction you gave was a reward, and Jake chased them obsessively.

"Please… m-more."

Jake nearly lost his mind. He moaned, open-mouthed, right against your soaked folds, the sound vibrating into you as he pushed his tongue in deeper.

There was still a part of him that couldn’t believe this was real. That he was doing this. That someone was writhing beneath him, clenching at his sheets, begging him not to stop.

He remembered how grossed out he used to be, overhearing locker room talk from guys who bragged about "the best pussy of their lives." Their words always came with a smirk, with arrogance, with a tone Jake hated. He thought it was pathetic.

Now, he fucking understood. The sounds you made, the way you whined, whimpered, and gasped sent heat rushing to his groin, making his cock throb painfully in his pants. But he ignored it. You were the center of his world right now. Your pleasure. Your body. Your voice. He’d never been good at much, but if he could just make you feel like this, if he could memorize every twitch and moan, then maybe he could be good at you.

Jake glanced up through the fogged lenses of his glasses, catching a glimpse of your face. Your eyes were barely open, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. Your head was tilted back, exposing the column of your neck as your hips rolled into him, grinding your heat against his mouth.

He groaned again, involuntarily, as he looked lower—your breasts bouncing softly with every motion, round and heavy and perfect, the sight alone enough to make him dizzy.

God, you were so fucking hot.

He pulled back just enough to drag his tongue slowly across your slit, savoring the taste. Then, with shaky resolve, he let one hand slide lower.

He pressed a finger against your entrance and felt how wet you were. Tentatively, he pushed in, slowly, watching your reaction, his finger slid inside you, warm and tight, and Jake nearly whimpered at how it felt around him.

Your moan cracked sharp through the air, and he moved quickly, adjusting. He ducked his head, focusing his lips on your clit, sucking softly. Your hips twitched against his face, your moans climbing in pitch, and Jake’s eyes fluttered closed as he moved his finger in a gentle rhythm—curling, dragging, retreating before plunging in again.

"Jake!"

He added a second finger without overthinking it, pushing deeper as he sucked harder on your clit. His pace grew more confident now, still trembling slightly, but driven by the way your thighs began to clamp around his shoulders, your body helplessly responding to everything he did. He could feel the way your walls clenched around his fingers. 

He was drowning in you, and he didn’t want to come up for air.

His hand gripped your thigh harder as he thrust his fingers faster, curling them just right, chasing the way your cries rose in volume and pitch. Jake couldn’t stop moaning either. 

Jake lifted his head, pulling back just enough to speak, breathless, face glistening. His fingers never stopped moving inside you. "Am I… am I doing a good job?" he asked,  eyes wide with hunger.

You reached for him, grabbing the frame of his glasses, tugging them gently off his face and setting them aside. Then your hand cradled his jaw, pulled him up over your body, and you kissed him hard.

The moment your lips crashed into his, you both moaned into each other’s mouths. Your kiss was all teeth and tongue, sloppy and intense, spit-slicked and shameless. Jake’s hand stayed between your legs, his fingers never stopping, still thrusting and curling inside you as your hips rocked against his palm.

Your tongues tangled in a frantic rhythm, colliding like neither of you had ever kissed someone before—and in truth, maybe neither of you had quite like this.

Jake whimpered against your mouth as your teeth caught his lower lip, tugging at it before crashing into him again. He tasted you on your tongue, on your lips, everywhere. 

His free hand slid under your back, holding you tighter, pulling you against him. Your breath hitched as his fingers curled again inside you, faster now, more urgent. The wet sounds of his hand between your legs mixed with the quiet, needy gasps you both kept sharing in between kisses.

Jake groaned into your mouth, hips grinding unconsciously against the mattress, desperate for relief, but he never stopped moving his fingers inside you.

You broke the kiss first, gasping for breath, your lips swollen, eyes fluttering open with a dazed kind of bliss.

“A-are you close?” Jake asked.

You nodded frantically, whimpering louder as your hips rocked down against his hand, chasing the high he was pulling from you so perfectly.

Jake shifted, sliding behind you, pulling your body back against his chest. He wrapped an arm under your chest, his palm cupping one of your breasts. The second his fingers brushed your nipple, he moaned against your neck—actually moaned—at how soft and warm you were in his hand. His thumb began to flick over it, teasing it to a stiff peak while his other hand stayed between your legs, fingers thrusting deeper now from this new angle.

In this position, he had control.

His legs tangled with yours, spreading them open, locking you down so you couldn’t close them even if you tried. His chest pressed against your back, every shaky breath he took ghosting over your shoulder. His fingers buried inside you could now reach places that made you cry out, nearly screaming as your head fell back against his shoulder.

Jake caught the sound with his mouth again, kissing you, swallowing your cries as he worked you relentlessly.

"Say my name when you cum," he breathed, voice cracking with need. "Tell me I'm doing good. Please. Please."

His hips rocked against you from behind, his clothed cock rutting helplessly against your lower back, leaking through his boxers. His thumb kept playing with your nipple, gentle and desperate at once, trying to hold you in place while you trembled against him.

You could barely think. Your skin was burning, your stomach tight with that sharp, spiraling pleasure that was just about to break loose.

You grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers faster, pushing yourself down on them.

“Y-You’re doing so good, Jake,” you moaned, biting your lip. “Fuck, your fingers feel so good—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

Jake gasped behind you, clinging tighter to your body, lips trailing along your jaw, your neck, desperate to be anywhere on you. You kept whispering, choking on moans, eyes rolling back as your climax crept closer with every flick of his wrist.

“You’re making me cum, Jake,” you panted, mouth falling open, hips jerking. “God, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard on your fingers—fuck—don’t stop.” 

Jake whimpered again, rutting harder against you from behind. 

And then you came.

You screamed his name, your body convulsed in his grasp, your slick heat pulsing in wet, desperate contractions that squeezed him in a way that made his brain blank out completely.

Jake’s eyes widened in a haze of disbelief as his cock throbbed once—twice—and then spilled. Completely untouched, fully clothed, still grinding against your back, he came in his pants.  His cum soaked the front of his boxers, but the feeling that overtook him was so violently good, he couldn’t even care.

He gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, body trembling as the orgasm ripped through him, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out like an idiot. His hips jerked again, trying to ride out the friction.

Jake made a girl cum.

Jake made a girl fucking cum.

His mind couldn’t process anything else. Jake slowly pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt, blinking down at them in disbelief—glossy with slick, dripping down to his knuckles. Your cum. 

His heart pounded in his ears. His glasses were gone. His pants were soaked with his own mess.

And still, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he whispered, “I… I made you cum.”

"Y-yeah," you squeaked, still catching your breath. Your fingers reached behind you, gently brushing over his thigh. “T-thank you, Jake…”

He swallowed hard. “Did I… Was it… okay?”

You turned slightly, shifting in his lap, enough to glance back at him. His face was flushed deep red, hair sticking up in awkward angles, your lips curved into a soft, breathless smile, and you leaned back against him again hesitantly. 

Your lips curved into a soft, breathless smile. You leaned back against him again, a bit hesitant, but you wanted him close. 

“Okay?” you echoed with a light laugh, still flushed. “Jake, I couldn’t see straight. You made me forget my own name.”

Jake blinked rapidly. “U-uh, really?” His voice cracked.

You nodded, biting your lip as your gaze dropped, suddenly shy again in the aftermath. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really.”

There was silence. You felt Jake shift behind you slightly, still holding your body.

And then, in the quietest voice, he asked:

“T-then… can I… can I keep doing this to you?”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes again. He looked scared. Like he’d already started bracing for rejection. 

You nodded, leaning in to press your lips to his jaw. “O-okay.”

His hands tightened around your waist, you could feel him harden again against you, still trapped inside soaked boxers, his body catching up fast to what his heart had just heard. 

"Okay? Okay." 

[vixenofthemist]

DESERT HEAT

Abysswalker!Rafayel X Princess!MC Rating: E Words: 4,220 tags: Minors Do Not Interact, Heat/Mating Cycles, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Fluff and Smut, not plot related but he has the tamino wolf cut lmao

Her Highness was used to the sound of her balcony door opening in the dark hours of the night when the desert palace was asleep, but this time was different as the noise brought her from a dream. 

Blinking sleep from her eyes, she lifted onto a forearm as she peered through the darkness, the form of Rafayel becoming clearer where he stood rigid. Hand still on the doorknob.

“Rafayel?” She questioned as she rubbed her eye with the back of her free palm. “What are you doing here? I didn't summon you in my sleep again, did I?”

“No.” His voice was tight and slightly ragged, but he was in enough shadows that she couldn't make out the details of his features besides the broader shape of his mask and face above.  One glance at where the fishtail beacon remained hidden beneath her pillows proved she hadn't been holding it. “I… did not mean to wake you.” 

There was a sincere apology in his voice, and she smiled.

“Not many could get away with it, but you're an exception for most things.” Her Highness then reached out her hand, and beckoned him to her. The loose fabric of her nightgown- worn because it was the season where the hot temperature remained even into the night- slipped down her shoulder and revealed her bare skin. 

Rafayel didn't budge at her invitation, causing her to frown.

“Rafayel? Aren't you going to come closer?”

“No.” She had never heard his voice waiver before, but it did, even in such a short word. Her confusion turned to concern now, and she sat up. Soft sheets pooling around her waist and her sleeve falling even further down her arm. Revealing half a collarbone.

She could hear the sharpness of his gulp from here, and the faint sound of metal creaking accompanied it.

Something was definitely wrong. Rafayel was too in control of his own reactions to give off such clear tells usually, yet here he was barely able to control his own strength.

“What has the poor doorknob ever done to you to deserve such a treatment?!’ Her Highness accused, pushing her bedding off her and sliding her feet to the floor. “If you damage it too much, Natasha will-”

She didn't get to finish her sentence, as one look at her temporarily exposed legs brought a strangled noise from the back of Rafayel's throat, and suddenly he was doubled over on his knees. One hand on the floor to support him as the other covered his eyes.

“Rafayel!” She raced towards him, but he halted her halfway with a shaky hand in the air.

“Don't.” Rafayel's voice held command to it that would have made her knees weak on any other occasion, but right now she couldn't process anything but worry. “Just- give me a moment to-”

“What are you talking about? You're clearly hurt!” She kept moving forward, and his hand fell easily when she batted it away to kneel in front of him. She could see beads of sweat gathering in his hairline, and his visible ear was almost red beneath his long hair.

When she pressed her palm against his forehead, the hand covering his eyes dropped away and she could see now the barest peek of pink skin at the edge of the mask.

“You're burning up. Oh no- um-” She felt woefully unprepared to treat him. She’d never taken care of someone sick before. 

“Bath?” She landed on, rather weakly. If someone was this hot, maybe soaking in cold water would ease the heat? “I-I can draw you up a cold bath, would that… help?”

“Yes. Please. Water- any type-” He begged, and a new sense of urgency flooded through her. Lemurians went through something called Ebb day, right? It was rare with the tides being no more but rumors said sometimes they experienced phantom symptoms. If this was what Rafayel was experiencing, then he had put himself in real danger bringing himself to the palace when he was at his weakest. 

She had to try and get him back on his feet enough for him to escape before dawn, but when she withdrew her hand from his forehead she found her wrist caught and jerked back to him. He rubbed his nose- mask still on- against the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. Inhaling deeply.

“You have to leave.” Rafayel was unsatisfied with the amount of her smell he was able to get through his mask, so he quickly clicked it off and discarded it onto the floor where it slid beneath Blu-blu's table. Her cheeks burned as he now slid his nose from wrist to palm. Muttering as he did so. “It's bad to be near me, you have to go away.”

“Y-you're the one who came into my room,” She pointed out. Her turn to swallow hard as his lips brushed her skin ever so slightly. Leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. “AND the one keeping me from leaving. You need a bath, but I can't prepare it for you if you don't let me go!” 

She gasped as his teeth bit- just barely- into the meaty part of her palm. She was lost now. She had heard Ebb day took a Lemurian's strength yet here he was able to keep a tight hold of her even as she struggled to get free. 

“Rafayel, what is going on?” When she said his name the breathy back of throat noise was back again and he shifted his heady gaze onto her, and the cogs clicked into place as she registered what that noise was.

He was moaning. 

Rafayel was moaning because she had said his name, and immediately she wanted to make him do it more. Saying it again was on the tip of her tongue when the moonlight hit something reflective on his cheek between the strands of hair, and at once her free hand brushed them aside to see what it was.

Dark blue, muted scales scattered across the highs of his cheekbones and down into the collar of his shirt. Her Highness' breath caught in her throat and all desires to tease were thrown out of her mind.

Right! The ebb thing was happening she couldn't- Rafayel was in danger - she had to be the responsible one between them for once- 

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction of which of her hands he wanted to lean into, she withdrew both and leapt to her feet. Managing to turn and get a step away before strong arms were around her waist, and Rafayel's full body weight leaned against her lower back and legs and suddenly she was falling forward-

Her squeal was muffled by one of the softest pillows from her bed snapping to catch her fall. Brought by one of Rafayel's chains.

He was now laying on top of her, shifting upwards till his head rested between her shoulder blades and his hot breath spread across her skin. His weight pressed down on her, and she was flushing something awful as she lifted onto her forearms.

“R-raf-” Her reprimand died on her tongue as her own shifting made something firm and thick rub against her thigh, and Rafayel groaned in response and pressed a kiss to her spine, and her mind turned to momentary mush as the realization of what was actually happening hit her.

“Rafayel… are you in heat?” She couldn't hide the excited quiver in her voice and she bit her bottom lip, shifting her leg to rub against the tent again. In response Rafayel groaned. Mouth hot and open against her left shoulder.

“Your fault.” He rasped, his arms shaking in restraint as even now he was desperately trying to keep it together. “Usually it's nothing. Barely even a problem but- but you called for me yesterday and…” His tongue swiped a hot path from the nape of her neck up to behind her ear where he took in a deep breath. “Can smell it on you. Fills my senses. Couldn't- can’t think of anything else but how your body is all ready and waiting for me.”

A mixture of embarrassment and thrill coursed through her, and her thighs pressed together.

“You can tell I'm…?” She turned her head, uncertain of how exactly to describe it, and he eagerly pitched forward to press their foreheads together. The tension in his brow loosening as if being close to her eased whatever experience being in heat brought him.

“Fertile? Yeah.” Rafayel filled it in for her. Nose brushing against hers and their lips were a breadth apart. “Makes sense, doesn't it? Lines up perfectly with me to fu-” He cut himself off with a harsh inhale, and he was suddenly off her. Rolling onto his back with an arm thrown over his eyes.

“Fuck. FUCK!” His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I- I didn't mean to come here. Meant to go further away but I blinked and you were in front of me so pretty and tired but- This isn't your problem to deal with.”

“Problem?” Her Highness had never heard her voice so low and silky as it was now as she crawled towards him till she was in reach to delicately drag the back of her knuckles against his scales. “How could this be a problem?”

Rafayel was blinking quickly as he lifted his arm just enough for one eye to look at her. 

“You don't understand-”

“I think I do.” She cut him off, tracing the scales down his throat. “Lemurians go into heat to reproduce, right? All their senses and thoughts go into the extremes and won't calm down till their urges are sated…” 

Rafayel's adams apple bobbed beneath her fingertips. Skin still burning hot with what she now knew was desire.

“Do you know how relieved I am that this is something I can help with? I thought I was going to have to nurse you back to health and we both know that would be a disaster!” She laughed lightly, and the corners of his mouth upturned despite everything because it was a ridiculous thought. “No, this is… exciting.”

The sound of the top buckle of his collar clicking open moved his arm from his face and she found herself half laying over his head now. Balanced a little awkwardly on her hands and knees.

“You don't understand.” He repeated, raising his head so he could trail kisses along her exposed collarbone between words. “If we started, it wouldn't be quick nor once. I'd take my time filling you over and over so something will for sure stick. Maybe till sunrise, maybe till noon… Someone would come get you, and they'd catch us.” 

Her knees felt wobbly, and a gasp left her as his hand pushed a breast out of the low dip of her nightgown, and his mouth latched onto it. Marking the tender flesh.

“What would they say when they see their precious princess being used by a dangerous Lemurian like that? One that's personally killed so many of their nobles, and now so dangerously close to their immortality?” His voice was low and dangerous with lust. But her own arousal was only growing at his words, and leaking through the already moist fabric of her underwear. 

“If anything, I'd be using you.” She slung a leg across his abdomen to angle her aching center against the hard and ridged leather of his coat as if to make her point. Using him for momentary relief. “I hate it here. I want nothing more than to leave, and if I was with your child you'd have to take me, wouldn't you?” 

His still gloved hand grasped the back of her thigh to urge her to rock against him, and she gasped into a moan as his own reverberated around the nipple he had in his mouth.  

She grinded down, trying to find the spot that would properly satisfy the pulsing ache.

“If- if you don't take me they'll marry me off as soon as they know.” She braced herself against his shoulders to give herself more friction, and his head snapped back to look up at her. His eyes darkened to a deep purple and the saliva string between his mouth and her breast broke.

 “They'll claim I slept with whoever they decided to marry me off to, and I'll be forced to be someone else's bride-” 

Her breathy pleas were cut off with a yelp as Rafayel's mouth suddenly crashed into her. Hands on either side of her face so he could slot their mouths together properly.

They were both desperate and needy, and it came through in their kissing. 

It was raw and instinctual, a dance of tongue and teeth fueled by the rocking of her hips releasing more of that smell that drove his innate desires crazy. It only ended when lungs burned for oxygen.

They panted into each other's swollen lips, and after catching his breath enough to speak, Rafayel dragged a thumb across her bottom lip.

“Mine.” 

That growl brought a delightful whimper of agreement from her, and when he pressed back in with his tongue she was pliant in letting him in.

Her movement had stopped; she was too caught up in how devouring Rafayel was with his kissing to pay attention to herself, but Rafayel hadn't forgotten.

 Hands shifted to her waist, and his teeth pulled a little on her bottom lip before he leaned back against the marble floor.

“I hope you're serious about this, because I can't hold back anymore. Need you so-”

He couldn't finish because there were no words to encompass the depths of his love for her, because that was the basis of why his heat was affecting him so intensely. The love that burned so fiercely it had left a permanent mark on time itself spurred the want to make up for lost lifetimes together.

She did not remember, but she did not need to to recognize what he did not say. She held his face and he nuzzled into her palm. Eyes fluttering open and closed.

“I've never been more serious about anything.” She confirmed, brushing back his sweat soaked hair from his forehead so she could press a kiss to his scales. “I want nothing more than to be with you, Rafayel. In every way, including this and what might come after.”

His heart swelled, and she was urged onto her hands and knees. Thighs framing his face.

“Have to get you ready first. Want you to enjoy it.” As Rafayel spoke, fingers hooked into her underwear and pulled it down her thighs. Seeing the mess already there, an appreciative noise came from him. Spreading her apart with two fingers to get a better look. “You're so wet for me already, Your Highness.” 

“Was dreaming of you.” She confessed, and that revelation brought a full body groan from him before his mouth was on her; the occasional scrape of his earrings against her inner thigh a delicious contrast to the care of his tongue. 

She felt the pressure building in her as his ministrations got more focused and his fingers joined. Pistoning in and out of her while his lips focused on the bundle of nerves that challenged her ability to hold herself up with how good it felt to be stimulated. 

On one particular thrust and suck where he scissored his fingers to stretch her even more, her shaky arms gave out- and she found herself with her forehead against her wrists as her upper body weighted in on her forearms while her lower half was still above him. 

“You alright, Your Highness?” His hot breath was a cruel reminder that his ministrations had stopped as Rafayel removed himself to check in on her.

“Just s-sore. Awful posture lesson all day where I couldn't lower my arms while books were on my head.” She explained rather poorly, but they weren't exactly in a position for conversation. To remind him of that, she wiggled her hips in impatience that he had paused. “Fine now though don’t stop please, s’ close.”

He didn't have to be asked twice.

Sucking and stretching her walls as the chord in her pulled tauter and tauter till it snapped, and with a cry she muffled into her fist, she came on his tongue and fingers. 

Rafayel was like a traveler in the desert who found an oasis the way he began eating her out with even more fervor through the climax. Letting her ride and use him through it till she was blinking back to her senses. 

When she tried to moved away, his hands locked around her thighs. Keeping her there even as she tried to shift to get a moment of respite to catch her breath.

But the movement made her wince, and realize something even more pressing.

“R-Rafayel” She reached beneath her skirt and found his hair, and with a few insistent tugs she told him with a slight whine: “My knees hurt!” 

That made him unlatch himself, and tilt his head back- locks of dark purple hair spreading around the light floor- as a slanted grin made its way onto his handsome, red, upside down face.

“Hah, such a sensitive Princess.” He chuckled, giving one last kiss to her clit- proving her sensitivity in more ways than one as she shook- before he released her and sat up. 

“It's a hard tile on bare knees…” Her Highness pouted, but before she could get up herself Rafayel was lifting her- bridal carrying her to her expansive bed where he dropped her down onto the mattress. 

It was so soft that she bounced a few times with a squeak before stopping on her back with her limbs spread all around her, but all thoughts of sitting up left her mind in favor of ogling up at Rafayel as he started to undress.

One glove was already on the floor back where they'd been laying (She hadn't noticed when he took it off, but she should have realized he hadn't been wearing it when inside her), and it's twin followed suit.

His overcoat was next to be unbuckled and shrugged off easily, revealing the sight that always made her mouth water; The sleeveless leather shirt exposing Rafayel's bare, toned arms. Her eyes roamed over every flexing muscle and scar as his hands worked at his belt while kicking off the spiked heel boots, and once the belt hit the floor Her Highness found herself biting her lower lip in anticipation. Gazed locked on to the straining tent in his trousers.

Rafayel noticed, and his knees hit the bed as his pants were undone. Then one hand was around her ankle, pulling her towards him so he could crawl over top of her while the other freed and pumped himself.

“You want it my cute, cute princess?” He asked in the low timbre that went straight down her spine and into her renewed pooling desire. 

“Yes.” She said, airy and needy. “Need you so bad, Rafayel.”

To prove it, she rolled her hips up, and met him halfway for an open mouthed kiss.

She let her legs fall open as she felt him tease against her entrance, and once he felt the warmth of her against the tip a strangled moan tore from him and he had to cling onto every ounce of restraint in him to not snap into her all at once. Easing in instead till his pelvis was flush against hers.

He stopped there, both to give her a moment to adjust and to gather as much of himself as he could.

The memories of his past lives could never compare to actually experiencing the ravenous need that almost made his vision white out nor the feel of her clenching around him as she wiggled her hips. Telling him to move with a pleading whine at the back of her throat.

One hand settling on her hip while the other gave him balance on the bed, he obliged.

Rafayel's pace was fast and hard. Inching her further up the bed with every powerful thrust. Lavishing her neck, collarbone, and breasts with wet kisses and lovebites as he chased his first release-

But he couldn't do it before she did. Needed to satisfy his beautiful bride on him to prove he was so, so devoted. So skilled at making her feel good. So worthy of her choosing him to give her a brood because he wouldn't just fill her and leave- No, Rafayel was a better mate than that. Such a better option than the men she danced with at balls who left their pungent scent on her-

His teeth sank onto her shoulder where he remembered the vile stench of a “suitor”, as the maid called them, and Her Highness groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Rafayel lifted his head to observe the indent of his mouth on her skin. Where those idiots could only put a whiff of claim, Rafayel could mark and scent her anywhere.

A smirk curved his lips as the hand that had been holding her hip slid down to find once more that bundle of nerves. 

“So responsive for me, your Highness.” Rafayel said with utmost appreciation. Eyes half lids as he watched her jerk and gasp at his touch. Her pleasure building at the combined work of his thumb and him repositioning her leg around his waist so his thrusts hit that sweet spot within her. At the new sensation, her nails dragged against the scales on his shoulders and her whole body arched off the bed- “That’s ‘cause it’s me, yeah? You wouldn’t be this good and ready for anyone else, right?”

“Y-yes!” She nodded as tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her flushed cheeks. Palm gliding up his shoulder to lace her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  “Lo-oove you soo- so much!”

“HA~!” Hearing that made Rafayel’s thrusts turn more sporadic, and a few scales on his face and neck glowed a bright blue, like the nature and instincts the desert deprived of him awoke at her loving moans. “Say it again for me, My Heart. Tell me more how you love me and I’ll be yours even more than I already am. It’s all I need to survive, ya know. Your voice and your love- you won’t deprive me of it, will you?”

”No!” She shook her head, pulling at him to get closer to her. “Love you, Love you, love you, looove-“

It descended his mind into a haze of desire to hear her sweet music, and his tongue devolved into its own symphony of words she did not understand all of, yet she preened to hear it all the same.

A mixture of love declarations as ancient as the oceans and crude descriptors of his desires to breed her till she was swelling with his children all left Rafayel’s tongue in Lemurian alongside a quickened pace of his hips.

A loud moan was quickly muffled as she bit down on her thumb as her second orgasm rocketed through her, covering her noises as much as she could from the guards outside. Seeing it was the only thing that reminded Rafayel to do the same, and he collapsed down onto her with his mouth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder as he did one final grind into her tightness before shuddering into his own release.

His hips kept moving on instinct, shooting his warm ropes to coat as deep into her as he could before slowing to a stop.

When Her Highness blinked back from the clouds, she savoured the way Rafayel was almost dead weight on top of her, letting everything sink in d e e p as they came down from their highs with shoulder heaving pants.

Having recovered quicker, she wiped sweat from her brow and took in some quick breaths before running a hand through the soft strands of purple and blue. A slightly hoarse, yet very pleased, hum trailing into the tulle canopy above.

Her tuneless song was interrupted with a squeak as a few tickling pecks at her neck surprised her. Quickly recovering, she giggled and wiggled away from the teasing lips and tongue as best she could with Rafayel still hard inside her and his arms locking her in beneath him, but she had no plan of going anywhere else, really.

“That’s one, My Heart.” Said assassin god rasped as he lifted himself onto a forearm just enough that he could look into her sparkling eyes. His bangs tickling against the bridge of her nose. “Are you certain you want to keep going?”

As he asked, he rubbed a few comforting circles into her thigh.

She didn’t even consider it for a second before her arms were around his neck, pulling him down so she could kiss him.

“I have a great excuse to have us be left alone till tomorrow afternoon,” She whispered with a smile, tracing his bottom lip with a thumb. “All you have to do is chain the door, and keep all those appealing promises you made at the end there. I do know some Lemurian, you know.”

[shmeddieshmunson]

Makeout Mix Volume One

Actual mix you can listen to right here!!

Summary: Eddie Munson whisks you away in his thrashed van for yet another evening. It's business as usual for the most part-- but he's made you a mix tape, and you're catching feelings... so the usual smoking, warm beer, and making out gets a little more heated tonight.

Word Count: ~4.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! smut & fluff, porn with (some of) a plot, FWB type of vibe (but you've obviously both caught feelings), Eddie x you, gender non specified, no y/n or gendering of reader, AFAB reader, inexperienced kink, detailed smoking, drinking, grinding, making out, unprotected p in v, mentions: scratching, hair pulling, biting, hickies, tiny bit of choking (all Eddie receiving), virgin!Eddie, sub!Eddie, masochist!Eddie

A/N: y'all I'm so fucking proud of this one honestly. I was researching, and I made a period accurate mix tape for your enjoyment so you can really pretend, and I just think this loser virgin is the best thing since sliced bread. Please let me know all your thoughts and feelings, I thrive on feedback! I poured my heart and 11 hours over two days into this?! Hyperfixation is wild...

The van is vibrating with bass as it rattles and squeaks to a stop at the curb outside your house. You wish you could say you had kept busy, but the reality was you had been sitting, giddy and fidgeting, for the past 30 minutes. 

8:30 PM had become the ritualistic time that you and Eddie had set for your evening sessions in the van. Enough time to eat dinner, do any leftover tasks, and sit and wait with a racing heart for the brown-eyed angel to arrive in his chariot. 

You could hear him a block away. By the time he actually comes to a stop, you’re already flipping on the porch light as you practically skip out your front door.

What you and Eddie had was “hard to describe” as you told your friends, but it wasn’t. Not really. You guys smoked weed, drank shitty (potentially stolen) beer sometimes, and made out. You were hooking up with the town freak, while keeping v-cards intact. Something had shifted lately though… Things had gotten a little more Hot ‘N’ Heavy. The making out had come with more poorly hidden whimpers, more needy subtle grinding, more tightness in the front of Eddie’s torn up jeans. And you couldn’t stop spiraling down the rabbit hole of your feelings and desires when you got home late at night reeking of him. You didn’t know how to suddenly shift to telling your friends about where and how and why your hands wandered in the wee hours of the morning because of him.

Eddie barely made it around the front of the van to open your door when you came bounding up. 

“Howdy!” you said excitedly, giving him an obvious once over. His beat up shoes, ratty jeans, wild hair, thinly worn Metallica tee, and unwashed battle jacket made your heart flutter. The glorious mess that he was, glimmering with studs and pins.

“Hi,” he replies with a wicked grin, matching your full body scan like yours gave him the permission he was waiting for. You can’t help but notice how his eyes sparkle and wrinkle at the edges when he grins like that, smile lines echoing across his cheeks, dimpling his chin along the way. You have to bite the insides of your cheeks a little to not let your smile get too much wider. 

You roll your eyes at his chivalry before you heave yourself into the passenger seat, and make a point of slamming the door shut yourself, yanking it out of his hand. He throws his head back and laughs then runs back around the front of the van, popping back into the driver’s seat before pulling his own door shut. He shifts into drive and takes off like a bat out of hell, tires squealing in the quiet street while he careens towards whatever abandoned parking lot is next in your rotation. 

Ronnie James Dio and guitar have been screeching relentlessly into the small space for a handful of minutes, headbanging settling into rhythmic nods.

“Made ya something,” he says, turning the blaring music down. Still keeping it loud enough to buzz the speakers slightly, but you no longer have to yell over it to be heard. He pulls one hand off the wheel, ejecting Dio and reaching into the inside of his jacket. Before you can voice your incredulousness at the idea of him having a gift for you, he pulls out a tape. You barely catch a glimpse of the jagged hearts drawn on the front in black sharpie as he pops it into the cassette deck. The moments of quiet as he switches tapes feels eerie and unfamiliar in the van. 

“A legendary Munson mixtape?!” you gasp, exaggerating excitement and flattery that help mask how much you’re truly excited and flattered. The jokes help with the blushing and butterflies you’re trying to push away, the buzzing you still feel in the absence of bass. He glares at you for a brief moment, but softens when he sees the genuine smile you can’t wipe off your features. His eyes linger a little extra while he admires you in the glow and flashes of the streetlights you’re veering past. 

“Oh, yeah,” he croons, back to playing it cool, “you’re about to learn why they’re legendary.” He reaches down and turns the volume up to max, like it wasn’t just threatening to blow out the speakers a minute earlier. The low, driving beat of Kashmir by Led Zeppelin starts to convulse through your bodies and the van. He drops his right hand to your thigh– you look at it, then up to him, but he’s looking out his own window and then back out the windshield, really putting in the effort of playing it cool. 

This is totally normal, he puts his hand on your thigh like he’s your boyfriend all the time, your heart totally isn’t racing at this new sweet little kind of contact. 

You thought you were giddy before, now you feel like you physically can’t wait until he parks and you get to kiss him. 

He finally pulls into the chosen parking lot of the evening, dusk barely lightening the sky still, while he parks on the side furthest from the single flickering yellow light. Eddie kills the engine and relents the volume a little bit.

“Makeout Mix Volume One,” he declares unprovoked, tapping his fingers on the dash. 

“Volume One? That implies a Volume Two,” you tease him. “Is there a Volume Two?!”

“That really depends on how Volume One goes over…” His eyes flicker with fire, and then you’ve got his denimed ass in your face as he jams himself over the center console and wiggles into the open back of the Metal Mobile. You scoff and laugh, clambering after him and landing next to him with a thud and a huff. The two bottles of Iron City he holds up in an offer clink together, his raised eyebrows asking the question on behalf of his mouth. You take one of the bottles in answer, and take a swig of the mostly room temp carbonated bread soda. Beer is nasty, but beer with Eddie is somehow heavenly. 

He takes a swig too, not taking his eyes off you until his mouth leaves the lip of the bottle. He pulls his metal lunch box of contraband off the floor and onto his lap, popping it open with a jangle and starting the process of rolling. 

He rolls like he’s sculpting the Venus de Milo– every move intentional, every speck of flower accounted for. He loads up the paper, places a prepped filter on one end, and starts rolling back and forth between his fingers to press out the air pockets, zeroing in on the task. He catches one corner under the other side near his thumb, laser beam focus, tongue sticking out a little. You love watching him roll, his focus-face is so cute, and you’d be slow to admit it– but you love that he puts so much care into something that’ll only be shared between the two of you. 

He rolls up the perfect cone shape, leaving just a tiny strip of the edge, and then he leans in, fingers holding the joint in place, and carefully licks the length of the paper. You can’t help the way you stare at his tongue gently caressing up the paper, leaving a shiny wet trail in its wake. He finishes the roll by pressing the wet edge down, and whips his head up at you with a smile. Your eyes drag from his lips up his face to meet his eyes, and you think your mouth might be hanging open as you blink at him and smile a little.

“Do I have something on my face?” his eyebrows furrow a little as he wipes at the corners of his mouth, and you shake your head, chuckling lightly.

“No! Sorry, I…” you trail off, eyes darting away. “You’re good.” you say finally, not giving him more room to question. 

“Alrighty… Good.” It’s clear he’s a little befuddled, but he lets it slide anyways. “You want to, or should I?” he holds up the joint and the lighter, asking who’s gonna light it tonight. 

“Be my guest,” you say sweetly.

“I thought you were my guest?” he hassles you, words slightly contorted as he sticks the joint between his lips. His perfect, soft, pink lips. As you mock him with a snarky fake laugh, he smirks and purses his lips. The lighter flicks to life, dancing orange light and dramatic shadows across his face. His cheeks hollow a little as he sucks in through the joint, pulling the heat of the fire through it until you see the cherry catch. He gives it a few puffs, ensuring an even light, and lets the smoke out through his nose as he passes it to you. 

“Thank ya,” you say, plucking the joint from his fingers. He watches you pull a deep drag and hold it for a moment, the smoke comes out smoothly until you start choking on it and coughing. He cracks a smile, and when you cough more he downright laughs at you. Fighting for air you smack him, eyes watering, handing the joint back while you and your lungs duke it out. 

“Shut the f–” another cough interrupts you. “Shut the fuck up,” you finally croak out quickly before hacking a little bit more and grabbing his arm with an iron grip. 

“Hey, the more you cough, the more you get off,” he winks at you and then takes another hit while you smack his shoulder and shove him some more. Laughing and smoking don’t mix, so now he’s also hacking up a lung and suffocating on smoke. 

“Who’s a bitch now, huh?!” you jab at him, another round of smokey laughing coughs erupting out of him, not enough air to defend himself. 

By the time the joint is burnt to the filter, you two have become a little more tangled. Giggling idiots in a haze of smoke trapped inside the van. Mouths no longer occupied by the act of smoking, you both start to inch your faces closer together, ready to occupy your mouths with another familiar activity. Before you make contact though, he abruptly taps the tip of your nose with his finger and leans forward, much to your confusion. He sits back up with a water bottle in hand. 

“Dry mouth, sorry,” he says sheepishly, smirking. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip, offering it to you next. You roll your eyes and laugh, but take a sip too.

He sets it back on the floor of the van, then re-settles into his spot. His big soft eyes gaze at you for a long moment, then, fucking finally, he closes the small gap between your faces and kisses you. It’s a little wet and sloppy, mashing into you like he might miss the window of opportunity, but you both melt into it. After the first couple messy smooches, your soft lips find their rhythm together. 

Makeout Mix Volume One is melting into the background of the moment, but The Runaways chanting that you’re Eddie’s ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch--cherry bomb isn’t lost on you. 

The kiss between the two of you heats up, following the recent patterns of slow but steady escalation. Smooches start to descend into open-mouth drawn-out making out. You’re sharing breath when his tongue darts out. The feeling of him running it along your lower lip makes you hum a little into his mouth, absentmindedly. You part your lips a little more, giving his tongue a small swipe with yours, inviting him to press forward and explore more. And as oblivious as he can be to some things, he catches his cue perfectly. With only the slightest nervous hesitation, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, chasing after the teasing muscle that has retreated to the other side of your teeth. So he licks your teeth too– the beginning of his tongue’s voyage into the depths of your mouth. 

... my guardian angel’s rung down my telephone… Something about the T. Rex song just pulls you over and up into Eddie’s lap, straddling him. Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair in the process, pulling the two of you closer together as you settle, never breaking the obscene kiss. This does feel like a teenage dream. You grab his face and push your tongue into his open panting mouth, feeling bold with want, rolling your hips forward all in one sweeping motion that crashes over him before he knows what’s happening. Eddie lets his first true moan of the evening out into your mouth while he drowns in your invasion, hands frantic on your sides and back when his hips buck involuntarily. You smile into the kiss, not laughing quite enough to break it, continuing to occupy his mouth. You suck on his tongue and he moans again, a whiny sound that drops into a rumble in his chest. His hands slow down and grab into the meat of your thighs, and he gets his bearings a little bit again– still jolting when your hips roll through the height of your gyration. And still making desperate little sounds for you. 

You pull back from his face, lips pulsing and shining with spit. You take in his flushed cheeks and lips, his even more fluffed curls, and the glaze of his eyes. He looks at you, a twinge of a pout skittering across his face as he tilts his chin up at you a tiny bit, parting his lips ever so slightly more. He wants you to kiss him more, bad, and you lean in like you’re going to, but you kiss just to the side of his mouth instead. He lets out a tiny whimper, but doesn’t protest much more when you start trailing kisses across his jaw. He’s back to squirming his hips around under your slow pressing grinds when you start dragging your teeth over his throat. You just can’t get enough of him, you need to hear him and taste his skin. You kiss and bite and suck on his neck, leaving a map of where your mouth has been in red marks and spit. 

And he is just coming unraveled underneath you. 

His head rolled back, mouth agape, as he moans relentlessly, vocal chords vibrating against your lips. His hips shamelessly buck and grind up into you now, fingers digging into your skin and pressing your hips down into him, like he’s fucking you through both pairs of pants. His neck is very sensitive, you’d figured that out a couple nights ago, and you’re fully taking advantage of it right now. His strangled groans are becoming pathetic, winding all over in pitch and volume, conducted by your actions and reactions. 

“Hold me… Hold me… harder,” he manages to grunt out, not quite even sure how to communicate the desire that’s burning in him, just that he knows he needs whatever it is.

“Hmm, wha Eddie?” you ask against his skin, and he groans again when he hears his name from your lips. 

“Harder,” he whispers desperately, “more,” and he reaches his hand up to lay it over yours, pressing your fingertips into his flesh. 

Still a little unsure what exactly he’s asking for, but humming out a moan at how fucked out he sounds, you drag your finger nails into his skin tentatively and a pornographic moan erupts out of him. He’s mostly incoherent, but you catch a few yeses and swear words at the tail of it. You moan in response and pull your mouth off him at the reaction, devouring him with your stare as you dig your other hand’s nails down the other side of his neck, mirroring the first scratch. He whines and shutters at the pain you’re inflicting on him– panting and moaning more as you taper off the red lines blooming on his skin. Like stems for the bouquet of red and purple hickies you’ve painted on his pale skin. 

“Like that?” you ask breathlessly, your voice low, the realization sinking in that he likes it exactly like that. 

He nods a little desperately. “Yes… p-please like that,” he huffs.

And that stirs something deep in your belly. The plea makes your heart pound in your ears. You let your eyes linger for a moment longer on his neck and then glance up at his face to find his gaze boring into you. Eyes begging and hazy, glimmering dark. When you sear back at him, and your mouth twitches in the corners with a grin, you swear the glassy orbs in his face literally twinkle at you like a goddamn cartoon. 

“Please,” he repeats, “need you more…” 

You burn a little at his choice of words. In this vulnerable state he’s in, brain seemingly clouded with need, he still needs you. It feels fitting that Confessions by the Violent Femmes twangs in the speakers, because this does seem like somewhat of a confession on his end. 

And so you give him more, rewarding his words giving him what he’s groveling for. You grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his tummy before he leans up and lifts his arms for you to pull it completely off of him. You drag your nails down his chest and his hips lull back to life, ready to continue your dry humping. Not that either of your underwear were particularly dry at this point. It might just be categorized as humping. He might have actually come in his pants a little already, but he’s truly in a euphoric blur as you explore the more intense contact together, so it’s tough to know for sure. 

You discover that he lets out those bedraggled pornographic moans from scratches, hair pulling, your hands around his throat, and hard bites on more muscular areas. And his body and breath quiver when you lick and nip at his ears. 

His hips have a mind of their own at this point, blatantly rubbing his hard cock on the heat between your legs; keeping any kind of steady rhythm by grinding out the dark driving beat of the Ministry song that feels like it’s been on forever. He starts moaning in time too, his succession of whimpers getting higher and breathier. You bite into the top of his shoulder where it could technically be deemed the crook of his neck, the vampire spot, Eddie had called it once. And as you sink your teeth into his sweaty tender skin, salty on your tongue, you dig your nails across the skin of his shoulder blades hard enough that little tiny prickles of blood dot parts of the welts left. He gasps– fingers digging into the crease of your hips while he holds you against his throbbing cock as best as he can while his hips thrust needily. 

“Ohfuck ohfuckohfucck–” his moan is this chest rattling guttural sound, and comes out of him in waves as he sucks in jagged breaths and comes in his pants the hardest he’s ever come in his life. The pain and pleasure completely overwhelming his senses. You can feel the wet spot he’s pressing into you through all four layers of fabric between you. You moan happy little approving sounds, cooing at him practically, straightening up so your hips tilt down into his withstanding bulge while you wrap your arms around his head and anchor your hands into his hair, pulling him into your chest. You keep grinding your hips, realizing how easy it would be to chase your own release over the edge with how wound up you are. He’s making all kinds of growls and groans trying to handle how sensitive his dick is, but he keeps pressing into your hips– he just hopes to god you’re as close as you seem, because he isn’t sure how much more he can stand. 

His prayers are answered by the honey of your long and loud moan, and he feels your thighs shaking on either side of him. He tugs his thumbs out of the creases of your hips, and snakes his arms around your back while you come in his lap.

You just sit like that for a minute or two. The aftershocks of your drawn out orgasms being released through your tight embrace. The mixtape ended at some point, so the little whimpers and heavy breaths sporadically coming from the both of you, and the crickets outside the steel walls, were the only things combating silence in the van. The silence felt warm and triumphant though, and there was something a little special about it that you didn’t care to overanalyze right now. 

You both eventually come down from the rush and adrenaline some, pulling apart, but not enough for your arms to untangle from the other. You blink at each other a few times.

“Legendary,” you murmur, nodding in agreement with yourself. And I didnt even catch it all, you tag on internally, unsure if the tape even got flipped or not.

Eddie’s entire face breaks out in a smile. He’s definitely back on Earth, but he feels like he might be dreaming now. And he just beams at you with adoration.

“I’ll make as many volumes as you want,” his voice is still ragged, the words a little thick with effort. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The sweet honesty in his voice lingers in the air. 

“I want…” you lilt out, looking at his mouth, and his big doe eyes. He perks up slightly, not actually having expected a request, but eager to please you. Your eyes flicker in mischief, making him wait like a well-trained dog. You try to keep your braves intact, and try to ignore your increasing heart rate at the confession you’re considering. “I… want…” you draw out again, carefully considering your words.

The word anything is written all over his face as he scours your blushing features for any clues, searching your eyes like he might be able to peer into your thoughts. His own heart rate increases slightly, a tingling in his body from the anticipation. 

He sees your smile start to crackle as you lean in, and you brush his ear with your lips, your breath hot as you whisper, “I… want to feel you… without all these layers between us,” your words are crisp and quiet, and the final s hisses a little. His arms tighten slightly around you, a shiver runs down his spine as your words sink in and ghost over the shell of his ear. He didn’t think it would be possible, but his dick convulses and hardens a bit again. When you look at his face you can see the cogs turning in his brain. There’s really only one conclusion that can be drawn. Your words were chosen well. But he’s still not entirely pieced back together, and now the blood is rushing out of his head and back into his pants, so it takes him a few seconds. But he starts to slowly nod, slack jawed and also blushing again. 

“Yeah?” you confirm sweetly, feeling his cock pulse a little more. 

“Yeah… I wanna feel you too,” he’s still nodding as he stares at you, a little frozen for a moment. But he drops his hands and slides them along your waistband until they meet at the button and fly. His hands shake a little, but he pops the button, and starts to fold and push down on the edge. You huff out a nervous little breath, but press forward on your knees so he can pull your pants and underwear over your ass. “Do you wanna…” he awkwardly tries to push them down further but they’re stuck bunched around your thighs.

“Not… really?” you whisper, “kinda want you just like this…” you look down between you, gently rubbing your warm hands over the bruises and scrapes on his chest, and start working on unclasping his pants. The idea of pulling any distance away from him to get more undressed is completely off the table to you.

He goes back to nodding at you with his brown eyes, nearly black in the night, locked on your face. “Yeah… yeah okay,” he remembers to respond. “This is nice.”

You nod and stare back at him, his belt unbuckled in your hands, and the zipper on its way down. “Nice…” you mutter, before he presses up and shimmies his pants down, bouncing you a little in his lap, and you giggle, steadying yourself on him and the wall.

His pants are also down just enough to expose him, and you look down and a moan falls out of your lips, finally seeing his cock erect in the space between your bodies. Your breathing gets heavier, and you look at him, his eyes wild and his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“... yeah?” you breathe out again, a little speechless.

“Yeah, yes, please,” he says with a little more oomph, running his hands on you but waiting to follow your lead. 

You almost laugh, and then he feels the pressure on his shoulder increase as you raise yourself to hover above the tip of his cock. You brush against it, and you both keen at the initial contact. He reaches under you, and steadies himself with a hand around the base of his shaft. You lower yourself slightly, and you both throb at the feeling of his tip sliding over you, both of you contributing wetness. You can feel that he’s lined up right at your entrance, and so you press down, moaning at the sensation of his head pushing inside of you with a little pop. He chokes on his own moans as you slowly but steadily sit all the way down on his aching cock. He’s still a little sensitive from earlier, and pressing into you for the first time ever is an intensely good feeling. It feels so good it almost hurts, he can’t fucking breathe. You're so tight and hot and wet around his cock, he feels like he’s actually melting. Maybe getting mind flayed. He thinks he’s absolutely about to make a fool of himself, he’s gonna come on stroke three and you’re gonna laugh at him in a not fun way. He’s focusing so hard on trying not to panic or come, that it takes him a moment to notice that you’re trembling in his lap, his cock staying sheathed deep inside you. Your breath is this sharp melody of inhales and exhales, your thighs are clenching and shaking, and all of a sudden you’re even tighter and convulsing around his cock. 

“Eddie!” you scream out his name, moaning from your chest, fists tightening in his hair and yanking with the magnitude of your next orgasm. 

He smacks your thigh rapidly, trying to warn you, “oh fuck I’mgonna come again,” he slurs out, but you lean all of your shakey weight down onto him, grinding on his cock and riding out your orgasm still. “Oh shit oh fuck I’m coming, I’m comingfuck you’re so fucking hot,” his words are desperate and shrill, and you feel his thick cock twitching as warmth oozes into you. You’re both instantly thrown into a vicious cycle of grinding and twitching and moaning, setting each other off, and hurtling into over sensitivity as one tangled mess. 

You manage to pry off of him once you’ve both caught your breath some, still twitching and moaning occasionally. 

He pulls out his lunchbox once more a few minutes later, excited to roll the Post Sex Joint he’s been imagining he’d smoke for years. 

“Oh! Here,” he says nonchalantly, pulling a little rectangle of brown cardstock out of the metal box, not even looking up at you. You take the piece of paper he has extended towards you, and examine it. 

A single block letter is inked by hand in renaissance-like motifs. 

“Is this your fucking v- card?!” you balk. You burst into loud howling laughter and flailing as he giggles, real pleased with himself, and keeps rolling. 

He'd been hopeful when crafting the gag that whoever he “lost it” to would appreciate the silly gesture as much as you are right now. You're both delirious giggles and smiles. 

You lean over the front seats and pull out the tape, examining the handwriting and doodles on the front, smiling to yourself. You realize at some mystical moment lost to lust he had in fact flipped to side B. Wizard, you think. You flip it back over and restart side A. You want to hear every single song. 

Definitely need Volume Two, he notes to himself, watching you, buzzing, picking up his forgotten beer, on the brink of fantasizing about your next session already. 

Taglist? Do I have one of those??? @eddiemunsonsbabygirl @take-everything-you-can lol gotta start somewhere let me know if you wanna be on it next time!

[2b4st4r]

Hi, I hope you're well. I love your writing. I was thinking of a Zoro obsession, where he gets really drunk and mushy with the reader, and the two of them sleep together, and Zoro changes his tough, imposing facade to that of a kitten, almost purring at the reader's touch. If you're not comfortable writing something like that, I understand. Thank you so much 💗

Beyond The Blade

⭑.ᐟ Zoro X Reader

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Words: 5,083

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ Warnings: Suggestive content, slight smut, alcohol useX, violance (brief).

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

The salty spray of the Grand Line was your constant companion, a familiar kiss on your skin as the Thousand Sunny sliced through the waves. As the Straw Hat Pirates’ quartermaster, you were the steady hand that kept things running, the calm voice in the storm, and the knowledgeable mind behind the crew’s operations. Strength wasn’t just about brawn for you; it was the unwavering reliability everyone counted on. You were a pillar, kind and unwavering, and your bond with the crew was something you cherished deeply.

Luffy’s boisterous laughter was a symphony you never tired of, and you often found yourself sharing his boundless enthusiasm, sometimes even joining him in a spontaneous, gleeful chase around the deck. Nami, ever the pragmatist, would occasionally pull you aside for serious talks about logistics and supplies, but just as often, you’d find yourselves huddled over a map, plotting adventures and sharing hushed whispers about hidden treasures. With Usopp, your imaginations ran wild, conjuring up fantastical inventions and swapping exaggerated tales of your exploits. Sanji, ever the gentleman, would always have a plate of your favorite snacks ready, and you enjoyed your quiet moments in the galley, sharing recipe ideas and listening to his culinary dreams. Chopper, with his innocent curiosity, would often seek you out for stories of the world beyond, his eyes wide with wonder as you explained the intricacies of navigation or the marvels of various islands. Robin’s serene presence was a comfort, and you spent many afternoons in companionable silence, engrossed in books or simply enjoying the peaceful rhythm of the sea. Even Franky, with his explosive personality, would often consult you on the Sunny’s upkeep, and you’d find yourselves debating the merits of various upgrades, his boisterous “SUPER!” always bringing a smile to your face. And Brook, well, you never missed an opportunity to share a cup of tea and a lighthearted tune, his morbid jokes always eliciting a genuine laugh.

But then, there was Zoro. Your relationship with him was a silent language, a complex dance of unspoken understanding. You were almost always near each other, a gravitational pull drawing you together even when you weren't actively interacting. Your eyes would instinctively seek each other out across the deck, a shared glance enough to convey a thousand words. He had your back, and you, his, in a way that went beyond mere comradeship. There was a current between you, an undeniable tension that hummed beneath the surface, a mystery you hadn't dared to unravel. Was it sexual? Was it simply the intense bond forged in countless battles? You didn't know, but you felt it, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that it was bound to snap.

The air on the Sunny thrummed with pure, unadulterated joy. You’d just emerged victorious from a brutal, prolonged battle, and miraculously, the injuries were minimal. Luffy, ever the resilient one, sported a bandaged chest, a testament to his boundless energy, while Zoro had a clean white wrap around his waist, a quiet reminder of the close calls. The scent of sake and celebration hung heavy in the air, laughter echoing around the deck as Brook's melodic voice filled the night with a lively tune. Luffy, despite his bandages, was already attempting to dance a jig, nearly tripping over himself with unbridled glee. Nami was already counting up the spoils of war, a triumphant grin on her face, while Usopp, emboldened by the victory and perhaps a little too much sake, was regaling everyone with an exaggerated tale of his heroic contributions. Sanji, ever the doting chef, was flitting between everyone, making sure glasses were full and plates were piled high with delicious food. Chopper, still a little wobbly from the last fight, was happily munching on cotton candy, his small hoofs tapping along to Brook’s rhythm. Robin, a soft smile gracing her lips, watched the revelry with amusement, occasionally sharing a quiet chuckle with Franky, who was enthusiastically demonstrating some new “SUPER!” move he’d invented mid-battle.

Zoro, however, was a world unto himself. He sat a little ways off from the boisterous center, his usual stern expression softened by the haze of alcohol. He wasn't depressed, not exactly, just… out of it. You watched him for a moment, the tension in your own shoulders easing slightly as you made your decision. Your body, already warm from the celebratory drink, felt light as you moved, settling down beside him on the cool deck. Your knee brushed against his, and you didn't pull away. The silence stretched, comfortable, familiar. "You know," you murmured, your voice a little slurred, "for someone who almost died five times today, you're looking remarkably… relaxed."

He didn't respond, but that was just Zoro. You took no offense, used to his quiet nature. You leaned back on your hands, gazing up at the starlit sky, the gentle rocking of the ship a soothing rhythm against the celebratory chaos. Then, slowly, heavily, Zoro leaned into you. His weight was a solid, comforting presence against your side, his warmth seeping into your clothes, then through them, against your skin. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the slow, even beat of his heart. And then he shifted, turning slightly, his head resting on your shoulder. You felt the brush of his stubble against your neck, a pleasant friction that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re… warm,” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble, surprisingly soft. He shifted again, his hand finding your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the fabric of your pants, dangerously close to your skin. The air thickened, the tension you knew so well coiling tighter, but this time, it was laced with something else, something sweet and potent. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of sake, ghosted over your ear. “So… comfortable.” His grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly, pulling you just a fraction closer, and you felt the undeniable press of his body against yours. The unspoken question hung in the air, a silent invitation, and you knew, with absolute certainty, that the snap you’d been anticipating was finally, deliciously, upon you.

Somehow, in the haze of celebration and the intoxicating pull between you, what started as a simple touch escalated. One moment, you were sitting beside Zoro on the deck, his warm weight a comforting anchor. The next, you were pressed against the cool, hard wall of his quarters, the scent of sake and him enveloping you. Your lips met, clumsy and urgent, a desperate dance of seeking and finding that transcended anything you'd ever known. It was sloppy, fueled by alcohol and the raw snapping of years of simmering tension.

His body was a solid wall against yours, the hard press of his hips against your core eliciting soft moans that escaped your lips, unbidden. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers fumbled at the hem of your shirt, then moved with desperate speed, tugging at the fabric as if his very life depended on shedding it. The cool night air hit your skin as it came away, a stark contrast to the burning heat of his touch.

His mouth, no longer on yours, trailed down your jawline, hot and wet, until it found the sensitive skin of your neck. A sharp, almost painful bite, then a possessive suckle, left a fiery mark that would undoubtedly bloom into a bruise. Your fingers, meanwhile, explored the landscape of his back, tracing the rough edges of his scars, the smooth, taut skin beneath. They brushed against the bandages from the earlier battle, a stark reminder of the world outside this intoxicating bubble. That was the last thing you remembered.

The harsh light of morning stabbed at your eyes, even through closed lids. A groan rumbled in your chest, a dull throb behind your temples announcing the arrival of a truly epic hangover. You were tangled in something soft, something warm. Then, the reality of the situation slowly began to piece itself together. Zoro’s hand, heavy and possessive, was draped across your bare waist. His leg was thrown over yours, pinning you gently to the mattress.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the porthole of his cabin. You were in his bed. Naked. And a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you – a potent cocktail of guilt, for the sheer impulsiveness of it; happiness, a warm, undeniable bloom in your chest at the memory of his touch; and a knot of worry twisting in your stomach. What now?

You carefully extricated yourself from his grasp, the subtle shift in weight causing Zoro to murmur something unintelligible in his sleep. A soft groan escaped your lips as you pushed yourself upright, a pout forming as the gentle throb behind your eyes intensified with the movement. The room spun for a brief moment, then settled. Your eyes scanned the floor, a battlefield of discarded clothes. Your shirt was crumpled near the foot of the bed, a stark white contrast to the dark wood. Your pants were slung over a discarded sword, and your undergarments were… somewhere.

You bent to retrieve them, a fresh wave of soreness radiating through your muscles. It wasn't just the residual ache from yesterday's brutal battle; a deeper, more intimate soreness resonated from parts of you that hadn't seen such fervent activity in a long time. You slipped into your underwear, the soft fabric a familiar comfort against your skin. Next came your shirt, a quick pull over your head, and then your pants, the material clinging slightly as you worked them up your legs. You smoothed out the wrinkles as best you could, the scent of last night's celebration, and something else, something distinctly Zoro, clinging to the fabric. You felt a blush creep up your neck at the memory.

With a final glance at the sleeping swordsman, a complex mix of emotions swirling in your gut, you made your way to the door. You weren't hungry, the thought of food churning your already queasy stomach, but skipping breakfast would raise more questions than answers. Especially if neither you nor Zoro showed up. Best to face the music, however blurry it might be.

The galley, usually a symphony of bustling activity and lively chatter, was eerily subdued. Luffy, of course, was an exception, his boisterous laughter echoing as he devoured a towering stack of pancakes, oblivious to the quiet misery of his crewmates. The rest of the Straw Hats looked like they'd gone ten rounds with a sea king and lost. Chopper was huddled in a corner, clutching his head, while Usopp groaned every time he moved, a clear sign of an epic hangover. Even Franky, usually radiating his "SUPER!" energy, was slumped at the table, nursing a cup of something dark.

You made a beeline for the counter, ready to serve yourself, but a weary Sanji, his usually immaculate hair a bit rumpled, shook his head. "Don't bother, Y/N-chan," he mumbled, his voice rough. "Just sit. I'll get it." He clearly looked as rough as you felt, his usual chivalry battling valiantly against the throbbing in his head. Too tired to argue, you slid into a chair, the empty space beside you a glaring reminder of Zoro's usual spot. Oh god, Zoro. You rubbed your face, trying to scrub away the lingering headache and the vivid, fragmented memories of the night before.

"Well, well, if it isn't our missing quartermaster," Nami's voice cut through the quiet, sharper than usual, making you flinch. You looked up, meeting her gaze across the table. Her eyes, usually sparkling with wit, were narrowed, a mixture of amusement and suspicion swirling within them. "You and Zoro certainly vanished without a trace last night. Speaking of which," she continued, genuinely curious, her eyes flicking to the empty seat beside you, "where is the moss-head anyway?"

Before she could fully connect the dots, a desperate thought sparked in your mind. "He's probably still sleeping off all that sake!" you blurted out, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. The words hung in the air, a flimsy distraction.

Nami’s glare intensified, her head tilting slightly. She wasn't just looking at you; she was studying you, like a navigator trying to pinpoint an anomaly on a faulty map. It was the look she gave when she was putting pieces together, and you knew, with a sinking feeling, that the puzzle she was solving was you.

Nami's gaze, sharp and analytical, swept over you. Her eyes, narrowed in thought, moved from your disheveled hair to your slightly rumpled clothes, taking in the tell-tale signs of a rough morning. You were a mess, sure, but so was almost everyone else at the table. Luffy was still shoveling pancakes, bless his oblivious heart, but the rest of the crew looked like they’d fought a hangover monster and lost. Usopp was nursing his head, Sanji looked like he wanted to curl up and sleep for a week, and even Franky was uncharacteristically subdued.

Then her eyes landed, lingered, and widened.

"What is that?" Nami’s voice, usually so composed, was laced with an uncharacteristic sharpness as she pointed a finger directly at your neck.

You instinctively reached up, your fingers brushing against the tender skin just below your jawline. You knew what she was looking at. The memory of Zoro’s mouth, hot and demanding, flared in your mind, sending a fresh wave of heat through you that had nothing to do with the hangover. It wasn't just a mark; it was a clear, unmistakable mouth-shaped bruise, already blooming into a tell-tale reddish-purple.

Sanji, who had just set a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and crispy bacon in front of you, froze mid-motion. The plate clattered slightly as his hand tightened on it, his eyes, usually so expressive, wide and unblinking as they darted from Nami's pointing finger to your exposed neck.

A sudden, suffocating silence descended upon the galley. Luffy even stopped chewing, his cheeks puffed out with food, eyes blinking in confusion. Usopp’s groaned stopped mid-sentence. Chopper looked up, his small nose twitching. Robin’s serene expression didn't change, but her eyes, usually so calm, held a flicker of something new as they focused on your neck. Franky, who had been leaning heavily on the table, slowly straightened, his jaw slightly agape. Even Brook, who usually managed to maintain his composure through sheer skeletal indifference, let out a tiny, almost imperceptible "Yohoho…?" of surprise.

All eyes were on you. The air crackled with unspoken questions, with dawning realization.

"It's... it's from the battle," you stammered, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth. You forced a weak smile, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance that you definitely did not feel. "Just... got caught in the crossfire, you know? A stray kick or something." Your mind raced, desperately searching for a plausible explanation, anything to deflect the intense scrutiny. A stray kick? Really? Your inner monologue scoffed at your pathetic attempt.

Nami, however, was not convinced. Not even for a second. Her brow furrowed, and a low, disbelieving sound rumbled in her throat. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze boring into you, dissecting your every word, every twitch of your expression. "A 'stray kick'," she repeated slowly, her voice dripping with skepticism. Her eyes narrowed further, practically X-raying your entire being. "Y/N. I was there. I saw most of the fight. And I don't recall anyone kicking you on the neck. Especially not like that." She paused, her gaze flicking pointedly to the still-empty seat beside you. "And speaking of the fight, where is our resident moss-head? Funny how you both disappeared last night and now you have that." Her voice was low, but every word was a perfectly aimed dart, hitting its mark with unsettling precision. The puzzle pieces were no longer just coming together for Nami; they were locking into place with an audible click.

The silence that followed Nami’s pointed question was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Everyone, save for a blissfully oblivious Luffy who had resumed his pancake attack, understood the implications. Chopper, bless his innocent heart, was still frowning in confusion, probably wondering if a new type of sea monster left hickey-shaped battle scars. But for the rest of them, the penny had dropped, loud and clear.

You, meanwhile, felt your cheeks burn a furious red. Your mind raced, a frantic scramble for any plausible lie, but your usual sharp wit had deserted you. Unlike Usopp, whose lies flowed like water from a leaky faucet, your attempts at deception were always clumsy, transparent, and doomed to fail. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, no convincing words forming. The silence stretched, excruciating.

Just as the pressure became unbearable, a low, guttural growl emanated from Sanji. He was hunched over the counter, his hands gripping the edge, his back to the crew. Muffled mutters began to escape him, growing in intensity. "My beautiful Y/N-chan… defiled… by that moss-headed brute… his grubby hands… on her flawless skin… I can’t… I just can’t…" He was having a full-blown dramatic breakdown, steam practically rising from his ears.

And that was the precise moment Zoro strolled into the galley.

The air in the room didn't just thicken; it solidified. Every single head swiveled to face him. He looked like he’d been dragged backward through a bush. His dark green hair was even more chaotic than usual, and his eyes, though open, held the glazed, distant look of someone fighting a monumental hangover. He grunted, lumbering over to the food counter and, without a word, haphazardly piled a random assortment of whatever was within reach onto a plate – a few cold pancakes, some fruit, and what looked suspiciously like a leftover piece of fish.

Then, with a heavy sigh that was half groan, he plopped himself down. Right into the empty seat beside you.

The entire galley held its breath. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the ghost of last night's intimacy a tangible presence between you. You dared not look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on your untouched plate, your face flaming.

Zoro took a bite of his bizarre breakfast concoction, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he became aware of the deathly silence. He paused mid-chew, the fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes, though bleary, slowly scanned the faces of his crewmates, each one staring at him with varying degrees of shock, accusation, or morbid curiosity.

Finally, he swallowed. His brow furrowed, and his voice, rough with sleep and a hangover, cut through the tension like a dull blade. "What?" he demanded, completely oblivious.

Nami, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face, leaned forward. "Oh, nothing, Zoro," she purred, her voice sweet as poison. Her gaze flicked from his bewildered expression to your flaming face, then back to his. "Just wondering about the... bite mark on Y/N's neck."

Zoro, still half-asleep and fully hungover, finally looked at you. His eyes, though still a bit unfocused, landed on the vibrant bruise Nami had so helpfully pointed out. He blinked once, then twice. A flicker of something, recognition perhaps, crossed his face. He reached out a hand, his calloused thumb gently brushing against the tender skin of your neck, sending a fresh jolt through you.

He pulled his hand back, then shrugged, the movement surprisingly fluid for someone so clearly out of it. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Oops," he mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep, utterly unconcerned.

And then, before anyone could react, before your brain could even process his nonchalance, he leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. It was brief, barely a brush of lips against skin, but it was unmistakably, unequivocally a gesture of open affection.

You instantly went from a fiery red to a shade of crimson that rivaled Nami's hair. Your breath hitched, and you felt every single pair of eyes in the galley snap to you, then to Zoro, then back to you.

The reactions were immediate and varied, a true Straw Hat symphony of chaos:

* Sanji, who had been in the throes of his dramatic despair, snapped upright like a spring-loaded doll. A vein throbbed furiously in his temple, and a low, menacing growl escaped his throat. "ZOROOOOO!" he roared, already coiling to launch himself across the table.

Luffy, who had finally processed the entire exchange, burst into uproarious laughter, nearly choking on his pancakes. "SHISHISHISHI! Zoro and Y/N! You two are so funny!" he bellowed, completely missing the underlying tension.

Usopp dropped his head onto the table with a groan, his earlier hangover now compounded by sheer exasperation. "Oh, for the love of God…" he muttered, burying his face in his arms.

Chopper, his eyes wide and round, looked from the mark on your neck to Zoro, then back to you, a puzzled tilt to his head. "Does that mean... you two are like... sick? Do you need a doctor?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

Robin's lips curved into a knowing, almost mischievous smile. Her eyes, however, held a deeper, unreadable amusement as she watched the unfolding scene, a silent observer enjoying the drama.

Franky let out a booming "SUPER!" that vibrated through the ship, momentarily startling everyone. He slammed his fist onto the table, a grin splitting his face. "Looks like someone had a SUPER night!" he declared, clearly appreciating the raw, uninhibited display.

Brook, after a moment of stunned silence, let out a drawn-out, almost mournful "Yohohoho… Oh, to be young and have skin to bruise!" He then leaned back, plucking a melancholic tune on his miniature violin, a backdrop to the burgeoning chaos.

The galley was a whirlwind of noise and emotion, and in the center of it all, you sat, hot with embarrassment, acutely aware of Zoro’s casual proximity and the lingering phantom of his lips on your skin. The secret was out.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of awkward silence for you and Zoro. Your mind was a whirlwind of frantic questions. What the hell is going on? What was that kiss? The ‘oops’? The… public affection? You dared not glance at Zoro, keenly aware of his presence beside you, the heat radiating from his body a constant, distracting reminder of the night before. He, for his part, seemed content to simply devour his strange meal, occasionally grunting, seemingly oblivious to the lingering tension in the air.

Throughout the day, as you went about your quartermaster duties, sorting supplies, checking the ship’s log, and inspecting various equipment, Zoro was… there. He followed you like a lost puppy, a quiet shadow, always just a few paces behind. Every time you turned around, he was there. And every time he had a chance, he'd find an excuse to touch you. A hand lingering on your back as you squeezed past him in a narrow corridor, his arm brushing yours as you both reached for the same rope, a casual lean against the railing beside you while you checked the rigging. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone not actively looking for it, but to you, each touch was a spark, igniting a fresh wave of confusion and a prickle of something else you couldn't quite name.

Later that afternoon, the lingering aftermath of the previous night’s celebration was still evident on the Thousand Sunny. Empty sake bottles lay scattered, stray streamers clung to railings, and the deck itself was sticky with spilled drinks. You sighed, grabbing a bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush, determined to bring the ship back to its usual pristine state.

You were knelt near the mast, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain, when a large hand suddenly closed around your arm. Before you could protest, or even fully register what was happening, Zoro pulled you to your feet. He didn't say a word, simply tugged you firmly but gently away from the main deck, leading you towards a more secluded part of the ship, a quiet alcove near the main mast, away from prying eyes and the usual crew activity.

He guided you down, making you sit against the cool wood of the Sunny. Then, without preamble, he lowered himself, settling his head onto your lap. His weight was a comfortable pressure, and you felt the familiar brush of his unruly green hair against your thighs. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing fully against you.

"Nap time," he mumbled, his voice already thick with drowsiness.

You stared down at him, utterly bewildered, but a strange warmth began to spread through your chest. Hesitantly at first, then more confidently, your fingers found their way into his hair. It was softer than it looked, a surprisingly silky texture beneath your fingertips. You began to gently comb through it, untangling knots, stroking the strands. And you swore, a low, rumbling sound began to emanate from his chest, a soft, almost imperceptible purr. He was truly content, utterly at ease, and somehow, despite the chaos of your mind, so were you.

This wasn't just a one-time thing. The nap in the secluded alcove, your fingers in his hair, the low rumble in his chest – it became a quiet, almost sacred ritual in the chaos of your lives on the Grand Line. And it wasn't just the naps. Ever since that morning in the galley, Zoro had been… different. Softer. He craved your touch, your presence, in a way that was both startling and incredibly tender.

It manifested in small, significant ways. You'd be charting a course with Nami in the navigation room, and Zoro would simply appear in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his gaze fixed on you until you met his eyes. He wouldn’t say anything, just a slow blink, a faint softening of his usually stern features, and then he’d turn and leave, his presence leaving a warm echo behind.

One afternoon, you were struggling to hoist a particularly heavy sail, the wind whipping at your hair. Your muscles burned, and you grunted with effort. Suddenly, a solid presence was beside you, a large hand covering yours on the rope, providing just the right amount of leverage. Zoro didn't speak, just lent his strength, working in silent tandem until the sail was secured. As you finished, his fingers brushed yours for a moment too long, a subtle stroke that sent a shiver down your arm. Luffy, perched on the Sunny’s figurehead, somehow seemed to notice everything despite looking entirely preoccupied with an imaginary fishing line. He just grinned, a wide, knowing grin, and then went back to his antics.

Another time, while you were meticulously polishing the ship’s brass fittings, Zoro came up behind you. He didn't interrupt, simply knelt down, took a polishing cloth, and began to work on a section near you. His shoulder brushed yours rhythmically, a silent companionship that was more intimate than any conversation. You caught Robin watching you from the library window, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips, her gaze lingering on the quiet scene for a beat longer than usual.

During meal times, he’d subtly adjust his chair to be closer to yours, his knee occasionally brushing yours under the table. If you reached for the last piece of a shared dish, his hand would often linger over yours, or he’d push the plate closer to you without a word. One evening, as Sanji brought out dessert, he paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched Zoro quietly nudge his own portion of tiramisu towards you before you even had a chance to ask. The cook’s jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he went back to the galley, muttering about "uncivilized moss-heads stealing affection."

And the naps continued. Sometimes, you’d find him already waiting in the secluded spot, his head tilted back, eyes closed, clearly expecting you. Other times, he’d find you, simply take your hand, and lead you there. Your fingers, once hesitant, now found their way into his green hair with practiced ease, tracing the contours of his head, feeling the warmth of his scalp. He would sigh, a deep, contented sound, and the low, rumbling purr that vibrated against your thighs became a comforting, almost constant presence in your days. It was a secret language, spoken not with words, but with touch, proximity, and the unspoken understanding that had finally, spectacularly, broken through the surface.

This soft, tactile devotion from Zoro wasn't just a fleeting moment; it had settled into the rhythm of your days on the Grand Line, a new, unspoken melody in the symphony of the Straw Hats. His hand would find yours under the table during a boisterous dinner, his knee would brush against yours when you stood side-by-side on deck, gazing at the endless horizon. The casual, possessive touches became your new normal, a constant hum beneath the surface of your quartermaster duties. And the naps? They were sacred, stolen moments of peace where his head in your lap, his low purr, and your fingers in his surprisingly soft hair were the only realities that mattered.

One crisp evening, as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in fiery hues, you found yourselves leaning against the Sunny’s railing, side-by-side as always. The crew was scattered, some fishing, some playing cards, lost in their own worlds. Zoro’s presence beside you was a familiar comfort, a silent anchor in the vastness of the sea. He shifted, and his hand, warm and calloused, found yours. His fingers laced through yours, a simple, firm grip that spoke volumes. He didn't look at you, just continued to stare out at the setting sun, but the slight squeeze of his hand was unmistakable.

You looked down at your joined hands, then up at his profile, the last rays of sunlight glinting off his green hair. The question that had been simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken understanding that had grown from a reckless kiss to these quiet, tender moments, finally solidified. This wasn't just a fling, a drunken mistake. This was… something more. Something real. And as the sea wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of salt and distant adventure, you knew, with a sudden, profound certainty, that whatever this was, you wouldn't trade it for anything.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART FIVE

paige x azzi

word count: 8k

A/N: Alrighttyy here’s the next chapter as promised. I am so sorry in advance for the beginning it was needed for the plot and I’ve kinda been following the accuracy of their season 😔. I swear I make up for it by the end of the chapter so you guys won’t hate me. They’re taking steps that’s all I’ll say 🙂‍↕️

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December 2021 - Connecticut

The next two weeks were a noticeable shift for both Paige and Azzi. With Azzi sidelined by her foot injury, Paige took it as an opportunity to grow closer to her outside of basketball, though it often came with a bit of dramatic flair. Paige would still FaceTime Azzi at all hours of the night, her voice playful but a little over the top as she begged, "Please come to the gym, it’s so boring without you." Each call, Paige would act like the gym now felt empty without Azzi as she showed her on the camera, exaggerating how she couldn’t get anything done without her presence.

Azzi, pretending to be annoyed, would respond with something like, “You’re dramatic, Paige,” but there was always a smile hidden behind her words. She’d act like she wasn’t going to answer, rolling her eyes at the screen, but it never took long before she found herself grabbing her shoes and dragging herself over to keep Paige company.

Sometimes, she’d help her shoot around or go through drills, other times they would just sit, talking about everything and nothing at all. Paige loved to come up with silly games to pass the time, and Azzi would play along, even if her foot wasn't fully healed. It wasn’t that Azzi didn’t mind taking it easy for a while; in fact, being with Paige made it a lot easier to forget the frustration of sitting out. There was something about Paige’s energy that kept her entertained, and it made the quiet moments in between practice feel a lot less lonely.

The rest of the team noticed Paige’s shift too, though they didn’t mention it directly not wanting to mess anything up. While Paige had always been intense and all about basketball, now there was a certain lightness in her. She was taking care of herself more—spending time with Azzi, relaxing instead of overworking. She had found a balance she hadn’t had before, and it didn’t go unnoticed by everyone.

…

The clock was ticking down, and UConn was firmly in control of the game against Notre Dame, leading 73-54. The tension in the air had long lifted as the final seconds of the game wound down. Paige was dribbling the ball up the court, her focus on running out the clock. But suddenly, as her left foot hit the floor, there was a sharp stumble, and her knee buckled in a way that sent a jolt of concern through the entire arena.

Pain flashed across Paige’s face, and despite her obvious discomfort, she kept dribbling, fighting to push through it. She passed the ball to Caroline, her right leg taking the brunt of the movement as she hopped on it, trying to stay upright. With every move, her limp grew more pronounced before Paige fell just in front of the UConn bench, clutching her left leg as she hit the hardwood floor hiding her face from view.

Azzi’s stomach dropped at the sight, her eyes widening in shock. It felt like the world around her paused, the entire arena quitting as her focus narrowed only to Paige. The gym’s noise fading as she heard nothing but her heart racing.

Geno immediately called a timeout, signaling for the trainers to rush over. Azzi’s breath hitched, her legs frozen in place as her gaze remained locked on Paige, the moment causing her chest to tighten slightly. Her mind was racing, wondering what had happened, how bad it was. She was on her feet in an instant, but the trainers were already around Paige, and Azzi hesitated, not wanting to crowd them. Why did she feel like this? She had seen plenty of teammates get injured before and she was fine but right now she felt sick to her stomach.

The trainers were around Paige, speaking to her softly, trying to calm her down as her breathing was uneven. But Paige’s face was twisted in clear discomfort as she kept repeating, "My knee," her voice shaky and urgent. Azzi's gaze didn’t leave her, watching even as Evina and Amari gently lifted Paige, one on each side, helping her off the court and to the end of the bench where the trainers could work on her.

Azzi stayed back, knowing she couldn’t talk to her yet. She had to wait until the game was officially over. Her mind kept replaying the moment Paige fell, and the worry was gnawing at her. Her stomach was in knots, but she knew better than to add to the chaos.

The final buzzer sounded, and the team went through the usual handshakes with Notre Dame, but everyone’s mind was far from the celebrations. Azzi’s eyes constantly flicked over to the bench, still keeping an eye on Paige as the trainers helped her up.

Paige limped toward the locker room with the help of the trainers, frustration and pain evident on her face. She was clearly trying to fight it, to stay composed, but her limping gait told the story. Azzi could feel her chest tightening again as she followed her into the locker room.

Once inside, Paige reached for her jersey, pulling it off roughly in frustration, and tossed it across the room not caring where it landed. Azzi could see the discomfort written all over Paige’s face, her frustration clear to everyone as she threw the piece of clothing away.

Evina, not knowing what else to do but be the leader she always has, stepped in with a scolding tone. "Paige, you know that’s not how we do things here," she said sternly, her voice filled with authority though there was a hint of uncertainty this time.

Azzi, however, knew that wouldn’t make anything better. So she moved closer, stepping in between Paige and Evina, her voice softer but firm. "She has to get it out, E. You gotta let her.”

Evina paused, glancing between Azzi and Paige. She looked like she wanted to argue but finally sighed, understanding. She nodded and stepped back, giving Paige the space she needed to process everything that just happened. Azzi knelt beside her, her voice low but filled with concern. "You okay?" she asked, her hand gently resting on Paige’s knee, though she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. But she couldn’t stand seeing Paige like this—frustrated, in pain, and clearly overwhelmed.

Paige didn’t respond immediately, but her shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of the situation had finally caught up with her. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her body trembled as she whispered, "I think it’s broken, Azzi." Her voice was small, barely audible, but the fear in it was unmistakable. "I heard it crack... pop... I don’t know... it hurts like hell."

As the words left her mouth, the tears started to fall, and her shoulders shook. Azzi immediately moved closer, her arms wrapping around Paige, pulling her into a comforting embrace. The hug was a little stiff at first, the two of them never being this close in this kind of situation. But eventually Paige sunk into Azzi’ chest trying to let the younger girl soothe her as she continued to cry. Azzi didn’t say anything at first—she didn’t need to. The team, watching silently from a distance, could only stand by, understanding the gravity of the moment. Everyone knew how much this game and the season meant to Paige. To see her like this, in pain, and terrified was something none of them had even thought to prepare for.

Azzi kept her hold on Paige, gently rubbing her back, whispering soft words of reassurance. "You’re gonna be okay, Paige," she murmured, her voice steady and calming. "We’ll figure this out. It’s going to be okay."

The sound of the door opening cut through the tension, Geno entered, his presence commanding the room. He didn’t waste any time on post-game talk, his focus solely on Paige. "No talk just get changed, everyone," he ordered, his voice curt but concerned. His eyes flicked to Paige, the worry clear in his eyes.

Before anyone could move, the trainers entered with a wheelchair, approaching Paige with gentle but firm insistence. Paige, still in tears, looked up at them, her stubbornness flaring despite her pain. She shook her head violently, her voice hoarse as she snapped, "I’m not using that shit."

Azzi, who had been holding Paige, leaned back slightly and looked at her with a mix of concern and understanding. "Paige..." she began softly, trying to coax her to let the trainers help without saying it directly. But Paige, her face contorted with frustration and fear, shook her head again, this time more vehemently.

"I’m fine. I can walk," she said, but the words were more defensive than convincing. Azzi stayed quiet, knowing Paige’s stubbornness well at this point, but she wasn’t sure how to get through to her at this moment. The last thing Azzi wanted was to push Paige further into herself, but she also knew they couldn’t let her walk out on her knee.

"Paige, let them help," Azzi said quietly, her voice full of empathy but still firm. "You’re not going to get miraculously better by fighting it." She gently but firmly squeezed Paige’s shoulder, hoping to make her understand.

The rest of the team remained silent, a heavy tension hanging in the air as everyone waited for Paige’s response, not knowing how she was going to react. Finally, after a long, drawn-out moment, Paige let out a frustrated sigh, her defiance still burning but her body sagging in defeat. She didn’t speak but slowly, reluctantly, she allowed the trainers to assist her into the wheelchair.

As one of the trainers began to push the wheelchair forward, Paige’s hand hesitated at her side before reaching out. Her fingers brushed against Azzi’s, almost tentative, as if she was unsure whether she should ask for that comfort or if this was even ok to do. Azzi didn’t hesitate when she saw it. She immediately took Paige’s hand causing the blonde to let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The subtle exchange didn’t go unnoticed. The rest of the team exchanged glances but said nothing, the weight of the moment pressing them into silence when they would usually make a joke.

Azzi remained close, walking beside her as they left the locker room, her heart aching as she watched Paige, trying her best to hide her tears. Azzi stayed silent, squeezing Paige’s hand, knowing it wasn’t the right time for empty words that wouldn’t change anything.

…

A few days later they were sitting together in Paige’s room, the tension of Paige’s injury still hanging slightly in the air, though there was a quiet calm between the two of them. Paige had her knee elevated, a heating pad resting on it, her face a mix of frustration and exhaustion. The injury was worse than she’d expected. It wasn’t just a sprain or a twist like she hoped—it was a fracture and a torn meniscus. She’d need surgery and would be out for at least two months. The weight of it all had hit her hard when she found out, and while she didn’t mind being surrounded by her teammates, right now, she only really wanted to be around one person. This thought process only added more to her confusion and frustration.

Azzi, understanding the gravity of the situation from when she tore her ACL, had been quietly sitting with her everyday, offering her presence without pressing for details. But now, as Paige spoke about her surgery, Azzi could see the hurt in her eyes.

"I’m scheduled for surgery next week,” Paige was saying, her voice quieter than usual. "They said I’ll be out for a minimum of two months. I know it’s not that long and I’m kinda lucky but it still feels like forever."

Azzi, trying to lighten the mood a little, cracked a joke. "Well, perfect timing then. You’ll be back just in time for March Madness. Look at that, you can’t even make a dent in our run!" She grinned, trying to ease the tension that was in the air.

Paige’s lips curled into a small smile, the tiniest spark of humor returning to her face. She kicked Azzi with her right leg—her healthy leg—and laughed a little, shaking her head. "Yeah, perfect timing," she muttered, her tone still tinged with sarcasm but a little lighter than before.

Azzi held her hands up in mock surrender, exaggerating her defensive stance at Paige kicking her. "Careful there, I’m mobile," she teased, easing back against the headboard of the bed. "This would be a losing game for you. You’re stuck on the bed."

Paige’s grin widened slightly, her eyes glinting with the playful defiance Azzi had grown to know so well. "You think so, huh?" she challenged, though it was clear that the teasing had pulled her out of the heavy space she’d been in for the last couple of days.

"Oh, I know so," Azzi replied, her voice playful and teasing, her smile matching Paige's as she leaned back against the headboard without a worry in the world.

Without warning, Paige’s hand shot out and she tickled Azzi’s side. Azzi squealed in surprise, instantly breaking into laughter and hopping off the bed, trying to get away from Paige’s relentless fingers.

"Hey, that’s no fair!" Paige muttered, her face lighting up with amusement as she tried to push herself up, wincing slightly at the discomfort in her knee. "I can’t get over there that fast."

Azzi pouted exaggeratedly, her laughter still bubbling out as she stood just out of reach. "Tough luck," she teased, grinning widely. "You’ve got a bum leg, so I’ll win the next few rounds."

Paige huffed, settling back into her spot on the bed, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "You’re lucky I can’t chase you," she muttered, looking at Azzi like she was plotting her next move.

Azzi stuck out her tongue in mock defiance, still standing just out of range. "I’ll take my win. But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you next time," she teased as she sat back on the bed, crossing her arms with a satisfied grin.

Paige muttered something under her breath, her eyes downcast as she crossed her arms, her mood shifting slightly.

Azzi smirked, leaning in closer with a playful glint in her eyes. "What was that?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

Paige shot back, pouting slightly, her voice almost a whisper, "Nothing, leave me alone."

Azzi couldn't resist teasing her further, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Aww, did I make the big baby sad?" she cooed, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness.

Paige rolled her eyes, trying to hide the small smile threatening to break through. "Stop," she muttered, though the lighthearted teasing was clearly exactly what she needed.

Azzi grinned, enjoying the little back-and-forth, and leaned back into the bed, her eyes softening as she watched Paige. "Okay, okay. I'll stop for now," she said, giving Paige a break from the teasing, though she was clearly pleased to see the faint smile tugging at the older girl's lips.

A while later, the two of them had settled into a comfortable silence. Paige, however, found herself looking at Azzi once again, unable to stop the way her thoughts seemed to linger on her. Azzi noticed, her eyes glancing toward Paige before raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Azzi asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

Paige’s ears flushed pink, and she quickly looked down, feeling the warmth of embarrassment flood through her. "Nothing," she murmured, avoiding Azzi’s gaze. "Just thinking."

Azzi’s curiosity piqued, and she leaned in slightly, her tone soft but insistent. "About what?"

Paige didn’t immediately respond, just shook her head with a light laugh, trying to dismiss the moment. "Nothing," she repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Really."

Azzi studied her for a moment, a smile forming as she relaxed back into the bed. "Alright, keep your secrets weirdo," she teased.

Paige couldn’t help but steal a few more glances at Azzi here and there, her gaze drifting over her without meaning to. Azzi definitely noticed, but she didn’t comment, merely raising an eyebrow at Paige the few times their eyes met. Paige quickly looked away, her heart beating a little faster each time Azzi caught her staring.

She didn’t know when it started—this acute awareness of Azzi, these small details she found herself noticing more and more. Small details that shouldn’t really matter to. Her dimples when she smiled, how her laugh made Paige feel lighter just hearing it, the way Paige couldn’t help but enjoy seeing Azzi’s smile and her brown eyes light up, like they somehow brightened the entire room, how Paige just always wanted Azzi around. Maybe it had started during all the late nights in the gym or maybe it was when Azzi would drag Paige to get a “sweet treat” despite the blonde grumbling everytime. All Paige knew was she liked having Azzi around a lot more than she would admit to anyone else.

December 2021 - DMV

Paige sat on her bed in the quiet of her room, the only sound being the occasional click of her phone screen as she scrolled through her social media absentmindedly. She was struggling a bit because she missed Azzi more than she wanted to admit. Despite talking every day since they left UConn for the break, the physical distance between them made the days feel longer.

She glanced at the clock. It was still early, but she couldn't stand the silence any longer. She reached for her phone and opened FaceTime, her thumb immediately hitting the call button. She leaned back against her pillows, the soft hum of her thoughts swirling in the background, waiting for Azzi to pick up.

The call rang twice before Azzi's familiar face appeared on the screen, her expression laced with that playful, sarcastic grin Paige had come to like a little too much. "Wow you almost made it to a reasonable hour before bothering me today. Bored already?" Azzi teased, raising an eyebrow.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "What you doing?" she asked, shifting slightly on her bed to get comfortable.

Azzi panned the camera down, revealing she was lounging in bed, a pile of blankets surrounding her. "Nothing," she said casually, her voice lazy. "Just enjoying the quiet."

"Hm," Paige hummed. "What you doing today?"

Azzi’s eyes glinted with mischief. "Aww, does Paigey miss me?" she teased, her lips curving into that knowing smirk. "You’re all about me now, huh?"

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes again. "No, I’m just bored. That’s all. I’m literally stuck here with nothing to do because I can’t drive."

Azzi chuckled softly, then raised her eyebrows as if she had an idea. "Well, I’m going to a kickback with some friends from high school later. You should come with me."

Paige paused, the offer hanging in the air for a moment. She didn’t know anyone from Azzi’s high school, and she was still recovering from her surgery a week and a half ago, which made her hesitate even more. She bit her lip. "I don’t know, you know I just had surgery. And I don't really know anyone there. They probably hate me for whooping your ass all the time anyway."

Azzi rolled her eyes at the last comment before her face softened into a reassuring smile Paige had grown to be comforted by. "It’s gonna be chill, I promise. Plus you don’t gotta worry about your knee. I’ll be with you the whole time. You know I got you."

Paige’s heart fluttered at the thought of spending time with Azzi, even though she was still a little unsure. The idea of being around a bunch of strangers didn’t sound all that appealing, but the thought of being by Azzi’s side made everything feel a little more manageable.

"I don’t know..." Paige started again, but Azzi interrupted her with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Azzi coaxed, her voice playful. "Don’t be boring. I’ll take care of you I swear. And if you’re worried about the knee, I’ll literally carry you if I have to."

Paige laughed, shaking her head, though she could already feel the excitement building despite her reluctance. "Alright, fine. I’ll come. But I’m not doing anything but sitting down."

Azzi’s eyes widened, feigning surprise. "Oh, you’re so gonna dance. I’m dragging you on that floor with your stiff knee whether you like it or not."

Paige groaned, though there was a smile on her face now. "Yeah, we’ll see about that."

Azzi’s grin softened, the playfulness replaced with something warmer. "You’re coming, and that’s all that matters. I’ll make sure you’re good the whole time. Nothing you can’t handle."

Paige felt the butterflies stir in her chest as she met Azzi’s gaze through the screen. "Alright, I’m in. But if I get too tired, you’re carrying me out of there."

Azzi laughed, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Deal. But don’t think I won’t drop you if you start complaining too much."

Paige grinned. "You’re so kind to me. Really."

"Only because you’re special," Azzi teased with a smirk

Much later the conversation had gone on longer than either of them had planned, but it felt impossible to hang up. Even now, with their plans for the night set, neither seemed ready to end the call.

Glancing at the time on her screen, she groaned softly. "Alright, I really need to eat and get ready before I’m late picking you up. My phone’s about to die, and you can’t watch the magic happen."

Paige raised a brow, leaning closer to the camera as if challenging her. "Magic? Azzi, I see you every day. What could possibly be so—"

"Uh-uh," Azzi cut her off, wagging a finger at her through the screen. "This is party-ready Azzi, Paige. Not practice Azzi. There’s a difference, and I’m not giving you a sneak peek."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. "You act like I’m going to be taking notes or something."

Azzi tilted her head, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "You might. Gotta keep some mystery alive, Paigey."

Paige let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, fine. Go charge your phone. Leave me here. Alone. Abandoned."

Azzi grinned, leaning closer to the screen for a moment before softly saying, "You’ll survive. I’ll call you back when I’m on my way."

And just like that, the call ended, leaving Paige staring at her reflection in the now-blank screen. She let out a long sigh before tossing her phone onto the bed beside her.

…

Azzi pulled up outside Paige’s house, her headlights cutting through the early evening darkness. She grabbed her phone and shot Paige a quick text: I’m here. A few minutes later, Paige stepped out, in a hoodie, her crutches tucked under her arms. Azzi hopped out to help, her lips quirking into a teasing smile as she opened the car door for Paige.

“You know, I’m not helpless,” Paige muttered as she settled into the passenger seat.

Azzi smirked as she slid back into the driver’s seat. “I know. But it’s fun watching you try to act tough.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips.

The car ride was casual at first, filled with light chatter. Azzi talked about her old teammates and how she wasn’t sure who’d actually show up tonight. Paige mostly listened, her responses short but warm.

After a while, the conversation lulled, and Paige found herself sneaking glances at Azzi. The way the dim light from the dashboard highlighted Azzi’s features—her sharp jawline, the curve of her lips, the casual way her hand rested on the steering wheel—it was almost unfair.

Azzi caught her once, her eyes flicking over for a moment before she stopped talking and smiled. “What?”

Paige’s ears turned pink, and she looked out the window. “Nothing. Just… listening.”

“Hmm.” Azzi’s hum was teasing, but she didn’t push it, much to Paige’s relief—and frustration.

When they arrived, Azzi helped Paige out of the car, steadying her for a second as she adjusted her crutches. They walked inside together, the hum of chatter and music growing louder as they stepped into the living room. A few heads turned, and someone called out Azzi’s name.

“Azzi!” one of her old friends greeted her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Yo nice to see you. You want a drink?”

Azzi shook her head. “Nah, I’m driving. Thanks, though.”

The guy turned to Paige, his eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition. “What about you?”

Paige shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

Azzi led Paige to a couch where a few of her former teammates were sitting. They greeted her warmly, the conversation flowing easily as they caught up. Paige mostly stayed quiet. She chimed in here and there when prompted, but for the most part, she sat back, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.

Azzi noticed and leaned closer, her voice soft so only Paige could hear. “You good?”

Paige nodded, glancing at her. “Yeah, you know me. Not the most chatty if I don’t know them.”

Azzi smiled, her voice taking on a light teasing tone. “Mmm ok. I’ll make sure I keep you company then.”

The quiet exchange helped Paige relax a little, and soon the two of them were chatting quietly, their heads close together so no one else could hear. Azzi leaned back on the couch, her arm draped casually over the backrest, while Paige leaned in slightly, her knee bouncing as they talked.

At some point, Azzi stood. “I’ll grab us some water, you look parched.”

Paige nodded, watching as Azzi disappeared into the kitchen. For a moment, she was content to sit alone, scrolling idly through her phone. But it didn’t take long for people to notice she wasn’t occupied anymore.

It started with one or two people approaching her hesitantly asking for pictures, but within a few minutes, a small crowd had gathered around her. Paige smiled politely, answering their questions and posing for pictures, though her knee started to ache from standing without her crutches that Azzi had propped up on the wall.

After talking to someone in the kitchen for a bit Azzi returned to the living room, holding two bottles of water, only to pause when she saw the scene. A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned against the doorway, watching for a moment. Of course, she should’ve known this would happen.

Still, Azzi’s smirk faded slightly when she noticed the tightness in Paige’s smile, the way her weight was shifted entirely to her right knee.

Azzi shook her head and made her way over, weaving easily through the people standing near Paige. “Alright, alright,” she said, her voice cutting through the chatter in a playful way to not draw too much attention. “Give her some room, y’all. She’s gotta rest that superstar knee.”

The crowd dispersed almost immediately, some people backing away sheepishly while others gave her a grin, clearly recognizing her from school as well. Paige glanced at her, relief flashing in her eyes as Azzi handed her one of the bottles.

“Sit,” Azzi said firmly but gently, her hand brushing Paige’s shoulder as she guided her back to the couch.

Paige exhaled as she sank back down, her fingers wrapping around the bottle. “Thanks,” she murmured, glancing sideways at Azzi.

Azzi dropped down beside her, leaning back casually. “No problem. You’re the one who decided to be famous, though,” she teased, earning a soft laugh from Paige.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up for this part,” Paige muttered, though her tone was light.

Azzi chuckled, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Welcome to the life, Bueckers.

As the crowd thinned out around them, Paige and Azzi settled back into their own bubble of conversation. Paige leaned back against the couch, her bottle of water balanced on her knee. Azzi, ever relaxed, stretched out beside her, one arm resting along the back of the couch.

“So,” Azzi said, her voice soft but teasing, “you having fun yet?”

Paige smiled faintly, glancing at her. “I guess. It’s... different.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Different good or different bad?”

“Good,” Paige replied quickly, then hesitated before adding, “Probably because I’m here with you. If it was anyone else I would be miserable.”

Azzi froze mid-sip of her water, her eyebrow arching higher as she set the bottle down. “Wait a second,” she said, her tone dripping with playful suspicion. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Paige?”

Paige’s eyes widened slightly at the accusation, her ears turned red as she stumbled over her words. “No! I—I was just saying—”

Azzi leaned closer, giving her an amused, knowing look. “Mhm. Sure you were.”

Paige groaned, looking away to hide her flustered expression. “I wasn’t,” she mumbled, though her voice lacked conviction.

Azzi let it go—for now—but the teasing smile never left her lips as she leaned back, clearly picking up on Paige’s reaction.

A little while later though Azzi knew she wasn’t making things up in her head.

One of Azzi’s friends walked by, their arm brushing against Azzi’s as they held a drink, and in the process, the liquid sloshed over the edge, spilling onto Azzi’s shirt.

“Dude you’re drunk!” Azzi exclaimed with a laugh, pulling her shirt away from her skin as it stuck to her chest uncomfortably.

“Sorry!” her friend called back, but Azzi just waved it off.

Paige, however, couldn’t help but glance down. The damp fabric clung to Azzi’s chest, highlighting the curves beneath. She quickly looked away, but it was too late. Azzi had caught her.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes glinted with something as she grabbed a napkin to dab at the spill. After a moment, she set the napkin down and turned toward Paige, her movements a little slow.

“What were you looking at Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice low and teasing as she leaned in slightly

“Nothing!” Paige said quickly, though her voice cracked slightly, betraying her.

Azzi smirked, inching closer until Paige instinctively leaned back against the wall, Azzi made her stand by in the name of getting her knee used to standing. Azzi placed a hand on the table beside Paige, her other hand reaching up to twirl a strand of Paige’s hair around her finger.

“Hmm,” Azzi mused, tilting her head as she studied Paige’s flustered expression. “You sure? Because it kinda looked like you were... distracted.”

Paige swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t.”

Azzi’s smirk deepened as she fluttered her eyelashes, leaning just a fraction closer. “Paigey...” she whispered, her voice almost a purr. “Do you have a crush on me?”

The words sent a jolt through Paige, and she found herself nodding before she could think, her brain short-circuiting under Azzi’s gaze.

Azzi blinked, momentarily surprised by the response, but then her expression softened into something almost unreadable. Her hand stilled in Paige’s hair, her thumb brushing against the strand lightly before she pulled back with a smile.

“Well,” Azzi said softly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and something else Paige couldn’t quite place. “Good to know.”

Paige stared at her, still trying to process what had just happened, as Azzi settled back into her seat on the couch, acting like nothing had happened. But the glint in her eyes and the slight curve of her lips said otherwise.

Azzi kept her teasing smile as she leaned back into the couch, picking up her drink and taking a casual sip. Paige, still frozen against the wall, tried to compose herself.

“So,” Azzi said after a moment, glancing sideways at Paige, “what’s going on in that head of yours, huh?”

Paige forced a laugh, her voice slightly shaky. “Nothing. Just... thinking about how weird this party is.”

Azzi smirked, clearly not buying it, but she let it slide. “Weird, huh? I don’t know—seems pretty normal to me.” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. “Or are you just feeling weird because I called you out?”

Paige groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Azzi, please. Don’t start.”

Azzi chuckled. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Before Paige could respond, someone called Azzi over to the kitchen. She excused herself, leaving Paige to sit there, her thoughts swirling.

When Azzi returned a few minutes later, she plopped back down beside Paige with two more fresh waters. “Here,” she said, handing one to Paige.

“Thanks,” Paige muttered, her cheeks still faintly pink.

Azzi grinned as she twisted the cap off her own bottle. “You’re welcome. You good now, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

Paige glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. “You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” Azzi said, leaning back lazily and tossing her arm along the back of the couch, close enough that her hand brushed Paige’s shoulder. “Apparently you like me too much to think that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to suppress.

As the night went on, the two of them fell into their usual rhythm of casual conversation as if nothing happened. Paige occasionally chimed in when Azzi’s friends asked her a question, but for the most part, she stayed content in her role as an observer.

It wasn’t until they were heading home that Azzi brought it up again.

The car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine and SZA playing quietly in the background filling the space between them. Paige stared out the window, her knee bouncing slightly in a restless rhythm.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who talks so much,” Azzi said, breaking the silence.

Paige glanced at her, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone she was holding. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi replied, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Paige shifted, trying to focus on the passing streetlights. But then Azzi glanced over at her, catching the faint way Paige’s eyes flickered toward her hands on the steering wheel.

“You keep looking at me,” Azzi said suddenly, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

“I am not!” Paige said, her voice shooting up an octave as her ears turned red.

Azzi laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “It’s okay, you know. I don’t mind. I actually kinda like it.”

Paige groaned, sinking into her seat. “Can we not do this right now?”

Azzi shrugged, her grin never faltering. “Fine. I’ll save it for later.”

Paige sighed, but her lips twitched despite herself hanging on to the way Azzi said she liked it. She glanced at Azzi again out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way the passing streetlights highlighted her profile—her relaxed grip on the wheel, the faint smirk tugging at her lips, the calm confidence she always seemed to carry now.

Deciding to be a little bold and before she could second-guess herself, Paige blurted, “You looked really good tonight.”

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, the car was silent except for the hum of the music. She glanced at Paige briefly, her expression unreadable, before a small smile curved her lips.

“Thank you Paige,” Azzi said softly, her voice quieter than usual.

Paige’s ears burned, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the window, biting back a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

Azzi chuckled, the warm sound filling the space between them. “Too late.”

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, but Paige couldn’t shake the small, knowing smile Azzi wore the rest of the way home.

As they pulled into Paige’s driveway, Azzi shifted the car into park. She glanced at Paige, her earlier teasing replaced by a softer expression. “Well, here you are, safe and sound.”

Paige hesitated, fiddling with her seatbelt. “Do you, um… do you want to stay over? It’s late, and I’d rather you not drive home alone.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her gaze. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Paige rolled her eyes, already pushing the door open. “Azzi, just come in. It’s not a big deal.”

Azzi chuckled softly, unbuckling her seatbelt and following Paige to the door.

When they stepped inside, the faint sound of video game explosions filled the living room. Drew, was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, his eyes glued to the screen.

Paige sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Yo what are you still doing up?”

Drew jumped up, his boundless energy kicking in as soon as he noticed her. “Paige!” he exclaimed, jumping toward her before his attention shifted to Azzi. His eyes widened slightly, and he hurried to put the controller down, becoming more calm.

“I’m Drew,” he said confidently, holding out his hand like a little gentleman.

Azzi smiled, shaking his hand. “Azzi. Nice to meet you.”

Drew grinned up at her, his voice brimming with admiration. “You’re really pretty.”

Azzi laughed softly, her gaze flicking to Paige. “That seems to be a thing for the Bueckers family tonight.”

Paige groaned, already starting to head toward the stairs, albeit slowly due to her knee. “Oh my god, Drew, go to bed,” she called over her shoulder.

Azzi followed behind her, suppressing a grin as Drew called after them. “Goodnight, Azzi!”

Azzi’s laughter echoed softly as they climbed the stairs, and Paige shook her head, muttering, “I don’t know where he gets it from.”

When they reached Paige’s room, she pushed the door open and gestured for Azzi to come in. “You can hang out in here for a sec I’ll grab you something to drink.”

Azzi stepped inside, taking in the trophies, photos, and basketball memorabilia that decorated the space. “Nice room,” she said, settling onto the edge of Paige’s bed.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Paige teased, disappearing to the kitchen.

Azzi leaned back slightly, her gaze lingering on the doorway where Paige had just disappeared. Her smile softened, and she shook her head, amused at how easily the night had taken such an unexpected—yet intriguing—turn. Anyone with eyes could see that Paige was attractive but Azzi never let thoughts linger too much of anything beyond that. But now Azzi sat there thinking about her and Paige’s dynamic, it definitely wasn’t lost on Azzi how much time they had spent together. How Paige was able to get her out of the bed at all hours of the night with just a FaceTime call. How easily they had fallen into each other's orbit after breaking past the tension they once had.

When Paige returned to her room, she found Azzi standing by her shelf, studying a framed photo of Paige with her teammates. “You were tiny in this,” Azzi commented with a small smile, glancing over her shoulder.

Paige set the drink down on her nightstand, rolling her eyes as she started undoing her bulky metal knee brace. “I wasn’t that small. You were just as scrawny back then.”

Azzi smirked, turning to face her fully. “Yeah, but now I’ve got muscles. You’re still trying to catch up.”

“Whatever,” Paige shot back with a grin, adjusting her leg with a slight wince as she set the brace aside. She got up and moved to her dresser, rummaging through the drawers until she found a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts. “Here,” she said, holding them out to Azzi. “I already put a toothbrush for you in the bathroom.”

Azzi walked over, taking her time as she crossed the room. When she reached for the clothes, her fingers deliberately brushed against Paige’s. The subtle touch lingered just a second too long, and when Paige glanced up, Azzi’s eyes were unreadable but warm.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, her voice light but carrying a hint of something Paige couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” Paige mumbled, quickly stepping back as if the proximity was suddenly overwhelming.

Azzi’s lips curved into a faint smirk, and without another word, she turned and headed for the bathroom. Paige watched her go, her stomach twisting in a way that was both confusing and exciting.

The soft click of the bathroom door brought Paige back to reality, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She flopped onto her bed, pressing her hands over her face as her mind replayed the look in Azzi’s eyes

When Azzi emerged from the bathroom, the sound of her footsteps was soft but enough to draw Paige's attention. Glancing up from her phone, Paige’s eyes immediately caught on Azzi’s figure as she crossed the room. The oversized hoodie hung loosely on Azzi’s frame, her toned legs visible beneath the hem of her shorts. Her damp curly hair tumbled around her shoulders in an effortless way that made her look almost ethereal.

Paige gulped, quickly averting her gaze before she got caught staring. She swung her knee over the edge of the bed slowly and stood, grabbing her clothes. "I’m gonna hop in the shower now," she said, her voice sounding a little too rushed. "Be right back."

Azzi, who was checking her phone, gave a nonchalant hum of acknowledgment. "Take your time. Don’t hurt yourself, though."

Paige shot her a playful glare. "I’m not that helpless, you know."

Azzi smirked, not looking up. "Sure, you’re not."

With that, Paige escaped into the bathroom, closing the door and letting out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding. What is wrong with me? she thought as she set her clothes down and began the careful process of getting in the shower.

The shower helped clear her head, but it took longer than she anticipated with her knee, which was stiff from the day. By the time she emerged, dressed in her own oversized hoodie and shorts, her hair still damp, she felt a little more composed. That composure, however, faltered the moment she stepped into the room.

Azzi was laid out on Paige’s bed, her hair in curls sprawled everywhere as she scrolled through her phone. She looked entirely too comfortable, her body stretched out and her face lit by the soft glow of the screen.

Paige froze for a moment, her stomach fluttering. Something about seeing Azzi so relaxed in her space made her heart skip a beat. "You look a little too at home," Paige teased, trying to cover the nervousness in her voice.

Azzi turned her head, a slow grin spreading across her face. "You’re the one who invited me in. What did you expect?"

Paige scoffed, moving toward the bed with her hands tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. "Just don’t hog all the pillows," she muttered, sinking down onto the mattress.

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with amusement. "No promises. You know I sleep a little crazy sometimes."

Paige rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she settled against the headboard. Despite the teasing, the air between them was warm, and Paige found herself relaxing, even if the butterflies in her stomach were stubbornly refusing to settle.

Azzi’s gaze flicked down to Paige’s leg, the faint furrow of concern returning. "Hey," she said, her voice softer now. "Before we knock out, let’s switch spots. You should be on the inside, where your knee’s by the wall."

Paige blinked at her. "I’m fine, Azzi. You don’t have to—"

"Humor me," Azzi interrupted, sitting up and giving her an expectant look. "I’d rather not accidentally knee you in the middle of the night."

Paige hesitated for a moment before sighing dramatically. "Fine. But if I wake up smooshed against the wall, I’m blaming you."

Azzi grinned, already shifting so Paige could scoot over. As Paige moved, Azzi reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cozy darkness. The faint light from the street outside filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the walls as the two of them settled into place.

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of blankets as they got comfortable. The tension was noticeable, though not unpleasant. This was different from the other times they’d ended up in the same bed—those moments had been accidental, born of exhaustion or laziness. The two of them falling asleep watching a movie or Azzi throwing a pillow at Paige in the middle of the night after the blonde fell asleep on Azzi’s beanbag telling her to get in the bed. But now, they were both wide awake, fully aware of each other’s presence in the shared space.

Paige lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Azzi beside her. She could feel the faint warmth of Azzi’s arm, just inches from her own, and it took everything in her not to glance over.

"Well, this isn’t awkward at all," Azzi said suddenly, her soft chuckle breaking the silence.

Paige turned her head, giving her a mock glare. "You saying that made it awkward."

Azzi smirked, rolling her eyes. "No, it didn’t. I was just stating a fact."

"It was fine until you opened your mouth," Paige teased, her voice light but edged with humor.

"Okay, so if I stop talking, we’ll be back to normal?" Azzi challenged, her tone playful as she shifted onto her side to face Paige.

Paige’s lips twitched upward. "I don’t know. I feel like the damage is already done."

"Wow," Azzi said dramatically. "Way to make me feel self-conscious."

"Good," Paige shot back, smiling now.

Azzi shook her head, grinning as she propped her head up on her hand. Her dark eyes studied Paige for a moment before she asked, "So, was today exhausting for you? Or are you secretly a robot and just pretending to be tired?"

Paige laughed softly, glancing at the ceiling. "No, it was exhausting. My knee’s sore from all the moving around, and my social battery is completely drained."

Azzi’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face. "Your knee’s sore? Why didn’t you say anything?"

Paige shrugged. "It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had worse days."

Azzi hummed, not entirely convinced but letting it slide. Her gaze lingered on Paige’s face as the faint light from the window shifted, casting a soft glow that made the blue in Paige’s eyes seem impossibly bright.

For a moment, Azzi found herself captivated, the vivid color catching her off guard. It reminded her of the sky after a storm, a striking clarity that was hard to look away from.

"You’re really pretty, Paige," Azzi murmured, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Paige turned her head fully toward Azzi, her cheeks flushing slightly. A shy smile crept onto her lips as she whispered back, "You’re really pretty too, Azzi."

Azzi’s heart skipped at Paige’s response, the quiet sincerity in her voice making the moment feel heavier in the best way. Neither of them looked away, the stillness between them now filled with an unspoken understanding.

"Do your eyes always look like that?" Azzi asked softly, almost to herself.

Paige blinked, confused. "Like what?"

"That blue," Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They seem…different."

Paige’s blush deepened, and she bit her bottom lip to hide her growing smile. "I guess… I don’t know they’re just eyes, Azzi." Paige said, trying to hide just how much those words affected her.

"If you say so," Azzi said, the words so quiet they barely reached Paige’s ears.

The softness of Azzi’s tone settled over them like a blanket, and neither of them spoke again. Paige slowly turned onto her side to look at Azzi, her exhaustion catching up with her as her eyelids began to droop. Azzi stayed where she was, her gaze lingering on Paige’s relaxed features until she finally let herself sink into the quiet comfort of the moment, her eyes closing as she softly held Paige’s forearm.

[rosenclaws]

Hi! 👋

I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if I could submit a request?

The reader is a shy artist who is a friend of Wades. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Wade.

She and Worst!Logan become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Worst!Logan finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Worst!Logan confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Thank you and have a good day! 😊

Hidden Feelings and Hidden Sketches || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, wade making suggestive comments, make out sesh towards the end, reader gets drunk and logan helps her out. Logan also calls the reader sketch. It got kinda suggestive at the end I apologize sldfjka

a/n: Hi!! This idea is adorable omg I love it, I hope it was fluffy enough for you I have to admit I'm not great at writing pure fluff. I also hope wade is funny because I am not funny so its hard to write his dialogue sometimes. I also altered the plot a little so i hope its okay

You never quite understood how you and Wade became friends. He was possibly the biggest extrovert you have ever met and you were the exact opposite. He saw you once at his favorite diner with your sketchbook and he jumped into the seat across from you.

Yapping on about your art and if you drew often and that he once tried to paint but the class didn't appreciate his art and asking if you'd paint him naked as a present for his girlfriend. Which you declined very quickly.

He wouldn't leave you alone, talking and asking you all sorts of things. You getting a few words in and him covering the other 98% of the conversation. He left with the promise of seeing you again and disappeared before you could say anything else.

It was an odd experience that's for sure but you liked Wade. Sure enough he kept coming back and a friendship had blossomed. He invited you over to dinner multiple times but you always declined, choosing to meet at the diner instead.

Slowly he got you out of your shell around him. Cracking jokes and sometimes putting him in his place when he went a little too far. You showed him your sketchbook after a while and he gushed over your drawings. Begging you to draw him at his best angles and you would sometimes give in.

When he disappeared for a while you got worried, that is until he showed up with a new dog and a very handsome new friend. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. Wade spotted you and waved but you didn't even notice.

"I know right, he's like a tall glass of rage filled water." Wade sighs as he sits across from you.

"I uh what?" You hug your sketchbook close to your chest as you rip your eyes away from Wade's new friend.

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't eye fucking him the second he walked in here, not that I blame you." Your eyes widen as you start to stutter. Your face heating up as you stare at the pancakes in front of you instead. A loud grunt catches your attention. You can barely meet his eyes as your brain is too busy being embarrassed by what Wade had said.

"You can sit on my lap angel cakes." Wade pats his leg but gets shoved to the side as his new friend sits down across from you.

"Logan this is my friend, be a good kitty and play nice." Logan rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Wade. He does look at you though, burning a whole through your skull.

"Hi Logan," You say shyly.

"Hi." A few beats of silence pass until Wade breaks it as usual.

"Well aren't you two the life of the party, if you excuse me I have to go relieve myself." Wade stands up and instead of asking Logan to move, starts to climb over the man.

"What the fuck?!" Logan hisses as he grabs Wades shirt and tosses him to the ground. You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth as your friend flops to the ground.

"So rude." Wade shakes his head and heads off to the bathroom. Silence falls once again as you awkwardly push around the pancakes on your plate.

"What's that?" Logan asks, nodding towards your sketchbook. You grab your book and shove it into your bag.

"Nothing! It's uh, just a sketchbook it's nothing don't worry about it." Logan raises an eyebrow as you panic in front of him.

As if you couldn't feel more embarrassed. You debate on waiting for wade or just leaving to save yourself but Logan makes the choice for you.

"You don't have to stay, not holding you hostage." He sips his coffee as you let out a shaky laugh.

"Not much of a talker." You play with your fork as you look up at Logan. He's much more handsome up close.

"Neither am I." He offers a small half smile and you return it. He's still incredibly intimidating but maybe you can stick it out a little longer. Logan's food comes and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence and when you're done you work up the courage if he'll be here tomorrow. He holds the door open for you as you step outside.

You clutch tightly onto the strap of your bag as you wait for his answer. He lights a cigar and you try and suppress your smile when he says he will be. As you part ways you realize that Wade never did come back from the bathroom.

That sneaky bastard.

-on

The diner uh, meetings as you called them, with Logan were amazing. His grumpy exterior was hard to crack but eventually the two of you started to become friends. Being with Logan started to become your favorite parts of the week. He was more than the tough guy persona he put on. What surprised you the most is that he seemed interested in you too. Well you know as friends.

Logan could appreciate someone who liked the quiet. He never pushed you out of your comfort zone, never made you feel uncomfortable. He was just Logan. Call it what you want but it was only a matter of time before you fell head over heels for that man. Not that you'd ever tell him.

How could you?

He's a superhero. He's gorgeous and grumpy and funny and so much more. All you do is draw silly pictures. So for now you settle on friends. Even if he makes your stomach turn with ever smile. Even if his laugh is the best thing you've ever heard. Friends. That's good enough for now.

-

"Wade Wilson I am going to kill you!" You say angrily.

He had texted you asking you to meet him for coffee and you had agreed solely because you never got the chance to scold him for his little dine and dash.

"Leaving me alone with a stranger!" You slap his hand as he tries to reach for your pastry.

"Ow! That was so five months ago! Anyways I was just trying to help. You know, relieve the sexual tension." You gasp as he makes a very lewd gesture with his hands.

"Besides, you and Logi bear are spending a lot of time together for just being friends huh Boo-Boo." Before you can stop him he reaches for your sketchbook. Keeping it just out of reach as he flips through the pages.

"Give it back!" You plead as you reach across the table.

"Oh. My. God. How come you never draw me this sexy?" He shows you the pages and you fall back into your seat in defeat.

You know what's in there and now Wade does too. Pages and pages of sketches of Logan. You feel like a stalker. It's not your fault! Ever since you met him he's all you can think about. All you can draw.

"Please give it back." You beg but he refuses.

"You'll get it back after you admit to Logan how you feel."

"What!" Your jaw drops as you make another lunge for your book.

"I am a very impatient man and I'm not about to wait another thousand words for the two of you to fuck." He stands up and tucks the book down his pants.

"Ew really?" You groan as you let your face fall into your hands.

"I'm having a get together and you're invited. Logan will be there it's the perfect opportunity." You feel like throwing up at the idea of talking to Logan about any of this.

Maybe you could just steal it back tonight. Or maybe you could never show your face to anyone ever again. Yah the second option sounds better. If only it was that simple. You waited for many anxiety filled hours, the only thing on your mind is getting your damn book back. You knock on the door and it swings open with Wade standing there, a stupid smile on his face.

"Honey badger at 4 o'clock." He hands you a drink and pushes you right towards him. You shoo him away, taking a deep breath and head towards Logan.

"Hi Logan," You say nervously.

"Didn't think these were really your thing." He says with a smile. You laugh nervously and nod your head.

"Yeah well...I thought he'd finally stop asking if I came to one of these things." You joke. Logan snorts and offers you the seat next to him.

"Good luck with that." You sit next to him and swirl around the ice in your drink.

If you're going to tell him then you're going to need a lot of help. Logan's eyes widen as you down your drink in one go, making a face before asking for another one. He's never seen you at a party, let alone drink.

"Why don't you take it easy there sketch."

"It's a party right, why not have a little fun." Logan keeps an eye on you as you drink and drink. As the night passes on he realizes that you might have had a little too much. You can barely get a sentence out by the time the party's over.

"Hi Logii!" Your arms slink around his neck as you stumble into him.

"Come on, let me take you home." He chuckles as he helps you to the door.

"Nooo, I needa get my uh..." You stop and think for a moment.

"My uhhh" Logan hums as he helps you to your apartment. You stay close to Logan as you walk through the night. He's just so warm and he smells so good.

"Got your keys?" You pat around for them and frown. Logan reaches into your bag and pulls them out.

"Right here." He unlocks your door and helps you to your bed. You sigh as your head hits your pillow.

"Oh! my sketchbook. Wade has my sketchbook." You say with a yawn.

"I'll get it back tomorrow, now sleep well." Logan takes off his jacket and lays it on you. He brushes your cheek gently. A soft smile on his face as he leaves you to sleep peacefully.

"Good night."

-

God your head hurt and the sun was way too bright. You crack your eyes open groan as you head pounds. What were you even thinking last night? You wanted your damn book back that's what you were thinking. A loud knock on your door makes you moan in pain. Getting up you swing open your door only to be met with Logan holding your book. Your face pales as you see a smirk on his face.

"Wade gave me back your book." You reach out for it but he holds it back.

"You're a real good artist sketch." To your horror he opens up your book and flips to one of its pages.

Right in front of you was a side profile sketch of Logan. It had been while you were at the park or something. The sun was hitting him perfectly, he had this content look on his face. You couldn't help but draw it when you got back home. To capture him in a moment where everything felt okay.

"I uh..I.." You don't know what to say. He caught you red handed. Your face is on fire from shame and embarrassment as he finally hands over your book. You can't even look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. Shutting your eyes you hope he gets the hint and leaves, leaves you to wallow in pity.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." He grabs your chin and tilts your head up.

"I'm flattered sketch. I think you really captured me pretty good." You still can't bring yourself to say anything as you hug your book tightly. You can't tell if he's making fun of you or what.

"This isn't funny Logan." You try and push his hand off you but his grip is strong.

"Not trying to be funny." He brushes his thumb over your lips.

"Logan..." Your eyes flick down to his lips and you know he catches you.

"Say it, come on don't be shy. Not with me." Sighing you dig your fingernails into your book.

"I love you." Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut. You almost hope he doesn't hear it but of course he does.

He presses his lips to yours roughly. You drop your book in shock as you melt deep into his kiss. Wasting no time in kissing him back, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall to your sides. You pull away much to his disappointment, his lips chasing after yours for a moment.

"I love you too." He kisses your jaw lightly making you sigh.

"You know, those drawings were good but I think you got my lips wrong." You furrow you eyebrows, you thought you got his lips pretty good. After all you stared at them long enough to memorize them.

"Yeah sweetheart, think you need a lesson." He walks you back until you hit your couch.

"Get up close and personal." He winks as you bite your lip. How flustered can he make you?

"Then maybe you can show me more of those drawings."

Well, If it would help make your drawings more, accurate. Then who are you to say no?

"Okay." You run your hands along his arm as you look back up at him. Nerves and excitement swirling around your eyes.

"Don't worry sketch, I'm a pretty good teacher."

[wholemeallbread]

itoshi rin x mermaid!reader ... 0.8k words ... childhood friends to strangers? chat im going through a disney princess moment dont mind me. kinda fluffy at the beginning kinda sad at the end, crying, short mentions of bruises. no please guys i promise im cooking i swear i sqwae

rin has always kept a huge secret from his older brother.

every time they visited the shore, he would disappear from his brother's sight, even only for a few minutes, making a beeline straight towards the sand. he had his own secret passage – across to the right side of the area, and climbing over the rocks, exposing a small, separated plot of sand that nobody else could see.

and the biggest secret of all? you.

he would always sit right where the waves stop, tossing in shells and rocks strategically hidden underneath the sand to catch your attention. the wait wasn't long, almost as if you were expecting him to visit, and you emerge from the sea, maybe even splashing him in the process. he didn't mind, giggling from the sudden cold sensation against his skin and not bothering to wipe it away.

he didn't know what you were. human? no, not with the scales covering your skin, your legs replaced with a fish's tail, and your eyes; unsettling, but mesmerising. but you're not a fish either, because what kind of fish's upper body looks like a human? your aquiline nature was truly unlike anything he's seen before.

despite having a mouth, you couldn't speak, opting to make sounds that seem to sound more like a dolphin, and communicating through body language instead.

his younger self would always watch carefully, unblinking, observing how you swim around and do tricks with childish wonder; amazed by how your tail waves in the water; sometimes even confused by the lack of dramatic change in your hair once you've submerged underwater, then popping out looking almost exactly the same. was your hair not like his? did it not get wet like his?

and every time rin heard his brother call his name, he would panic and try to tell you that you needed to leave. but you never did, not without his fingers brushing against your cheek first. you would always nuzzle into his touch, sometimes even keeping them pressed against you by gripping your hand. your skin... it felt weird. it was squishy, but felt like plastic. slick, smooth, just strange to touch.

once he returned to his brother, he came out looking like a mess – sand all over him, clothes damp, and some bruises on his hands and knees. yes, he would get a scolding. yes, his brother would patch up whatever was exposed and buy him ice cream to make up for the pain. but really, rin didn't mind it. he didn't mind the hassle, or going through the pain. if that meant he could get to see you, then he would do anything.

there was always a shell hidden in his sleeve or pockets, one that you gift him every time he sees you. once, you accidentally gave him a hermit crab, and he had to bear with the pinches until he could return it to its rightful place without it being seen. since you technically were a fish, he felt responsible over sea creatures now, refusing to eat fish. he gave up his favourite food for your sake, the thought of even looking at tsukudani making him feel ill.

and now, only a few years later, the silence between you was palpable.

it's been so long since you've seen him. he was older. he didn't speak. he couldn't look at you. but he still came. he looked the same, but he sort of didn't... there was no smile, nor did he giggle when he saw you. was something wrong?

maybe you could impress him with what you've learnt! surely that would cheer him up, right?

as the waves' foam lingered around your waist, you mustered up the courage to speak, forming the sounds with your lips. it hurt, it really did, but it sounded somewhat like a greeting. nothing in response. you had spent all of this time trying to learn the human language, practicing where nobody else could see, mimicking the sounds he would make and linking them to different gestures, only for it to be worth nothing? no... that can't be possible.

he looked so sad, so distant, but you couldn't understand why. you swam and swam in circles, slapping your tail against the surface, whistling, doing anything and everything that used to improve his mood. nothing. instead, he only stared out at the horizon. it was cold, gloomy, grey.

you could see how his mouth moves, how he's saying something, but you can't hear it. it was only two words! why is he being so quiet?! you whistled and whistled, croaking out the words 'again' as best as you could, but he never repeated himself.

with that, he stood up, glancing at you with a stare that seemed to burn into your own. you didn't notice the excess liquid dripping down your cheeks from your eyes. you've never felt this way, your body has never experienced this before... what was happening? what was this feeling?

and when he walked away, he didn't look back. he didn't even take the shell that you left out for him. he didn't touch your cheek.

are things really going to end this way?

@cherrysurf

guys this is not the last youll see of rin x mermaid!reader i swear 🫵

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Plot: You have a past with Agatha, one as old as your ages. Your roads often met, but more than once, she left you behind. Now, once again, your paths cross, but this time; it is intentional.

Taking place around Episode 2 of the series. Might continue it if it gets popular or leave it as a small one-shot. Give it a shot and let me know

You were a rare type of witch, one whose path not many chose to follow; but not you. The very same moon you observed and talked to as a child was the very same source of your power.

The very same moon shapes you as you grow, your moods and natures shifting like the never-ending phases. Both light and darkness resided within your soul, one path sometimes more tempting than the others and vice versa.

It was under that that you learnt to do your first spell, that you practised your Latin, and it was under the same moon that you met her...

Agatha Harkness

Under the full moon had you gathered with her and her coven, to praise the Godess around the fire; bodies void of any clothing as your magic grew wild and free.

After that, you met again and again; sometimes by mere coincidence.

Your ever shifting nature was what had kept others away, keeping you confined to a small neutral space between two covens but never able to truly join any of them. Your complex thoughts that guided your kindness and also led you down dangerous paths became a mystery for Agatha to explore... to study.

The meetings became intentional, the unique aspect of your mind was something she welcomed and encouraged; the very first sparkle between you.

Sometimes your sweet words and smiles seemed to melt whatever ice was threatening to form around her heart; seemed to bring light into days her thoughts were too dark.

And sometimes, your mischievous nature assisted her with crazy plans; noses buried behind stolen scrolls of forbidden magic.

During those moments, sparks always seemed to fly between the two of you. Sometimes, they were small, hiding behind brushing hands and contagious smiles. Other times, those sparks threatened to ignite an immortal fire; fueled by long touches, lustful looks, and forbidden secret kisses.

It never went too far, and it never became something permanent. You learnt to live with it, also unsure if this could ever work out or if it was a momentarily escape from the solitary life chosen for you.

You never judged her decisions but never tried to change her either, even when you could see the dark path she favoured was becoming too much.

You opened your door for her when she first fel like an outcast, and again after, she had taken down her coven. You offered her your house and a change of clothes, a warm tea and a shoulder to rant.

Yet when she told you of her plans, when she asked you to join her... you politely declined. This was not the path you wished to take, and whether she was hurt by your words or not, remained a mystery; true feelings hidden behind sarcastic words and fake smiles.

Eventually your paths parted and the years passed by. However, fate seemed to draw you back to one another like two halves of a whole; supernatural powers trying to keep you together.

It never lasted for long.

Your door was always open and sometimes, those old sparks seemed to reappear but by then, Agatha's mind had been taken by a need for power.

Once again, you did not follow, only watched her walk away from you for yet one more time. More than once, you thought to call her out, say you changed your opinion and join her; or even try to shift her goal... but you never did.

Like the silent moon watching over the earth, you did that... just watch. You became her light when she needed you but never dared to take the next step; your conflicted thoughts and emotions stood in the way.

Somewhere in the future, she stopped showing up, and you wondered if she had settled down at last or someone had taken her down. Both scenarios made your heart ache, and thus, you chose to forget; lock away any memories you had once created.

It worked and you continued your solitary life, never setting for a place too long and never looking at someone the same way you would look at Agatha.

Now, you had a small business right beneath your little apartment. It was not something fancy, simple crystals and tarot cards for those interested. You also offered star and even zodiac readings, being perhaps what truly ade you famous amongst your customers.

The moon always guided you, the stars spoke to you even when placed on a simple imaginary map. The houses dividing the sky exposed their secrets to you; both of past and future.

So it was no wonder all kinds of people walked through your door; some more believers than others but all with the same curiosity about their lives.

Yet you did not expect that one calm day, the bell above the door would ring and a familiar face would step into the shop.

"Hello, Hon" the husky female voice you had almost forgotten reached your ears like the sweetest melody.

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, before your mask settled back into place. "Agatha" you greeted her back, offering her the courtesy of standing up from the wooden chair you occupied behind an old worn out desk.

Her blue eyes locked onto yours with the same intensity they had all those years, invisible flames dancing behind your irises; threatening to mix and burn everything to the ground.

As you stared into the face you often searched for amongst the stars, that little locked chest at the back of your mind was forced open. The memories you had suppressed all those years flooded your mind, making your heart beat twice as fast as both happiness and pain dominated you.

"It has been too long" Agatha said, her voice acting like a beacon that saved you from drawing in your emotions. "Missed me?"

Her signature smirk was still there, eyes flickering with mischief and tempting pink lips stretching faintly; yours for the taking, if you dared to step closer.

It was then you noticed that someone had one with her. A teenage boy, stood tall behind her; trying to observe some crystals but his eyes often lingered to you.

You didn't know whom this boy was but your mind rushed to scenarios, wondering if he was her son; the product of love with someone other than you. Even if not by blood, Agatha had chosen it; letting him take your place after she got tired of you turning down her offers.

You were not sure and did your best to remain calm, not let anything show and not lose control of yourself. Your mind was both your blessing and your curse, its mood as uncontrollable and unpredictable as the rising tide; controlled by an ethereal power far beyond your reach.

Agatha seemed to understand where your gaze lingered, the teenage boy feeling slightly uncomfortable under the vague expression casted in your eyes.

She rolled her eyes at the drama. "He is my pet, not much of an importance" she explained dryly and then sent a warning glare to the boy, ensuring he would not utter a word.

The situation was delicate, it needed proper handling. If it was up to her, she would have left him in the car, one window barely open for some air but she couldn't.

Well, she could try but the boy was persistent and at that moment; Agatha did not truly think him being there would change something.

Considering how welcoming you always had been over the course of centuries, how considerate you have been of her well-being and how willing you were to help; even when a part of you clearly wanted to stop her.

"What do you want?" You managed to ask, your voice sounding as cold as you wished it to be.

The moon was not yet full, the tide had not fully risen and there was still power to hold everything at bay.

Her timing could not have been better and something told you, that she knew it. Never having forgotten how unique your thoughts were and how they matched the white moon that offered its light when the two of you met in secret.

"I plan to walk down the road, you see. And I am in need of a coven" she said simply, making it hard for you to detect whether she was even slightly affected by your meeting after so long. "Are you in?" She asked next, not giving you much time to debate.

The clock at the wall was ticking in sync with your beating heart as you processed an answer.

Perhaps this one should be different from all the others... just this once.

.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[lavnder311]

Forced Proximity

Synopsis: In which the strongest and reader confess their feelings.

Themes: female reader, mutual pining, longing, HEAVY TENSION, some conflict, friends-to-lovers. Fluff, little bit of angst, kinda slow burn. Didn’t proofread but if you find something it’s definitely your eyes or screen 🙏 enjoy !

wc: 3.9k

—————————————————————————

When the news about floods and heavy rain rang through the halls of Jujutsu High, you never expected it to be much of an issue. Matter of fact, you thought it was like every other day during the Tsuyu season. Sighing, you took a look out the window from your classroom, coffee in hand, dreading the moment work is over before you’re drenched in rain.

You weren’t a teacher at Jujutsu High for long, only opting to take up the role since your long time friend and colleague, Gojo Satoru, was gone on missions quite often. When he came back, he was often tired and had discoloration around his eyes from the lack of rest, only for him to continue his work as normal, always putting a smile for his students in class. With you teaching, it gave him that time to rest a little extra before training his students one-on-one.

It wasn’t exactly a decision he agreed to, as he believed it was a burden he- as the strongest- should carry. It took many months before he finally considered your proposal. After all, you’d be safe at Jujutsu High, instead of fighting off curses in who knows where, right?

——————————————————————————

“Oh come on Satoru,” you pleaded, reaching up to his eye level before being stopped by his infinity.

“Promise sweets,” he said with a dramatic sigh, reaching out to ruffle your hair before swiftly and effortlessly dodging your swat at his hand. “I’m fine. I’m the strongest, after all!” He flashed you a grin, his tone both playful and self-assured. He took out some candy from his pocket, popping it into his mouth before putting another right above your lips, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “C’mon, I know you want it.”

You frustratedly sighed, taking the candy and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. Crossing your arms, you gave him a pointed look as he quickly frowned, furrowing his brows in response. “Satoru, I’m bring serious. You can’t even tell me the last time you had 7-8 hours of rest. Or eaten a proper, nutritious, meal.” Emphasizing the last sentence, knowing he loves his sweets. (Of course the candy- not you. Right?) “Let me do this for you.” You pleaded, shoulders hanging in defeat.

His movements faltered for the slightest second before tilting his head back, humming in thought. “Well, I guess it’d be a nice vacation for you. Safer part of the job, no fighting curses, just keeping me company, aren’t ya?” His smirk all too knowing.

Sighing, you softly shook your head and rolled your eyes before giving him a look of worry. “I just.. I want to look out for you,”

He piped up in interest before swallowing another piece of candy he kept safely hidden. “Looking after the strongest will only get ya so far,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “But why?” He asked, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity.

Now that, you couldn’t- wouldn’t- answer. Your friendship with Satoru was.. complicated. It was like walking a fine line between comfort and tension, one moment full of stolen glances and playful teasing, the next filled with casual flirtations- though, you were never really sure if that was just his way with everyone.

Most of the time, it was just Satoru pretending everything was fine when you knew he needed a break. He never let anyone see how much he carried, always wearing that smile. Most of the time, it was you two sitting atop of Jujutsu High, watching the sunset or laughing at a horror movie with stupid plots. Sometimes it was quiet walks to cafes or his favorite candy shops.

But right now? Now you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to make a decision. You glanced at him, hesitation in your tongue. Finally, you sighed and muttered, “Because you’re an absolute idiot.”

——————————————————————————

“Attention all still at Jujutsu High,” a voice echoed through halls and classrooms, about 40 minutes after students resigned to their homes or designated rooms. “Weather conditions are not safe. I repeat, weather conditions are not safe. Please stay indoors until further notice.”

The thunder was almost impossible to miss, lightning making its way through the clouds, and heavy rain painting all that is Jujutsu High. Clearly, you weren’t going anywhere.

“Looks like I’m stuck,” you muttered, glaring out the rain-slick window. The storm outside almost seemed theatrical in its ferocity. Each flap of thunder rattled the walls of Jujutsu High, as if the world itself wanted to remind you that you couldn’t go anywhere.

A knock came from your door, an all too familiar one. Raising a brow, you sat up on your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” A voice chimed in as the door opened. A voice too familiar, too smooth and unmistakably teasing.

You softly smiled seeing him come through the door, noticing he decided to opt into more casual clothing rather than his usual uniform and black blindfold.

“Satoru,” you greeted, your voice steady, though your heart did a little flip at the sight of him. It was almost unfair how effortlessly good he looked, even in casual clothes. A black coat paired with a white shirt underneath and black pants tailored to fit his lengthy figure. His hair, usually spiked and tall, looked softer- almost as though he hadn’t bothered fixing it before coming to see you.

He closed the door behind him with an air on nonchalance, leaning back as he crossed his arms. “Missed me already, sweets?” He teased, his lips curling into a lazy grin.

“You mean in the forty minutes since we last spoke?” You quipped, resting your chin in your hand, playfully grinning at him. “I’m not sure if I could have bared any longer without you.” You teased right back, your tone light but betraying a flicker of something deeper.

Satoru’s grin widened, his ego soaking up the attention as he leaned casually against your desk. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me. I’m the highlight of everyone’s day as the strongest, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, but the playful glint in his expression made it impossible to look away. “Highlight? More like a recurring inconvenience.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “And here I thought we were bonding. Guess I’ll just take my charm elsewhere.”

You chuckled, putting your hands up in defense. “Don’t let me stop you.” You replied, though the words lacked bite. If anything, the thought of him leaving sent a pang of disappointment through you. You quickly masked it with a smirk, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

But Satoru didn’t move. He stayed rooted in his place, his usual easy grin faltering just slightly. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than it should have, softening in a way that felt almost too intimate. The playful banter that defined so many of your interactions seemed to melt away, leaving something raw and unspoken.

“Actually,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “I think I’ll stick around.”

There was a weight to his words, a vulnerability that didn’t match his usual carefree demeanor. His tone lacked the teasing lilt you’d grown so used to, and it caught you off guard.

You glanced up at him, expecting another sly remark, but what you found instead made your chest tighten. His eyes, visible beneath his tinted glasses, were fixed on you- not with his usual amusement, but with a kind of longing he didn’t bother to hide. The storm outside roared, but in the silence between you, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

For a second, you thought he might say something else, something you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. But instead, he shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair in what felt like an attempt to break the tension.

“I mean, who else is going to put up with me in a storm like this?” He added, the teasing edge returning to his voice, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You let out a shaky breath, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your own emotions swirling just as chaotically as the weather outside. “Lucky me,” you managed, keeping your tone light even as your heart raced.

He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t his usual playful smirk. It was softer, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. And as he leaned casually against the edge of your desk, the space between you felt charged. Like both of you were waiting for something to happen- a shy confession, a flirt, maybe even something more- something neither of you dared to name.

Thunder shook the walls of Jujutsu High, causing your desk to slightly tremble. The sound echoed in the silence, as if the storm itself was urging something to break.

Suddenly clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look away, breaking the eye contact that held you captive.

“Well!” You quipped, trying to shake off the heaviness in the air. Satoru’s gaze was no longer on you, but rather the rain outside. His features were softened against the dim light, his jaw- that was usually relaxed and quick to smile, tightened for just a moment- barely noticeable if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

“You’re unusually quiet,” you ventured, your tone light but curious. It wasn’t like him to let silences linger, especially not around you.

He let out a low hum, finally turning his head toward you. “Just thinking sweets,” he said, his voice smoother now, though something about it felt guarded.

“Thinking?” you echoed, raising a brow. “That’s a dangerous pastime for someone like you.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny,” he murmured, taking a step closer to your desk, his fingers brushing the wood as if testing its solidity—or maybe just grounding himself. “But even I have my moments.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. The Satoru you knew was always confident, always teasing, always larger than life. But now, under the weight of the storm, there was something quieter about him, something you weren’t used to seeing.

“Care to share?” you asked softly, folding your arms across your chest.

He hesitated, just for a second, his hand stilling on your desk. His glasses reflected the flicker of lightning outside, masking his eyes, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze all the same.

“Not much to share,” he said finally, though his tone lacked its usual bravado. “Just wondering how many more storms we’ll have to sit through before someone…” He trailed off, his smirk fading into something softer, almost wistful. “…does something about it.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, at the way they felt so much bigger than the weather outside. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, drowned out by the thunder that rattled the walls once more.

“Maybe… hypothetically,” you began, your voice softer now, as if testing the waters, “a little push could help. You know, fire things up, I suppose.”

Satoru’s lips quirked into a small smile, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something that made your cheeks burn. “A little push, huh?” he echoed, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge to it, like he was daring you to say more.

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of his stare. “I mean, sometimes things just… need a spark to get going. Isn’t that what storms are for?”

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk, his gaze never leaving you. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Playing with fire can be dangerous.”

“Maybe,” you countered, leaning back slightly to put some space between you, though the tension still thrummed in the air. “But isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words hanging between you like the crackle of lightning in the storm. His smile faded into something softer, something that felt almost too raw to look at.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and unshakable. “The storm.. it wouldn’t be easy.”

His gaze, fixed on you, was softer now, stripped of its usual teasing confidence. It was as if he wasn’t just talking about the weather anymore, and the weight of his unspoken thoughts sent a ripple of unease and anticipation through you.

You swallowed, your heart racing as you tried to decipher the layers behind his words. “No,” you replied quietly, your voice barely steady. “It wouldn’t be easy. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth facing.”

His lips parted slightly, as though your response had caught him off guard. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback, no smirk to hide behind. Instead, he shifted, stepping just a little closer, the space between you shrinking with each beat of the thunder outside.

“Sometimes storms destroy everything in their path,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost beneath the rain hammering against the windows. “And sometimes… they make things clearer. Wash it all clean.”

You felt your breath hitch at the rawness in his tone, the vulnerability he rarely allowed to show. “Which one is this?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of challenge but also something more—hope.

He hesitated, his fingers curling into a loose fist as though he were holding himself back. “That depends,” he said finally, his gaze never wavering from yours. “On whether you think it’s worth the risk.”

Every word, every glance, felt like it could tip the fragile balance you were both clinging to. “I do,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And for the briefest of moments, Satoru looked like he might close the distance entirely, the hesitation in his eyes giving way to something fierce, something undeniable.

The storm outside roared, the thunder cracking loud enough to rattle the glass panes, but neither of you flinched. Instead, the silence between you seemed louder, charged with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the courage to voice.

“You’re serious,” he murmured, almost to himself, the faintest edge of disbelief in his tone. His hand moved instinctively, brushing against the desk before retreating, as if he wasn’t sure whether to close the gap between you or hold himself back.

“Would I have said it if I wasn’t?” you countered, your voice steadier than you felt.

His gaze searched yours, his usual cocky exterior stripped away, leaving nothing but raw vulnerability. It was rare to see him like this, rare for him to let the mask slip. And yet, here he was, standing before you as if the storm outside had laid him bare.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice barely audible, almost swallowed by the rain.

“Get what?” you pressed, your heart hammering in your chest.

He exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “That I’m not afraid of the storm out there,” he said, nodding toward the rain-soaked window. “I’m afraid of the one in here.” His hand moved, just slightly, as if to gesture to the space between you, the unspoken feelings that hung like static in the air.

“I’ll be busy almost all the time, and the little time I do get, it’s to rest and train my students..” he began, worry filling his eyes. “And where would that leave time for you? For us?”

The confession hit you like a bolt of lightning, sudden and blinding. Your throat tightened as you tried to find the words, but nothing came.

“Satoru…” you started, but the sound of his name on your lips made him flinch, as if it carried too much weight, too much meaning.

He looked away, the flicker of worry in his eyes dimming as if he’d said too much. “It’s not fair to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost drowned out by the rain. “To expect you to be okay with… scraps of my time, with someone who can’t even promise to be around when it matters most.”

Your chest ached at the way his voice cracked on the last word, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. He wasn’t just pushing you away—he was scared. Scared of letting you in, of not being enough.

“Satoru,” you repeated, the sound of his name pulling his gaze back to yours. His expression faltered, the weight of his insecurities etched into every line of his face.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his hand lifting as though to stop you, but he didn’t pull away when you stepped closer.

“You don’t get to decide what’s fair for me,” you said firmly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “I know what this is—what we are. And I don’t care how busy you are, or how little time you think you have. I care about you, Satoru. Isn’t that enough?”

His eyes widened, his composure slipping further as the tension between you reached a breaking point. The storm outside seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, the thunder roaring like an unspoken promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said, a faint, shaky laugh escaping him. But there was no mistaking the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his hand finally reached out to rest on the edge of your desk, inches from yours.

“Maybe it is,” you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. “Maybe you’re the one making it complicated.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the vulnerability in his eyes giving way to something warmer, something that made your breath catch. His hand shifted, fingers brushing against yours—hesitant, tentative, like he was afraid to cross the line but couldn’t stop himself.

His fingers lingered against yours, warm and tentative, before he finally laced them together. The subtle touch sent a jolt through you, more powerful than any thunder outside. His grip tightened slightly, as though he feared letting go would mean losing something he couldn’t afford to.

“You really think it’s that easy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, yet laced with an edge of disbelief.

“I think you’re worth it,” you said simply, the words carrying more conviction than you thought possible. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for real—for you. Isn’t that enough?”

He let out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding, his free hand brushing through his hair in a rare display of vulnerability. The usual smirk that would have accompanied your boldness was nowhere to be found. Instead, his lips parted slightly, his brows furrowed, as though trying to comprehend the weight of your words.

“You have no idea what you’re signing up for,” he muttered, shaking his head. But his fingers stayed locked with yours, betraying the battle between his mind and his heart. “It’s messy. I’m messy.”

“Then I guess I’ll learn to handle messy,” you replied without hesitation, stepping closer. The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, the storm outside a mere echo to the one building between you. “You don’t have to do this alone, Satoru.”

His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You’re not making this easy,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Good,” you said, your tone soft but resolute. “Because the things that matter never are.”

For a moment, his expression cracked, his usual cool façade shattering under the intensity of your gaze. His hand let go of the desk and rose slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of its place. But then his fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch featherlight, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he pressed too hard.

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?” he asked, but there was no malice in his words, only a quiet reverence that made your heart skip.

“Because someone has to be,” you whispered, leaning into his touch without thinking.

The silence stretched between you, charged and trembling, until he finally broke it. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk returning to his lips.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice a little breathless. “But isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt both hesitant and inevitable, like the meeting of two storms destined to collide.

His lips were warm against yours, soft and deliberate, like he was testing the waters of something he had fought against for too long. The world outside seemed to dissolve—the thunder, the rain, even the walls of Jujutsu High—leaving only the two of you in the center of it all.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch, his forehead resting against yours as his breath mingled with your own. His hand still cradled your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your skin as though grounding himself in the reality of this moment.

“I’m not sure what’s scarier,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The storm outside or how much I don’t want to let you go.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled softly, your hand reaching up to cover his where it rested against your cheek. “Then don’t,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the chaos of feelings threatening to overwhelm you.

He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as though he was surrendering to something he’d fought for too long. “You make it sound so easy,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest smile.

“It doesn’t have to be hard,” you replied, letting your fingers trail down to intertwine with his again. “We’ll figure it out—together. Like we always have.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was replaced by something lighter, something hopeful, and it made your chest tighten. For once, Satoru Gojo—the strongest sorcerer you knew—looked like a man who believed he could rely on someone else.

“Together,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a promise.

The sound of thunder rumbled again, but this time it felt distant, less intrusive. Satoru straightened, his hand slipping from your face but staying firmly locked with yours.

“Well, we’ve already survived one storm,” he said, his usual teasing tone creeping back as he gestured to the window. “What’s a few more, right?”

You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “Always so dramatic.”

His grin widened, though it didn’t quite mask the sincerity lingering in his eyes. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately, I wouldn’t.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the storm outside gradually fading into a softer rhythm. It wasn’t a resolution to everything—there were still obstacles ahead, uncertainties and fears to navigate—but it felt like the beginning of something real.

Satoru squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the door with a newfound ease in his step. “Come on,” he said, flashing you a playful smirk. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat before the next storm rolls in. And maybe you can tell me how you plan to ‘handle messy.’”

You laughed, letting him lead the way. “Oh, you’ll see.”

And as the two of you walked down the hall, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the storms were worth it after all.

——————————————————————————

Ugh it’s been so long since I’ve written and I’ve been so invested with my job. Anyways, here’s this piece for Gojo! 🩷

[hibiscusseaart]

my brain keep showing me one particular au in my dreams over and over again, im basically watching a fanfic there at this point.

so the plot that i try to make sense of: madatobi got married but somehow it was accidental? like not even arranged, they got married by some weird laws that i dont remember. and no it was not abo mating thing, it was like a canonverse. AND it was after Konoha was founded, so no arranged marriage for peace or shit. it was literally random ass marriage for no reason.

SO, the marriage, i keep dreaming about Tobirama being absolutely miserable in his married life bc he doesn't understand Madara and Uchiha's culture. like for him it was basically an arranged marriage be some supernatural shit, so he has to act like a proper spouse, do his 'duty' and be a good bride and make his husband happy. but after the ceremony Madara did nothing and offered Tobirama his own room to sleep and there was 0 kisses or touches or any acknowledgement that Tobirama is Madara's husband.

To add to it Madara doesn't give Tobirama any duties in the clan, so Tobirama just hangs out in his room when he's at home. He doesn't even ask for a lab bc he's sure Madara would deny him. Like he's not even sure he's allowed to do experiments here. Tho he still works in the Tower and goes on missions and stuff.

Plus noone explains him ANYTHING. Tobirama is used to Senju's autistic ways (hc that Senju clan is just full of autistic ppl thats why its a clan of a thousand skills): everything is explained and everyone are very direct with each other in the clan. Hidden meanings and not spoken out loud norms are only for politics and other clans.

Like maybe he asks some women directly "how to be a good Uchiha spouse" and they assume he's talking about sex and they get shy and try to hint and Tobirama is just so confused, he doesn't understand shit. He needs Uchiha social norms instructions but there's NONE bc apparently you have to GUESS????

Obviously from what Tobirama guesses and sees, he comes to the conclusion that Madara still hates him and they are doomed to have marriage without any love or affection (for now i keep thinking about maybe it was like soulmate's bond or some god's marriage thing)

And Madara's POV is that he is really confused about Tobirama and he doesn't fucking understand what to do with him. Like he doesn't want to take him in his bed just bc they are husbands now, he can't have children and he doesn't want to make him do work for the clan bc well they both didn't ask for it and he doesn't want to force Tobirama to do something just bc of something that was out of their control.

And their relationships are still strained bc of the war and stuff. But Tobirama really wants to be a good spouse, but he has fucking nothing. He can't even cook or clean bc Madara has like a maid from the clan for it.

The only things Tobirama does in clan are to teach Kagami and sometimes spar with Izuna sometimes, which is not a lot. Tobirama is used to co-lead the Senju clan. Ofc he has work in the Tower, but Hashirama bullies him out of there at the end of the work day to go home to his husband.

But Madara barely acknowledges him? I think the reason for it was bc Tobirama kept addressing to him as 'Lord Husband' and Madara was REALLY weirded out by that and Tobirama's eagerness not just to be some kind of chill roommates, but an actual spouse. He thought there was some kind of motive for it, but he couldn't find it

It gets better after Hashirama visits Tobirama in his new house and Tobirama, tired of the constant stress and worry, just spills, read: almost fucking cries, ok brain ooc much? queen Tobirama never cry everything to his older brother how he's a horrible husband to Madara that he even made him sleep in another room and stuff. It was a cute scene: they sat on the sofa in Madara's house and Tobirama is tucked in Hashirama's side and they're hugging really close, bc Tobirama was really close to a meltdown and he needed a comforting scent of his family.

Hashirama was kinda dark-ish there, bc I remember him having vibes that he will kill Madara (like fr fr) when he gets the chance. He upsets his outoto - he gets killed. Fair, right?

Tobirama tells Hashirama, that no, you can't kill my husband just bc doesn't even like me.

Funny thing that Madara actually heard this talk (Tobirama didn't notice him bc he was already overwhelmed by his own feelings) and was like 'oh shit, he actually cares about these things???'

so yeah, angsty. I think I read a fic with same ish plot, but in my dream there was a big emphasis on how Tobirama really tries to be good for Madara and Madara is weirded out and never acknowledges their marriage

I think Tobirama had Hananaki in the end. Imagine dying by unrequited love bc your husband doesn't love you. Sad, angsty. Hurt/comfort (from Hashirama).

[aventurineswife]

May I please request Aven playing with his twin babies??? (I always imagine him having boy and girl twins)

Like, imagine their tiny hands trying to grab his expensive trinkets and use them as teething toys (idk what they're called LOL) 💖💖

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart”

Summary: Aventurine finds himself caught in the simplest yet most precious game of them all: fatherhood. As he watches his twin babies playfully fight for his trinkets, he is overcome by a rare sense of joy and love and forgets his usual guarded ways. The twins bring out this part of him, an element of play which he has kept hidden for so long, reminding him that the gamble may not always be about wealth or power but about love and family and sometimes just the little things in life.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine, Family, Parenthood, Humor, Mischief, Love, Emotional Vulnerability, Joy.

A/N: searched it up and it's called teething toys (for babies), so you're correct! Don't worry :3

Aventurine had always been a man of risk—whether it was navigating the volatile corridors of power or placing a bet on an impossible con. But today, the stakes were far more personal, and far more precious.

He sat on a plush velvet armchair in the lavish sitting room of his estate, his usually composed features softened by a rare, unguarded smile. His children—his twin babies—played at his feet. The boy with his bright eyes and unruly hair laughed as he reached out for the small trinket that rested on the low table in front of his father. The girl, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously, was already doing her best to grab at the same piece of jewelry, her chubby fingers curling around the delicate gold chain.

They get him with a teasing, affectionate smile, the careful mask slipping in their presence. Aventurine thought himself a strategist: one reads the room and predicts the next move. This game of life has changed, though, when it comes to these two; his heart runs in an uncharted course.

"Ah, no, no," he crooned softly, reaching down to pull the gold necklace from their jaws, "That's not for you to chew on."

The boy whimpered softly, his huge eyes looking up at his father, while the girl beamed up at him as if plotting her next move. It was as if they were already working together—hard not to laugh at this. He had a feeling of something between alarm and endearment at the mischievous streak that mirrored his own.

"You two are already scheming," he said to himself, shaking his head. His eyes remained on their small hands, still reaching for anything they could grab. The girl grabbed the chip coin, clutching it in her chubby little fist. Aventurine's heart fluttered at how such small hands could hold such weight in his life.

"You know," he started, settling back in the chair as he absently fidgeted with his bracelet, "your parent would have a fit if they saw you two playing with my trinkets. They're far too expensive for you to be using them as teething toys."

But the two of them did not give up. The boy, not wanting to lose, managed to tug at a delicate gold ring on his father's wrist with a surprising strength in those baby fingers.

With a theatrical sigh, Aventurine carefully took off the ring, his voice playful yet firm. "If you keep this up, you'll ruin my reputation as the greatest gambler in the universe," he teased. "People will hear about the time I lost my ring to a toddler."

The twins giggled in perfect synchrony, their little voices harmonizing in the most innocent way yet having in their expressions mischief written. Perfect, the gamble paid off in the most wonderful of ways—though Aventurine would never admit how much a gamble fatherhood was truly.

As the boy squirmed closer now to pull at his father's choker, Aventurine couldn't resist. His usual wariness was forgotten in the glow of the moment, and he let them have their play. For the universe held no treasures to rival the joy he felt in their company.

"You little thieves," Aventurine laughed, hoisting the girl up onto his lap, her face breaking out into a grin that was at once his charm and her parent's warmth. The boy crawled up to his side, reaching for his father's face, as if trying to claim him entirely.

Aventurine’s heart fluttered again—this time, he didn’t even try to stop it. He was theirs, every last bit of him. And for once, he didn’t need to calculate the cost of that connection.

For this gamble, there was no risk at all.

[lilacxquartz]

under the bed, where midnight slept

oc male!demon x human female!reader

plot: haunted by a strange presence every night before you go to sleep, you decide to get to the bottom of it.

w.c: 2.4k

tags/themes: one shot, oc, maybe light yandere, kissing mentioned, incubus, demons, reader insert, first person pov, light horror, unrequited feelings

side notes: developed a incubus demon oc a couple of days ago :) his name is midnight & i’m basically gonna try writing for him on and off to flesh out his character (but i can’t draw more of him just yet due to the arm situation).

***

I always went to sleep alone.

Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself—that’s what I wanted to believe. I lived by myself, after all, so it would have been silly to assume otherwise.

Yet, every single night, I felt it. A presence that lurked within the shadows, watching my every move.

At first, I chalked it up to simple exhaustion, convinced that my job was finally getting to me in the worst possible way. I worked long and heavy hours throughout the week, sometimes even during weekends. My unfortunate reality meant that I was often very tired, leading me to usually be on the brink of dozing off by the end of my shift.

But then my mind began to wander, especially as the recurring experiences became more and more commonplace. My secondary suspicion was that I must have been dreaming or I must have been hallucinating, however, why were the happenings then so linear? I had been under stress before and I have had many nightmares in my life—yet those always manifested in a chaotic manner instead.

And that’s exactly what started to bother me, because dreams, while recurring, couldn’t have been so perfectly refined.

It was always the same experience, in fact.

I would lie down in bed and just as I was on the verge of sleep, I’d hear it—a whisper of some sort, faint and scratchy, like an out of tune radio. Then the floorboards would softly creak and I would feel the second thing; the unmistakable presence of something, maybe even someone else entering my personal space.

For just a split second, right at the cusp of entering the unconscious world; I would feel a strange warmth fill out my otherwise vacant hand. Something unseen that would latch onto my palm, weaving what felt like fingers through mine and squeezing tight.

Yet if I awoke during the night for whatever reason at all, it would immediately vanish from my grasp.

I even checked under the bed with a flashlight once, never finding a single shred of evidence.

And in the mornings, the presence wasn’t felt at all.

Although sometimes, a trace of it did remain; a hint of something that was left behind. It was during the nights when I would get up to drink some water from the kitchen or to go use the bathroom, that I didn’t feel entirely alone. It was an unsettling feeling but it was there—lurking in my peripheral vision, just barely staying hidden.

It was the presence of something uninvited.

Whenever I’d flick the lights on however, there would be absolutely nothing. Not a single trace of evidence remained. Lost overnight, like a distant dream.

It would either happen just as I was about to fall asleep or not at all.

Despite this, it never truly felt like it was a problem.

For one, it wasn’t as if it was actually disrupting my sleep. In fact, I would always wake up feeling well rested with each fresh day no matter how overworked I would be. Yet, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there must have been more to all of this. Something that lurked in the back of my mind that refused to let it go as an unsolved mystery.

It made sense given my stubborn personality, I supposed. I knew that there had to be a reason for it all, no matter how insane it all seemed.

So when my unrelenting curiosity finally caved in, I could no longer ignore the unanswered question, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to let it go until I finally found an answer.

Whether it was all in my head or not—I had the right to know.

So, on one particular night, I chose to catch whatever it actually was that lurked away in the shadows. My plan was simple enough; choosing to fool it into showing itself by pretending to sleep. I slipped two wireless earbuds into my ears, tuning them into a podcast to hold my attention before laying off to my side, just like usual.

To ensure that I would actually stay awake however, I would on occasion stretch out my legs or clench my fists to ward off any hints of exhaustion along with deep, slowly measured breaths that casted the illusion of feigned slumber.

I continued with that sort of ritual in mind, just barely hanging onto my remaining consciousness, just about to fall asleep from what I believed to be a failed effort, but that’s also right about when I finally heard it; a subtle creaking, perfectly timed with each drawn out breath to mask its approach.

A shiver of unease crept into my body as I felt a lurking presence loom behind me, confirming to every sense I had that I was no longer alone.

In an attempt of bravery, I continued to feign sleep for as long as I possibly could, staying tucked away into my assigned position, having my hand right where it always was, hoping to successfully delude whatever it was waiting for me that I was actually on the verge of dreaming.

However, the moment that something slipped into my waiting hand, my composure began to crumble away. It was definitely a hand that I felt. I could feel it with every fibre of my being, in fact; so warm and soft, yet with an unsettling firmness, like marbled flesh. It clasped my palm tightly, interlocking its digits between my fingers in what felt like a suffocating grip.

My breath then caught in the back of my throat as the momentum faltered despite my efforts to keep my act running as smooth as possible. Towards the surface of my back, I felt something dangerous settle right behind me. Raw skin, hot against my own, pressed up right against my exposed flesh. A wave of panic coursed through my body, anchoring in the pit of my stomach as I then soon felt something attempt to embrace me.

I gasped in retaliation, unintentionally giving away that I was in fact awake.

Without even waiting for its reaction, my body involuntarily tensed, prompting for it to withdraw slightly and with a surge of adrenaline, I then tore away from the unknown presence—lurching to the other side of the bed and pressing my back right up against the wall.

I knew for a fact that it disliked bright lights, so my next course of action was to seize the opportunity of the moonlight that shone right outside to reveal its identity to me instead. With a swift pinch, I flung the blinds open, bathing my bedroom in a cold glow that revealed a monstrous figure to me, basking it in the soft blue light.

At first when I saw it, I didn’t really have a reaction.

I was left feeling stunned… speechless, even.

It was so beyond anything I could comprehend from this world, that I was left rendered unable to form a single coherent thought.

I mean, who could do anything different in my shoes?

Just over the bed sat a kneeling figure; its form shrouded entirely in wisping shadows—its body flickering like black fire with tendrils of darkness whipping from its void-like core. The creature’s eyes glowed a pale grey with lacking pupils, yet I knew that its gaze was pointed right at me.

My eyes continued to widen as I studied it—a rushed slurry of internal scolding flooding my mind, telling me off for daring to be so curious.

Back then, I didn’t know what to expect.

But it certainly wasn’t a monster.

Still, in spite of my fear, I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to learn more about the entity I shared a living space with.

With trembling courage and an insecure tone, I managed to utter, “What… are you?”

The creature’s initial reaction in response to me was to remain stationary, as if showing hesitation within its otherwise threatening demeanour. It then tilted its head to the side, emitting a low static-like hum that only continued to feed further into my unease.

Finally, however, it spoke.

“Don’t be afraid,” were its first words ever to me; it had a deep and almost melodic voice, almost human-like but tainted with something deceptive below the surface. I felt like a deluded sailor talking to a siren lost at sea, yet I was right at home.

I choked back any possible response I had brewing in the back of my mind though, paralysed by my own panic that locked my words somewhere far away. My heart thundered deep within my chest, drowning out all remaining rational thought and sent waves of fear coursing through my entire body.

I was trapped.

A tense moment passed us both by as nothing was said for a while, but then it started to back away from the bed and slowly arose to reveal its true height. Its features became clearer in the moonlight, revealing protruding horns from its head with long wavy locks of black hair.

I gulped hard as I watched it straighten its back and tower over me, its height just barely contained by the confines of my own bedroom—its horns almost scraping against the ceiling. I could just hardly, if at all, comprehend just how tall this creature truly was.

“I only wish to comfort you,” it insisted, taking a calculated step back. Whether it was to lull me into a false sense of security or not, I couldn’t be too certain and despite its words, I couldn’t shake the feeling of impending dread of it being an actual monster, at least at first.

Such a bizarre and surreal display left me wondering if I was in fact dreaming; my mind desperately grasping at anything that could have explained the impossible sight before me, but upon pinching my own skin, only the sharp sting of reality remained.

“Y-you’re real?” I could only ask, a hint of dismay colouring my voice.

“Yes,” it nodded, confirming my fears.

Another strained silence brewed between us for another minute. I stared at the monster and it looked directly back at me. I did my best in the meantime to express my visual discomfort, hoping that it would continue to leave me alone, however, it instead misinterpreted my stunned silence as an invitation to move forward and close the distance between us.

As it leaned in, I pressed myself harder against the wall in a last attempt to convey my reluctance, hoping—praying, that it would take it as a hint to finally back off, but it persisted, ignoring my silent protest and leaving me frozen from fear instead.

With continued building terror, I watched as the creature reached out, extending its hand towards me with what appeared to be sharp fingernails—brushing against my face before cupping my cheeks. I felt its fingers curl around the base of my skull, pulling me closer than what I was comfortable with, daring to press its face against my own, planting a kiss upon my lips.

I shuddered in relief as it slowly withdrew, leaving me once again separated away from it by a short distance. I still couldn’t make out a single feature on its form despite such closeness and yet the memory of its lips on mine lingered with the taste of its ashen breath.

I couldn’t help but feel violated after, yet some familiarity brewed, prompting a disturbing revelation to consider; has this thing done something similar to me before—perhaps when I was fast asleep?

My mind stirred at the thought either way, leaving behind a chill of unrelenting unease that rolled down my spine.

The monster continued to back away until it stood a comfortable distance away from me, leaving me feeling somehow confused. It was a strange situation no matter how I looked at it; it didn’t seem to want to harm nor consume me, rather only offering its touch and comfort.

It was almost as if it sought companionship from me instead.

I watched warily as it drifted just a little closer once more, as if struggling with its own inability to stay away.

“Please,” it pleaded, its tone bordering on desperate, “I only wish for you to sleep well.”

Perhaps it was the lingering aftermath of the kiss that was clouding my judgement, or maybe it was the lack of sleep after a long day, but something within me urged for me to finally surrender to its will, to let my guard down at long last.

Even if it didn’t feel like it was my own decision, at the time.

Swayed by a force unseen, relaxing my senses like some type of sedative.

So against my better judgement, I reluctantly gave in with a reassuring nod, allowing for it to move closer again all the while I did the same.

It wasn’t that I was suddenly unafraid of the monster that was on my bed, rather that I wanted for the peaceful nights to continue.

They were all I had left going for me in this otherwise unforgiving world, my only remaining comfort at the end of a long day.

I proceeded to lay back down on the bed, turning my body off to the side as usual, feeling its presence press against me once more. Its form seemed to envelop me; the shadows that spilled from its core encasing me in a suffocating shroud that pulled me into the darkness along with it. I felt as my own body gradually stiffened, slowly losing the ability to move a single inch at all, yet oddly enough, I didn’t feel a single hint of dread at all anymore.

All I felt was its comfort and warmth instead.

My eyelids drooped heavily as I finally surrendered to my own exhaustion, feeling them weld shut.

I then felt as the monster tightened its grip around me, pulling me even deeper into its personal space. Its breath felt fiery against my flesh as it dug its face into the crook of my neck, displaying an almost protective and maybe even wanting embrace.

As I drifted off into sleep and as its hold continued to tighten, it whispered something into my ear just as I was about to truly go under.

With a body that could have been sculpted from fire alone, its words felt somehow chilling and devoid of any remaining warmth. Its voice was no longer laced with a friendly tone, instead spiked with something much more sinister in its place.

“I’m never letting you go.”

And in that moment, everything changed.

My life was never the same again.

follow up story>>>

[alastorssimp]

Under the hood

Eddie munson x steve harrington x y/n reader

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS:

🔞 Explicit sexual content / Smut / NSFW

💔 Infidelity / Cheating (Eddie is in a relationship)

🛠️ Mechanic shop setting / Workplace sex

👄 Oral sex (including under-the-desk BJs with customers nearby)

🔧 Semi-public sex / Risk of being caught

👨‍🔧👨‍🔧👩 Threesome (M/M/F)

🫢 Secret relationships / Lying / Deception

🫦 Degradation, praise kink, dirty talk

🤬 Language / Crude dialogue

🧠 Dubious morals / Questionable ethics

🚫 No condom / Unsafe sex

🥵 Rough sex, manhandling, slight possessiveness

🧨 plot with lots of filth

🔥 3k words of filth so potent it voids your HR policy

(Divider curtesy of @thecutestgrotto 🥰)

It always started the same way.

A lull in the grind of the day. The clang of a wrench hitting the floor. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. Customers gone, workers on lunch, phones quiet. The air in the garage hung heavy with heat, the smell of oil, and the unspoken tension between Y/N and Eddie Munson.

Y/N had only been working at the shop for a year. Hired on the spot when Eddie’s uncle Wayne mentioned they needed help with paperwork and someone who could organize the chaos the guys left in their wake. She’d been quiet at first—sweet and polite, with long red hair she kept twisted up in a clip, her curves barely hidden beneath the mechanic-branded polo shirts and tight black pants.

But Eddie had noticed. Oh, he noticed.

She was younger, sharp-tongued when she got comfortable, and when she leaned over the counter to ask if he wanted a soda? His brain short-circuited. The flirtation was playful at first, innocent enough. Harmless.

Until that day in September. Rain pounding outside. The two of them alone. Eddie leaned over the hood of a Charger he’d been elbow-deep in for hours, and Y/N wandered in with a clipboard. She cracked a joke. He smirked. And then she said, "You missed a spot."

When he asked where, she pointed to his cheek. Then wiped at it with her thumb.

The kiss that followed was messy. Desperate. His hands gripped her hips like he’d die if he let go. She pulled him by his collar into the bathroom in the back, locked the door, and for the next eleven minutes, they forgot who they were supposed to be.

And that was the beginning.

Now? It was practically routine. If business was slow, you could bet Y/N was pinned between Eddie and the wall of the employee bathroom. Or bent over his workbench, engine diagrams sliding to the floor beneath her. Sometimes, if the mood struck, he’d lift her onto the hood of whatever car he was fixing—tools forgotten, her fingers white-knuckling the edge of metal while he left fingerprints on her hips.

They didn’t talk about what it meant. Or how it felt. Or the fact that Eddie had a girlfriend.

Heather. Blonde. Preppy. Sweet, in a way Y/N could never be. She brought muffins for the boys on Fridays and kissed Eddie’s cheek when she picked him up in her little white Civic. She had no idea. Not really.

But Heather wasn’t stupid.

Twice now, she’d walked into the shop unannounced. Once just as Eddie was zipping up his pants behind the office door. Y/N had her shirt half undone, her lips flushed. She spun toward the file cabinet and muttered something about inventory while Eddie called out “Hey, babe” like nothing was wrong.

The second time, Heather had walked in just as Eddie finished pressing Y/N’s thighs apart over his toolbox bench. Y/N heard the jingle of the bell, shoved him back, and dropped behind the desk with a frantic whisper of “Fix your pants, Munson!”

Heather had blinked. Tilted her head.

“Was someone else in here?”

“Nah,” Eddie lied smoothly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just me and the radio.”

Still. It couldn’t last forever. Y/N knew that.

She hated how her heart skipped when Eddie looked at her like she was the only girl alive. How he whispered things like, “You feel better than any girl I’ve ever had,” while pulling her panties down behind the garage door. How sometimes, after he came, he’d rest his forehead to hers and breathe like she was the only oxygen he had left.

But he always left. Got in Heather’s car. Smiled like a boyfriend should.

And Y/N was left with grease-smudged thighs, a clipboard in hand, and a growing ache in her chest she didn’t dare name.

Until the day came when the ache got too loud.

Heather arrived again, this time with cupcakes. She smiled at Y/N—genuinely. Called her “hon” and offered her one with sprinkles. Y/N’s stomach turned.

She turned back to the desk, gripping the edge, while Heather wrapped her arms around Eddie’s neck.

“I was thinking maybe we could move in together,” Heather said softly. “I found a place.”

Y/N froze.

Eddie didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Y/N. Just a flick of his eyes. Fast. But she caught it.

“I... we’ll talk about it,” he mumbled.

And Y/N knew then—knew—that she was losing him.

That night, when the shop was quiet and Heather had gone, Eddie found Y/N in the back room. She was leaning against the file cabinet, arms crossed, hair wild from humidity.

“You gonna say it?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him.

“Say what?”

“That I’m a piece of shit.”

She shrugged.

“You are. But that’s not news, Munson.”

He stepped closer. Hands in his pockets.

“Don’t want to hurt you, Red.”

She scoffed.

"Too late for that.”

They didn’t sleep together that night. Didn’t even kiss.

But the next day? The tension was worse than ever. And when Eddie yanked her behind the stack of tires during lunch break and kissed her like he was starving—Y/N didn’t stop him.

She knew she was playing with fire. She just couldn’t bring herself to put it out.

It was a slow Thursday. The kind of day where time moved thick and sticky like molasses, and the fans spinning above couldn’t cut the heat in the air—or the tension.

Eddie had been watching her all morning. Watching the way Y/N’s hips swayed as she restocked oil filters. How she licked cupcake frosting off her thumb without realizing he was watching. She wore that same tight little pencil skirt she knew drove him nuts, and he? Oh, he was already sporting grease on his jaw and a familiar ache in his jeans.

So when the others left for lunch, and the shop fell quiet?

Eddie didn’t even bother with pretense.

He tugged her into the garage—hands under her skirt before the door even shut behind them. Y/N was laughing, trying to scold him, but she never really meant it.

Not when his fingers were already slipping into her underwear.

He pushed her back onto the hood of a half-fixed Firebird, the metal warm beneath her thighs. Her shirt was halfway undone, bra pulled down, skirt hiked up around her waist. Eddie leaned over her, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisted in her hair.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, rocking his hips into her.

“You—oh.. fuck—only you, Munson,” she gasped, nails dragging down his back.

And then—

CLANG.

The back door slammed.

“Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

They both froze.

Steve Harrington stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses, almost dropping his coffee, and staring at the very naked truth unfolding on the hood of a Firebird.

Y/N squeaked, scrambling to pull her shirt shut. Eddie? He just turned his head, blinked at Steve, and grinned.

“Hey man,” Eddie said, totally unfazed. “You wanna join or just watch?”

“What the fuck—” Steve repeated, voice cracking.

Y/N let out a strangled noise—half shock, half a why-is-he-like-this whimper—while Eddie casually adjusted himself, leaning on the car like he wasn’t mid-thrust two seconds ago.

“Eddie!” Y/N hissed, smacking his shoulder.

“What?” he shrugged. “Stevie's cool. He looks like he’s into it. Look at him. Mouth open. Coffee shaking. That’s not a no.”

Steve blinked. “I—I came for keys! Not a damn porno!”

“You sure?” Eddie teased, licking his thumb and dragging it slowly down Y/N’s stomach, just to make Steve flinch. “’Cause we could always use an extra set of hands...”

Steve made a strangled noise and turned on his heel so fast he nearly knocked over the mop bucket.

“I hate it here. I’m going to church.”

The door slammed behind him.

Silence.

Then She slapped Eddie’s chest, breathless and red-faced. “You idiot!”

“You liked it,” he said smugly.

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” she snapped back, cheeks burning.

Eddie just smirked and kissed her hard.

“Next time, I’m locking the damn door.”

She huffed, but pulled him back down by the collar anyway

Steve’s POV

Steve Harrington had come to the auto shop for one reason.

One. Reason.

Grab the goddamn keys Eddie left in the back of his van. That was it. In and out. No drama. Maybe he’d swing by Scoops for a free cone on the way out, flirt with the girl at the counter, feel like he still had it after his most recent dating disaster—a yoga instructor who ghosted him mid-downward dog.

Easy. Breezy. Low-effort day.

Except no one told him he was walking into Eddie Munson’s Grease Lightning XXX Edition.

The second he stepped inside and rounded the corner—he saw it.

Y/N. Gorgeous, red-haired secretary Y/N, bent backwards over the hood of a Firebird, shirt undone, skirt around her waist.

And Eddie. That smug, curly-haired bastard? Balls deep and smirking like he was filming a scene for a VHS tape called Backdoor Body Shop.

Steve almost dropped his coffee. “Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

And then—and then—Eddie had the audacity to ask if he wanted to join. Like they were ordering pizza. Like this was casual.

Steve spun on his heel and practically bolted out the door.

His heart was racing. His face was on fire. His brain was running like a Windows 95 dial-up modem with a virus. And below the belt?

Yeah. Awkward boner city.

He made it three steps toward his car. Three. Before he stopped. Dead in his tracks.

His hands were shaking.

His pulse was thudding.

And that image—Y/N gasping, Eddie gripping her hips, the sound she made—it was seared into his damn skull like a branding iron.

Steve stared at the keys on the pavement.

He’d had a really bad streak with women lately. Like, “rom-com protagonist who gets rejected at the altar” level bad. He was tired. He was horny. And clearly, the universe had handed him a front-row seat to something… fun.

And Eddie had offered. Casually. Like it wouldn’t even be weird.

Steve looked over his shoulder at the door. Then up at the sky.

“…fuck it.”

He turned around and walked right back inside.

---

Eddie had Y/N on the hood again, shirt half-open, his hands under her skirt when the door creaked open.

“...Steve?” She blinked and tried To move

Eddie looked over his shoulder, eyebrows up, cheeks flushed. “Thought you ran off to confess your sins.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Thought about it.”

“Changed your mind?”

“I mean…” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “...you did say you needed a third set of hands.”

Eddie’s grin went feral.

“Ohh, Harrington. We’re gonna ruin you.”

Her jaw dropped—but her thighs instinctively squeezed together.

Steve stepped forward slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he reached for his belt. “Go easy on me.”

Eddie turned back to Y/N, voice low.

“You okay with this, sweetheart?”

She bit her lip. Her eyes flicked between them—and lord help her, the idea of both of them, hands and mouths and that slow, sexy smirk Steve had… it sent shivers everywhere.

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s wreck him.”Three’s a Crowd, But Who’s Complaining?”

Steve couldn’t quite believe where he was standing.

One second he was dropping his damn coffee and running like a flustered virgin, the next… he had Y/N—Y/N!—on her knees in front of him, red hair wild, mascara already smudged, and lips stretched wide around his cock.

“Jesus Christ—” he choked, gripping the edge of the hood behind him.

Eddie leaned beside him, arms folded, watching like a man at a drive-in—except this show was way better than popcorn and car chases.

“Fuck, look at you, Harrington,” Eddie purred, licking his lips. “Didn’t know you were packin’ like that. No wonder you walk around like you’ve got back problems.”

Steve couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying to keep his soul in his body while y/N gagged prettily around his length, tears beading at the corners of her eyes—but she didn’t stop. No, she took it, pushing deeper, letting out soft, sinful little moans like she loved choking on it.

Eddie crouched down beside her, one hand stroking her hair, voice low and teasing.

“Good girl, huh? You like showing off for him?”

Y/N nodded with his cock still in her mouth, humming just to feel Steve twitch.

“She’s fuckin’ filthy, man,” Eddie kept going, grinning as he watched her hands fist in Steve’s shirt. “Loves being watched. Loves being full. Loves messy. You’re gonna ruin her makeup, Stevie.”

Y/N gave a particularly loud slurp, and Steve whimpered. He had never whimpered before in his life, and yet—here we were.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, one hand moving to Y/N’s hair before pausing, unsure.

Eddie noticed. “You can touch her, Steve. She likes it rough. She’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

With Eddie’s encouragement ringing in his ears, Steve threaded his fingers into her red hair and guided her, hips stuttering as he accidentally hit the back of her throat.

“F-fuck, sorry—”

She moaned in response, eyes fluttering closed, and Eddie laughed.

“She’s sorry you stopped,” he muttered, palming himself lazily through his jeans. “Isn’t that right, Red?”

She pulled off with a wet gasp, a trail of spit connecting her lips to Steve’s cock, her eyes shining.

“Don’t be gentle,” she whispered. “I can take it.”

Steve blinked like he’d been slapped. “Oh my God.”

Eddie smirked and stood up, hand coming to wrap around Steve’s shoulder.

“Welcome to the dark side, Harrington. We spit, we bite, and no one’s pants survive.”

Steve was too far gone to care. She had already taken him in again, bobbing her head with purpose while Eddie reached down to spread her ass, teasing the slick mess gathering between her thighs.

“Once she’s nice and soaked,” Eddie murmured, voice filthy in Steve’s ear, “you’re gonna bend her over this car, and we’re gonna share.”

Steve let out a broken sound somewhere between a moan and a prayer.

Y/N gagged again. And again.

And still kept going.

And Steve?

He was starting to think coming for keys might’ve been the best decision of his

She barely had time to catch her breath before Eddie had her up on her feet and bent over the hood of the car. The metal was warm under her skin, but not as hot as her flushed cheeks or the dripping heat between her thighs.

“Hands flat, baby,” Eddie murmured, guiding her down. “Show Stevie how pretty you arch that back.”

Steve stood frozen for a second, flushed red from chest to hairline. “She’s… fuck, she’s dripping.”

Eddie grinned. “Told you she likes being watched.”

She moaned when she felt Eddie’s fingers tease between her legs, spreading her open. “So wet already,” he muttered, tongue practically hanging out as he looked back at Steve. “You ever see something this perfect and just wanna wreck it?”

Steve stepped closer. His cock twitched, still slick with spit, and when he brushed it against her lips again—Y/N whimpered.

“Let me taste you again,” she begged, voice ragged and desperate.

Eddie’s grin turned feral. “You heard her, golden boy. Feed it to her.”

Steve didn't need more convincing. He pushed past her lips, his hand in her hair again, more confident now—thrusting slow and deep while Eddie knelt behind her and dragged his tongue through her folds like a man starved.

Y/N gasped around Steve’s cock as Eddie moaned against her, tongue curling and flicking in ways that made her legs shake. The sensation of both of them—one in her mouth, one on her pussy—was overwhelming.

“Fuck, she’s clenching,” Eddie mumbled, breath hot against her. “She’s close, Stevie. Feel her moaning around you?”

Steve groaned, fingers tightening. “She’s—Jesus Christ—she’s gagging on me while she’s coming.”

Eddie didn’t stop. He licked her through it, two fingers curling inside her as she trembled, sobbing around Steve’s cock with messy tears streaming down her cheeks.

When she finally pulled back, panting, lips swollen and slick, she looked up at them both with that wicked, satisfied smile.

“Switch.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“I want Steve inside,” she said, voice rough. “I want you in my mouth while he fucks me.”

Eddie practically growled. “Yes ma’am.”

They moved like predators with a shared kill—Y/N guided back onto the hood, ass up, Eddie sliding in front of her as Steve lined up behind.

The second Steve pushed inside—slow and thick and fucking deep—She cried out and nearly collapsed. He was big, stretching her so perfectly she forgot how to breathe.

“F-fuck—Steve—”

“She tight?” Eddie rasped, watching her eyes roll back.

“So tight,” Steve gritted out, hips rocking into her with shaky control.

Eddie leaned in, feeding her his cock slowly, one hand on the back of her head.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed, voice low and dirty. “Stuffed at both ends, just how you like it.”

Y/N couldn’t answer. Her mouth was full. Her body was full. Her mind? Gone. Absolutely obliterated.

They found a rhythm, Steve pounding into her from behind while Eddie fucked her mouth slow and deep, watching her take it all. Filthy praise passed between them—Eddie calling her his favorite toy, Steve whispering how beautiful she looked all fucked out.

And when she came again—tightening, shaking, moaning around Eddie’s cock?

They both followed. Steve buried deep with a strangled groan. Eddie gripped her hair and spilled across her tongue.

Silence hit like a dropped wrench.

Heavy breathing. Sweat-slicked skin. Y/N still bent over, boneless, between the two of them.

“Holy shit,” Steve panted, half-laughing. “I’m never gonna be able to look at this car the same way again.”

Eddie chuckled darkly, tucking himself back in. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N turned her head, face flushed and wet and smug.

“You boys always this fun on lunch break?”

Eddie leaned down to kiss her neck. “Only when you’re the main course.”

[eddiernunson]

Take My Anger | mean!Eddie x Reader | 18+

Summary: Eddie is pissed after a session from Hellfire and you offer for him to take his anger out on you.

Warnings: This is...intense. Mouth fucking, lots degradation, use of stop/go, slight dom!eddie, light after care, reader is in established relationship with Eddie. Also depicts him being a dick about Dustin but never to his face.

Based on a conversation I had with the lovely @oddussy420 thank you for the inspo <3

Words: 2.4k

Disclaimer: I wrote this high as shit. That's all.

Eddie walked out of his Hellfire session as his friends celebrate feeling frustrated. Dustin kept finding out his plots and purposefully picking against him…somehow. As the beginning of the semester aired, Eddie realized quickly he would have to up his game when Dustin picked up on his usual storytelling methods. Either Gareth, Josh, and Peter weren’t that observational or just didn’t care enough to pay attention, but Dustin picked up on his three methods in a mere four weeks.

Eventually Dustin started challenging him by picking against the usual route. It made Eddie need to learn how to think on his feet and dig through his own list of plots he’d came up with mentally. It certainly made Eddie prepared at almost every twist, eventually he met Dustin’s challenges with a half-smirk. Eddie’s rise in confidence had to do with several factors, but for time and storytelling reasons we’ll get into two of them (for now).

One, Eddie had practice with Dustin being a shithead. Loads and loads of it, the point where he had come to welcome Dustin’s alternative routes and sometimes rely on them.

Two, Eddie spent weeks figuring out a quest where Dustin would think he’s leading again but Eddie had everything planned out to work out so that no matter what they’d get to the big twist he had planned. He started to feel confident on his plan at this point.

Eddie spent damn near hours in that library researching and writing in his spiral notebook that was so tattered from the years of ripped out pages. He had given Dustin a ride home one late night after Hellfire, and as Dustin left, he caught a glimpse of the thing that Eddie had, quite frankly, been so obvious he didn’t want Dustin to see. If he hadn’t touched it, Dustin would never have known. Eddie kept trying to not so secretly keep it hidden, which was his dead giveaway.

Somehow, Dustin needed to get to that notebook. There’s only a handful of things that Eddie would be protective as he was. You, his guitar, his van, and his plans for DnD sessions. Luckily Josh, who doesn’t know a thing about Eddie and Dustin’s game of cat and mouse, was the one to provide the combination. During Eddie’s free period where he’s usually found making out with you in the forest or goofing off in the drama room, Dustin went into his locker and picked up the graffitied notebook.

It had every answer, and Dustin had to say he was impressed. He would have to be sneaky to throw him off to a different route this time. In a manner of ten minutes of a quick study Dustin knew the plan, and it happened to be one Eddie was excited and hyping up for the group for that same Friday. Dustin came up with his own counter-move for everything, knowing Eddie would want to lead to the big twist and Dustin would move away.

When the day came, Dustin had managed to throw off the story and quest completely, and Eddie saw red. Of course, he knew Dustin was only playing the cat and mouse game, but it felt like his weeks of work and his excitement was just something to laugh at than indulge in for Dustin. As the game ended, Dustin offered his hand to shake for no hard feelings. You walk into the drama room, bounce down the stairs, your ponytail swinging down each step as you say goodbye to the members already leaving.

Oh, the last reason he became more confident? You finally asked him out and you and him had gotten together.

You watch as Eddie meets the handshake nodding to Dustin to let him know they were okay. However, one look at Eddie told you he was pissed. He has all the tell-tale signs. The locked jaw, hardened eyes, the overly intimidating posture. He smiles as his friends leave but the smile is nowhere near his eyes. You have no idea how they didn’t see his anger.

Maybe Eddie’s just good at knowing what he was angry at.

The last person lets the door slam behind them, and it’s loud in the silence that follows. “Hey, baby.” You greet him, walking up to stand face to face with him.

Eddie gulps, looking down at the table blankly as his arm wraps around your back. “Hey,” he answers, his voice gruff and short.

You hesitate in your question, gently caressing his tense back. “How…how was Hellfire?”

Eddie takes a large inhale in, as if calming himself. “That shithead Henderson…” He does it again, closing his eyes. “That shithead Henderson found my notebook and memorized everything.” He stops talking, finding himself getting a bit worked up. “I spent weeks on that campaign just for him to…” he sighs, leaning onto the table, “just for him to destroy it in an hour.”

“Oh, baby that sucks.” You emphasize with him.

“Yeah, no shit it sucks!” Eddie laughs, walking from you towards the head of the table where his throne sits.

Okay, now he’s being mean with you, too.

He sits down on the throne, his one leg hanging over an arm rest. You checked the time, knowing this session ran late and wanting to catch that movie that he asked you to. If he’s pissed to the point of being just plain mean it would take some time calming to get him down to regular mad.

Fuck. He’s never this way after an orgasm, it would roll right off his shoulder. An idea.

You observe where Eddie is sat in his throne, deciding you could fit in the space between the table and his legs. Eddie doesn’t even notice you crawling under the table on your bare knees until you reach his line of sight on the floor right in front of him.

“Whoa, what’re you doing down there?”

“You couldn’t see me anywhere else.” You shrug. You sit back on your knees, looking up at him with that stare you knew got to him. Wide eyes, big smile. He loves it when you’re eager. “Is there anything I could do to help you feel better?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m just pissed.”

“Anything?” You ask crawling up between his legs. “You don’t need help taking your frustrations out…any other way?” Your hands move up and down his legs, watching as he immediately leans back and sighs. His brown eyes remain fixated on yours. Offering a blowjob is one thing, but offering this? Holy fuck, has he won the lottery.

“What’re you offering?” Eddie asks, sounding uninterested.

You don’t buy it for a second. “Use my mouth. Fuck it, then you’ll feel much better when I swallow.”

Eddie’s chest rapidly inflates in response, his eyes welcoming that sprinkle of lust he usually has. “Then do it.” Your hands work fast, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as fast as possible. He chuckles darkly as he legs his pants fall to his knees, watching you eagerly eye his cock. “Get to it.”

You wrap your lips around the head, sucking lightly as a tease. It happens only for a second as a harsh hand lands on your neck and forces you down further on it. Perfect. You bob your head up and down, getting it nice and wet. As you continue, saliva naturally curates and you let it all drool on to him, spit and slobber covering your hand you had supporting you and your mouth. “Oh shit.” Eddie comments, watching you through half-mooned eyes.

Since you suggested him fucking your mouth it was all that was in your brain. You find his hand again, placing it around the base of your ponytail. Eddie immediately takes it into his fist and moves your head so harshly you’re surprised by the initial move. He kept up the movement, eventually muttering to himself. “Oh, take that cock. Oh shit, fucking whore, you take it.”

Just when you adjusted to him suddenly, he pushes himself down your throat, his treasure trail meeting your nose. How did his treasure trail smell so good? You clutch onto his jeans in front of you, tears forming as he stays in the back of his throat and doesn’t move. When it’s been a longer time than usual, Eddie can sense your curiosity. “I wanted to see how long you could take this, a cock at the back of your throat. What a good whore I have…” It was only a minute more when you hit Eddie’s thigh twice, air needed to be brought to you or you would’ve passed out. He places a hand beneath your chin, staring at you in awe as you catch your breath. Your face looked a disaster, your eye makeup a tad runny while your mouth was covered in your own spit. He loved it.

“Bend over.” He commands, and from the authority in his voice you don’t have a damn option. Your underwear is snatched off you, it’s not even down to your knees when Eddie slips into you without pacing himself. He moved right into bucking his hips against yours, the slap of them bouncing harsh enough to bruise. “Baby?” He asks, his voice soft for one moment.

“Go.” You let him know.

“Fucking whore, letting me fuck her just to get some anger out.” His hand goes around your torso, his hands holding you harshly enough to bruise. “Fuck, pussy is so good, though. Look at me.”

You turn your head to face him, and he leans in to kiss you and he does so gently, his tongue sliding against yours with grace. He lets go of you, letting you fall forward on your chest on the table as he continues to buck his hips into you. That was purposeful; you realize. He wanted to embarrass you.

“Let your tits out, slut.” He orders you, his voice showing indifference as the little whines escape your throat. You move your dress down your torso off your shoulders, exposing your nipples to the hard linoleum table. Eddie lifts you up to him, turning you around so one leg was on his shoulder.

“Oh fuck.” You whimper as he starts to hit your g-spot at this angle.

Eddie stops his movements real quick “Hey. You’re the fuck toy. Shut up.” His crass choice treating you as such only turns you on more, your hand covering your mouth as your eyes roll into the back of your head in arousal. Eddie notices, your pussy becoming wetter in response. “Slut loves when I put her in her place.”

You nod your head, hand still on your mouth as you tried not to make another sound.

“The perfect fuck doll, baby. Take this cock so fucking well, goddamn whore.”

His hand reaches the now loose ponytail and pulls. You smile up at him, the reaction sends more anger through him as he pulls tighter. You manage not to moan in response but the pleasure that it sent through you was indescribable.  

“So fucking pissed, spent fucking…weeks…” He mutters, his hips still going at an unprecedented rate against you, his grip he now has on your forearm starting to feel sore. “Fucking steals…fuck you’re such a damn good whore.”

Heat remained explosive from your pussy, and though he’s barely put any attention on your pleasure you were almost there. “I-I’m close.” You mutter, and Eddie lets out a chuckle.

“Of course, you get off to being a fucktoy. It’s all you are.” He pounds into you a handful of times, feeling your heat flutter around him as you got closer. “Fuck, I’m close, too.” He puts the leg on his shoulder down and lies you flat on the table, the impact against your back harsh and cold. He places a hand around your neck, cutting your air off. “You’re not gonna cum until I tell you to. Understand?”

You nod, two hands gripping his strong forearm. He admires how his rings make a nice necklace around your throat.

His other hand meets your clit, starting to rub at it to purposely get you to that high as fast as possible. Eddie knew you so goddamn well he could time your orgasm to take however fast and slow he wanted. “Uh-uh,” Eddie tuts when he sees your entire body tense up in preparation for an orgasm. “Not yet.” He lets go of your folds, letting you feel the loss, then he places his hand there again.  

He repeats it, twice. Each time you get more and more desperate to cum, and Eddie can feel your pussy shaking from it.

“AH!” He tuts again, yanking his fingers as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your legs tense right up.

“Please, Eddie. Please.” You beg him, the overstimulation at this point too much. “Lemme cum, I need it so bad. Please.”

“Oh thank you for using your manners, whore.” Eddie uses his hand one more time on you, strategically getting you off at a calmer rate and loving how your face looks as you finally cum around him.

Heat invaded you as you finally cum, your body going limp as Eddie continues to fuck you. He’s gone in seconds, the entire time he was torturing himself, as well. The afterglow kicks in, and Eddie slips himself out of you as his hand swipes your face lovingly. “Oh, baby. My sweet girl.” He stays laying down with you until he sees you come back down to earth, and you inhale and exhale deeply, attempting to catch your breath. “There she is. You did so fucking good, baby.”

You smile up at him, your heart expanding. “Yeah?”

“Fuck.” Eddie swears, a laugh escaping him. “We definitely missed the movie, but we can go look at the stars, again, if you want.”

“Out in the field by your place?” You ask hopefully, remembering one of your first dates where he spent most of the night eating you out.

He places his hands delicately on your cheek, kissing you with all the love in the world. “Of course, sweetheart.”

You sigh, your heart still racing.

He can feel your heart still pounding against his chest. “You okay to walk?”

“I’ll need a few more minutes, stay with me.”

He let you crawl into his arms until you recovered, making himself pissed for not having a source of water on hand. “Grab some food later?”

You nod in his chest, taking in the scent of the cologne on the shirt he didn’t take off. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Miles, thank you so much for that, sweetheart.”

You smile into his chest, proud of getting him to handle his anger in a way you’ve talked about. “Of course, baby.”

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

[yiichan]

Yandere idol Mingyu x idol male reader from a different group under Pledis/Hybe and they have a size and body type difference too, 6'2 Mingyu and 5'7 male reader, the male reader is also told to have a more masculine facade but off camera he's naturally more feminine which Mingyu seems to obsess over. Mingyu starts stalking the male reader's enigmatic facade off camera out of curiosity discovering that the male reader also has some insecureties and body issues since he isn't the skinniest or slimmest idol and he gets criticism from netizens and sometimes even his members and managers both on and off camera but under all those baggy unflattering clothes Mingyu sees nothing but hidden voluptuous curves. Pretty long but I hope it came across clearly, also have fun with the plot and feel free to add your own artistic liberties!

pairings. yandere!idol!mingyu x male!idol!reader word count. 0.8k. genre. yandere, request

warnings. obsessive behaviour, peeking, eavesdropping, bodyshaming.

writer's notes. again, apologies for taking so long.

thank you @sousydive for beta reading.

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

Mingyu leaned casually against the wall, his sharp eyes locked on a figure in the waiting room. The staff bustled around, packing up equipment, while other idols either chatted or slumped onto the couches, exhaustion visible in their faces. But Mingyu’s attention never wavered. His gaze followed a shorter idol—about seven inches shorter—who quietly slipped out of the waiting room and into the dressing room. You.

Your figure disappeared around the corner. Mingyu quickly glanced around to ensure no one was watching before pushing himself off the wall and following.

He couldn’t explain it—the magnetic pull he felt toward you. On stage, you were everything an idol was supposed to be: strong, masculine, your toned arms flexing with every powerful move. The passion in your eyes captivated the audience, drawing admiration. But offstage, away from the cameras, you were different. Mingyu had noticed it—the softness in your expressions, how your deep, attractive voice became quieter, more hesitant when you weren’t performing.

And then there were your clothes. While your group members wore outfits that flaunted their bodies, earning cheers from fans, you always hid yourself under layers of oversized clothing. Even when Mingyu saw you at the company, you were wrapped in baggy hoodies and loose jeans, as if trying to disappear into the fabric.

Now, standing outside the slightly ajar dressing room door, Mingyu watched. Through the small gap, he saw you in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar of your shirt, your damp hair falling into your face. The baggy clothes you wore made it impossible to see your true form—but when you lifted your shirt slightly, Mingyu’s breath caught in his throat.

You began to unwrap the bandages and padding from your arms, letting out a small sigh of relief. Mingyu’s lips pressed into a thin line as the truth became clear. The stylists had wrapped those bandages around you to create the illusion of a more masculine frame.

As each drenched bandage hit the floor, Mingyu remained frozen, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the last of the padding slipped off, revealing the truth you kept hidden.

There you were. The real you.

Your body wasn’t the rigid, muscular shape most idols had. Instead, you had soft, beautiful curves—so different from what the world expected. To Mingyu, it was breathtaking.

A slow, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You were more beautiful than anyone knew...

Mingyu lingered outside the dressing room longer than he intended, leaning against the cool wall. The chatter around him had quieted, with only a few staff members and idols still packing up. Just as he was about to leave, a conversation from the dressing room caught his attention.

"You need to start taking this more seriously," your manager’s voice snapped, loud enough to carry through the thin walls. "These baggy clothes aren’t hiding much anymore. Fans notice, and so do the cameras. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Mingyu’s brow furrowed as he stayed frozen, listening.

A second voice joined in, softer but still sharp. "The stylists are doing their best, but there's only so much we can cover up." The stylist’s tone dripped with annoyance. "If you just slimmed down a little, we wouldn’t have to wrap you up like this every time."

The silence that followed felt heavy, and Mingyu could almost picture you standing there, quietly taking in their harsh words. He imagined you lowering your head, trying to hide how deeply their criticism hurt you. He had seen that vulnerability before, the way you carried your insecurities despite pretending everything was fine.

"You’re supposed to look like the rest of them," your manager continued, sounding even more frustrated. "Fans are already starting to comment. If you don’t start shaping up, it’s going to hurt the group’s image. You know how ruthless netizens can be."

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. They didn’t see it, he thought. They didn’t see how beautiful you really are. To them, you were just another idol who needed to fit their idea of perfection. But Mingyu knew better.

He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. The more he listened, the more protective he felt. It wasn’t fair that they were treating you like this, picking apart the very things that made you special—the softness, the curves, the real you.

The conversation droned on, but Mingyu had heard enough. He slipped away from the door, tension coiling in his body. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had just heard. He couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, forced to hide the parts of yourself that he found so captivating.

They don’t get to talk to you like that.

Mingyu’s fists clenched at his sides. The urge to protect you—to keep you close—burned stronger than ever. They didn’t deserve to know the truth about you.

Only I do.

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[peonyneko]

To Know You Pt.1? | OldestSon!Nanami x YoungestDaughter!Reader

MDNI!!! PLEASE!

Note: Okay, this is going to be VERY self-indulgent, but if you enjoy it... Thank you very much. My writing is very rusty because it's been so long since I've written something. I usually just keep all my thoughts hidden in my notebook or document, but I just had to get this out. Oh! This also doesn't follow the original plot a lot, since most of the characters are alive!

Nanami is hinted to be in his mid/late 30s and reader is hinted to be in her twenties.

Warning: Arranged marriage, wedding planning, some angst??, and cursing

OldestSon!Nanami who was independent since he could remember. He helped take care of his siblings when he was younger, helping them with school and anything else. Albeit, he was not as unlucky as others, but he did notice his parents were much softer on his younger siblings than him. He was not only the eldest son, but also the eldest in general.

OldestSon!Nanami who overheard his parents talking amongst themselves, saying he’s the most reliable and rational out of all his siblings. Who felt good when his parents would thank him for doing work around the house and helping them.

OldestSon!Nanami who spent his youth being the best to take over his father’s business, with some rebellion in his blood. He had his fair share of fights with his parents because he was still their child after all.

OldestSon!Nanami who guided his younger siblings and sometimes still does. Who bought his siblings anything they’d ask for, when it’s reasonable. Who’d buy them pastries when they got yelled at. Who do indirect gestures to comfort them. Who’d lecture them when their parents didn’t, especially when it came to secrets kept from their parents.

OldestSon!Nanami who fully moved out at 22 and spent his twenties just… working, saving up money. Clocking in. Clocking out. Now, in his thirties, not married, while his other siblings were all engaged or married. He did feel a little jealous. Just a little.

OldestSon!Nanami, who wanted to get married after falling in love, but life did not go as planned. So there he was, nodding and agreeing to the proposal his parents brought to him. 

But he didn’t expect everything to happen so… quick! He didn’t even know who you were, but his mom seemed to love you. She’d compliment you any chance she got, so he goes along with it.

OldestSon!Nanami, who officially saw you for the first time on the day of the wedding planning, where you requested the wedding be only with family and friends. He was grateful. 

But good lord, if your photos were pretty, then he had to peel his eyes off of you to make sure he didn’t stare. 

OldestSon!Nanami, who wanted to deeply thank whoever chose your outfit that day. Only then to figure out, overhearing you and Gojo talk, that you actually love fashion and dressing up, all the time. 

OldestSon!Nanami, who noticed your jewelry matched his eyes and his heart hummed a little. He must be overthinking it. 

YoungestDaughter!Reader who went through so, so many looks to make sure he’d like it. Panicking even on the day of because “What if he hates it?” Your friends raising their brows ready to claw his heart out if he even raised a single issue about it. They’d never seen you act like this. 

YoungestDaughter!Reader who did, in fact, choose the jewelry to match his eyes. Not because you’re in love! But there was something about him… you don’t know what!

OldestSon!Nanami, who wanted to not judge you from your birth position as the youngest of your siblings, but (judging and hearing from others) the youngests are often rude and spoiled. He chuckles knowing his own sibling is like that, minus the rude part. They’re just… blunt.

Still, he made sure you were okay and comfortable during the planning. Nanami just hoped you both wouldn’t clash from your differences

YoungestDaughter!Reader slowly felt her heart flutter just the tiniest bit a his kind gestures, despite being guarded. Bare minimum, but thoughtful nonetheless.

OldestSon!Nanami, who was shocked that your parents wanted you to get married so soon after the proposal, but according to your parents and his, “The clock is ticking.” In a month?! You obliged and he, who had been hesitant at first, also agreed.

OldestSon!Nanami managed to take you out only once before the wedding. For him, no feelings were involved. It was to a fancy restaurant, where he paid for everything and was confused why you took your card out. Who noticed the faint blush on your cheeks when you put your card back. He didn’t comment or ask you about it, thinking you did not want to be asked. You were glad he didn’t.

OldestSon!Nanami stupidly asked you about everything except yourself! Checking if you ate. Checking if planning if going smooth. If your parent(s) and family members are okay. Everything except yourself. He, too, only spoke of everything except himself. Okay, actually maybe you did talk about yourselves, but it was only about your professions… Does that even count?

OldestSon!Nanami who took you for a walk through a beautiful public garden lit up with pretty lights. Who couldn't help but take a photo of you leaning down to take a good look at the flowers. One without you noticing, another when you caught him with his phone up and you gave him a sheepish smile for the photo.

In the three hours you were together, he had intrigued you and you’d intrigued him, but it goes nowhere else. 

OldestSon!Nanami who, by the end of the date, when driving you home apologized. “I may not be the love you're looking for and… I can’t guarantee love will flourish, but I will treat you with nothing but respect and care. If you want to break off the wedding, I would never hold it against you,” he whispered. 

Dropping you off home utterly confused and even a little sad. A mixture of emotions, actually a circus of emotions. Both good and bad.

YoungestDaughter!Reader who couldn’t sleep from the thought of Nanami being unhappy in the marriage. You were close to breaking it off, only to stop when your family looked so happy and sad sitting in the living room, because you’d finally agreed to marry!

OldestSon!Nanami and you both see each other in the wedding venue and he could faint right then and there because of how insanely pretty you look. He could barely handle the heat that rose to his cheek whenever you’d give him that sheepish, awkward smile.

So, so pretty! Too pretty! You knew what fit you.

You, too, bursting for the inside over how good he looked in the color you picked out. 

OldestSon!Nanami who continuously stole glances throughout the night and found himself intrigued by your voice and whenever you spoke.

OldestSon!Nanami, who damn nearly broke off the marriage after hearing about your age from Gojo, who had asked one of the bridesmaids for your age. Gojo then proceeded to make a joke about Nanami being a pervert.

OldestSon!Nanami, who now felt bad marrying you, wanted to apologize if you felt obligated to marry him. Who wondered why his parents would want such an age gap for his marriage. I mean… yes you both are adults but 12 years?!

“Didn’t you know?” Gojo snicked, only to raise a brow when Nanami shook his head.

“I assumed we’d be a few years apart.” Nanami admits his fault.

Gojo laughed. “She even looks her age, you idiot. Did you even ask her?”

OldestSon!Nanami who felt his stomach drop when the realization set in. He never asked you much about yourself. About your job, yes. But not… you. Not because he didn’t want to but your conversations never went there. In the hours you two were alone, which was albeit awkward, the conversation flowed from one topic to another without ever crossing into anything particularly about you or him. 

OldestSon!Nanami felt a burn in his chest when he saw Geto and Gojo talking to you. You gave them a cute smile too. He wanted that.

OldestSon!Nanami put the ring on your finger with the gentlest hands. You felt your heart swell.  He felt your hands return that softness and he almost cracked a smile when your finger brushed over his ring with gentle eyes, as if to comfort him and say, “I don’t regret it.”

OldestSon!Nanami and you were happy the wedding went smoothly. Much more smooth than Nanami thought it would. Nothing was out of place. Everything went as planned, and when things went “wrong” it quickly got resolved.

There were tears, but you surprisingly didn’t cry much at all, like he expected. He thought you’d be more sad to leave with him. After all, you’re only known him only for a month and you now had to leave your family. All your older siblings were all crying, why weren’t you? But he chose not to think too much into it. Maybe you just weren’t a crier. 

OldestSon!Nanami got a pat on the back from all his friends, those who stayed with him since high school. He was the last of them all to get married, after all.

OldestSon!Nanami gave respect to your family, guaranteeing your safety. He thought you’d stall your time with them when hugging, you did for a little while, but not as long as he thought you would.

OldestSon!Nanami who was in the car with you in near silence, other than the humming of the song the driver played. You hadn’t asked him anything, and he didn’t ask you anything until… 

“Why did you marry me?” you calmly asked looking out the window. Your voice was quiet.

He stayed silent, not wanting to say anything that would give you the wrong idea. 

He took a few seconds before responding, “I… My family liked you.  If they chose you, I thought you’d be a good fit.”

“Oh,” you replied, and before he could say anything, you added onto it, “I did too. I didn’t think I’d get married this year, but… here I am.”

He licked his lips, nervous for some reason.

“Did you want a love marriage?” he casually asked, just curious. You still looked off to the side.

You shrug, “I don’t know. Maybe, but also maybe not. I didn’t think I’d get married.”

OldestSon!Nanami who agrees with you. Revealing that he wanted a love marriage, he hoped to fall in love with someone, but was okay with this too. Who reveals that he doesn’t know how this marriage would go, but he’d never hurt you. 

“You’re my wife. I’m your husband. Until the end, I will be,” he says.

OldestSon!Nanami who fails to notice the glossy pricked tears in your eyes and blushed cheeks. Because you, for some reason, foolishly thought there was something between the silent glances from the past month.

OldestSon!Nanami who guides you to the room, letting you know that he’s okay with sleeping in a different room, he’d been preparing another room anyways. Only to be shocked when you refuse.

You tell him that you don’t mind sleeping in the same bed, but you avoid his gaze when you say you just don’t want anything else happening. 

OldestSon!Nanami who helps you prepare to sleep, removing anything you need help with. In comfortable silence, with only a few grunts of his confusion with the riddle of a dress and hairdo, he helps you undress, stepping out of the room after he unzips the back of the dress. 

OldestSon!Nanami who changes in the guest room to avoid making you uncomfortable. Who looked at you for many seconds straight seeing you in your pajamas when you softly told him you were done. Cute… So, so fucking cute. OldestSon!Nanami who wondered what was the black silky thing you hid away in your duffle bag right when you saw it on the bed. Letting it go, assuming you didn’t want him to notice.

OldestSon!Nanami who sleeps next to you that night, both of you turn back to back. Not out of malice or hatred, it’s just both of you being nervous and embarrassed. 

OldestSon!Nanami went to sleep wondering what this new life would be like. Who failed to see the tears that fell from your eyes that night. 

You, who felt so, so nervous and guilty. He wanted to marry someone he loves and now he married you because his mother found out you were single. You, who wanted to apologize for getting in the way of his love story. You, who turned towards him, wondering how you can make this marriage work. Because even if you started to feel some inklings of what seemed to be like? Love? Would he return those feelings?

OldestSon!Nanami who fell later, but fell much, much harder.

Part 2

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I will probably change this up a little bit soon or fix things up, but you get the gist!

This went one MUCH longer, than I thought... Clear credits for the characters to Gege Akutami (obviously), but this plot and these versions of the character are of my own (maybe OOC sometimes), so please refrain from plagiarizing.

Thank you for reading!