#It has actually stuck around in my drafts since then - so it's always been long haul!

[nikkeora]

For All the Mary Janes

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. what about the mary janes, then?

or, in which you're the mary jane to miles's spider-man

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x reader, e-42! Miles Morales x reader

warning(s); i didn’t have any specific gender or race for r in mind while writing, but rio calls r ‘mija’ once and i think that’s ab it

maybe some incorrect usage of Spanish? Spanish speakers who can respond to my weird questions pls hmu

maybe ooc but it’s been in my drafts so long i just wanted to get it out tbh

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

You and Miles were always joined at the hip. Your parents knew each other well, so your families were together a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Morales saw you like their own daughter, often joking that you and Miles would be engaged when you got older with the way he could never leave you alone.

At least, up till around two years ago.

You and Miles started to grow apart when you got into Visions Academy. He thought it was a stupid school full of stuck-up rich kids who only cared about making connections that would help them along further down the line. You thought it was a good school that had a good track record of producing students that had a lot of success in what they wanted to do.

Some things were said the day before your transfer.

Since then, the two of you rarely texted or called. Mrs. Morales would often come by for coffee with your mom, tell you about how her son was doing and gush over 'how much you've grown' from last Tuesday, but that was about the only way you knew the vague outline of what he was up to.

You'd admit you felt lonely for a while. After all, Miles had been your best friend ever since you could remember. But you also weren't going to go running to him after everything he'd said.

I mean, was it really that bad to want a good future?

Soon enough though, you felt like yourself again. You met new people, made new contacts, and actual friends. Because contrary to popular belief, the people there weren't all mini business men and heartless CEOs in the making. They were just kids, after all.

And then, Miles won the draw. Just a few weeks before the start of the new semester, your parents mentioned that he'd be going to your school from now on in passing.

You didn't think much of it at first. I mean, everyone has that one childhood friend that they fell apart with, right? For the first week or so, you didn't even see his face much. In fact, you didn't see him at all, not even a glimpse in the halls.

That was about to change drastically.

Short story shorter, you caught a glimpse of him walking on the side of the school with pigeons stuck to his hands. A month or two later, Spider-Man climbed through your dorm window, ripping off his mask and ranting about some villain of the week.

"I couldn't even catch the guy-"

"Miles?"

"...You're not Ganke."

The two of you made up that night. He apologized, admitting he was being unfair and was upset that you were leaving his school. It didn't exactly clear everything, but it was a start. The two of you caught each other up on everything they had missed. In the end, the sun was about to come up and the both of you realized you hadn't gotten a minute of sleep on a school night.

From then on, the two of you get closer again. He went to you for the occasional rant or patch up, and he actively sought you out in school now, relieved to see a familiar face in the halls. Gradually, you got close to the point you'd call him one of your best friends and vice versa after around a year of radio static.

Everything was great. He was cute, funny - in an awkward way, but hey, he made you laugh - he looked out for you, and when he talked to you he did this cute little thing where he would play with the strings of his hoodie which he somehow always managed to layer on with like two other jackets and—

Oh yeah, did we mention the crush you had on him?

Because there was one.

Big huge one, right here. Materialized out of thin air looks like.

Which should have been fine. You were perfectly capable of hiding a crush. I mean, come on, it's high school. You would've been eaten alive if you couldn't.

Normally, you would even be confident that you could make your crush like you back. I mean, why wouldn't he?

Two words. One person.

Gwen Stacy.

It was like he could never go even one conversation without mentioning her.

Slight exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Oh yeah, that's cool! Y'know, Gwen told me one time that—"

"You got an A, I knew you could do it! I told you so. Did you know Gwen got A's in—"

"Oh hey, you got your hair cut! Reminds me of that time when me and Gwen—"

At first, it was bearable. Sure, she came up annoyingly often whenever you talked, but she had just left this dimension, never to be seen again. Of course he was gonna miss her.

You laughed at all his stories, listened to every one even though he told the same six or seven ones over and over again. You even grew to like Gwen, as if you'd known her for the short amount of time Miles did, too.

But then two months passed. Then six. Then a whole year. Before you knew it, a year and four months had passed since the departure of Gwen Stacy.

And he still. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

You had tried to understand. You really did.

But you can only hear the same damn jokes so many times before you get a migraine.

Pick any story. You could list off every variation of how Miles would tell it off the top of your head.

Gwen Stacy became the daughter of one of your mom’s friends, so to speak. That one girl in the neighborhood you couldn’t help but envy.

And worst of all, it was like he wished you were her.

Whenever you did something, he would tell you how Gwen could do it better. He would ask you whether or not you thought Gwen would like certain trinkets he found around town, and kept a collection of them in one of his drawers so he could give them to her one day. He was even studying quantum physics instead of art so that he could make his own multiversal gateway - a safe one, so that he could unlock the multiverse, possibly for good.

It hurt when he zoned out while you were telling him about you, thinking about her; your day, what you wanted to study, how your parents were fighting a lot again lately and you were struggling because of it, how you'd joined a new band—

"A band, huh?" Miles suddenly perked up, finally looking up from his sketchbook. "Did I tell you Gwen's in a band? It's called the Mary Janes—"

"Miles would you please stop?"

A pause, both of you mildly surprised at how you'd snapped at him.

The two of you were at your dorm, seated side-by-side on the bed with your legs folded in front of you. It was Friday, the day before Mr. Morales’s pre signing-in party.

The boy looked at you, a questioning look on his face. "What's wrong?"

And that tilt with his head - he really didn't know, did he? You couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Miles, I know Gwen's in a band," He tried to say something, but you didn't let him speak before you continued. "I know she's a drummer, I know she does ballet, I know she had to shave half of her head because you couldn't control your powers - hell, the whole school knows that—"

"C’mon, don’t bring that up—"

"—I know every single story she told you while she was here, and I know every single detail of what you two did and how you did it. And I know she does everything I can do and she does it better. I’m tired of hearing it, Miles." His eyebrows furrowed, a slightly hurt look flashing across his face. "I’m sorry you miss her and I’m sorry she’s gone, but I just can’t be around you if all you’re gonna do is compare me to her."

A moment of silence settled in the air. You hoped Miles would understand. Surely, he’d see how tedious this was getting.

"All I’m asking is for you to tone it down."

Another beat passes without a word from the boy. He’s looking into your eyes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s all there. Like there’s a world past your irises that he’s seeing for the first time.

"I- I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t do that." Miles finally says, his gaze turning away from yours and to the sketch he’d been working on for the last hour. You glanced down at it as well, the bright blue eyes of the one and only Gwen Stacy meeting yours.

"You’re the only one I can talk to on this," he said quietly, softly closing the sketchbook and tapping a finger nervously on the cover.

"Ganke?"

"Ganke’s fine, he’s great, he’s just.. not someone I can go to for these things."

You took a deep breath, the guilt of having to tell him ‘no’ building up in your chest. You knew his relationship with his parents were complicated at the moment, and he didn’t really have friends outside of you and Ganke. But still.. it was like he wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in your life ever since your initial reconnection.

It wasn’t like you expected a complete 50:50 give-and-take in relationships, but honestly you felt like you were talking to a robot with very limited audio cues.

"Miles, you don’t listen to me anymore. The only time you actually respond to anything I say is when it’s something even remotely related to Gwen."

"That’s not true!" Miles protested. You watched as he tried to find something to argue his point, only to come up empty. His shoulders sagged a little.

"But you gotta understand, Gwen - I’m not gonna see her again, at least until I figure out.. everything." He said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to someone. Can’t you understand?”

"I’m not trying to shut everything down, I’m just asking you to pay attention to me every once in a while." You sighed. "And if you’e not willing to do that… do you even think of me as a friend?"

-

Miles left your dorm not long after that little talk, sneaking out the same way he snuck in; through the window. You dug your nails into your palms, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm to push down any sadness you may have felt. It was the second time you and Miles had grown apart, this time maybe your fault a little more than his. It felt like it, anyway.

Still, you felt like you’d done the right thing.

You hoped so, anyway.

-

It was an hour before Jeff Morales’s technically-not-captain-yet-but-will-be-soon celebration. Your dad and yourself had come early to prepare everything and set up all the decorations. Your mom apparently ‘couldn’t make it’. It was the third time in the last two weeks she cancelled on plans that your dad was involved in.

You stacked red plastic cups on one of the tables, a cooler full of ice and two-litre soda bottles to your left. Miles’s parents had insisted they didn’t need any help, but your dad had insisted right on back that the two of you wanted to. You didn’t mind. You’d cleared your evening for the event anyway, so it’s not like you had anything better to do.

The one thing that made you kind of regret coming was your lack of a jacket. It’d been really sunny in the morning, so you’d figured it would be a warm night. A breeze picked up and sent a light chill through your body, causing you to just barely shiver.

"Mija," Mrs. Morales called, coming up from behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You’re freezing."

"Oh, I’m fine, mama," you replied, smiling at her. She gave you a look that said ‘we both know that isn’t true’.

"Miles might have something in his room," she suggested, "I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed one of his clothes."

You thanked her but refused, claiming it might get warmer once the guests started to arrive and the party was at full swing. She must have noticed something was off when she mentioned Miles, because she raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly before asking,

"What did he do now?"

Either you’re really bad at hiding things from her or her motherly sixth-sense worked on you too. You hesitated, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. After all, Rio had always been like a mom to you.

"We had a fight - if you can even call it that, anyway, about a girl," you said, fiddling with a plastic cup. "We’re not on real good terms right now, I don’t think…"

Rio looked slightly surprised for a moment, then something seemed to click into place. She sighed and put her hands on your cheeks. "He’s a little bit slow," she said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But he’ll get there. Eventually."

She then squished your face before immediately letting go, making you laugh. "Now go get yourself a jacket. I don’t want my only daughter to freeze to death."

You held your hands up in surrender as she pointed to the stairs, swiftly making your way down to the Moraleses’ flat. You had a spare key that Miles’s parents had given you a long while ago, when your parents used to have full on screaming matches in the middle of the living room every other day.

Within a couple minutes you’d grabbed one of the dozen coats, hoodies and jackets strewn about Miles’s closet, pulling the soft material over your shoulders as you took a glance around his room. Everything was about the same as you’d seen two or three weeks ago, save for a few new stickers laid about the desk.

There was an all-too-familiar sketchbook on the bed, one similar to what Miles had been scribbling in last night in your dorm, just in a different color. This one looked a bit more used, so you supposed he’d gotten it and packed it full of Gwen Stacy just after she left this reality. The thought put a bitter taste on your tongue.

-

A half an hour into the party, Miles still hadn’t showed up. He was supposed to be here at least twenty minutes ago, and you could tell his parents were getting both worried and annoyed. Rio asked around for her son as Jeff chatted with some colleagues. Suddenly, an auntie shoved a mic into Mrs. Morales’s hand, drawing everybody’s attention to her by clinking her glass. Jeff looked away in what could only be described as complete horror.

"Um, hi…"

You grinned as she continued with embarrassing stories about her husband, from little anecdotes from when they were dating to how he was almost 10lbs as a baby. It was then that Mr. Morales jumped in, quickly taking the mic away from her and giving his own speech.

"—And to my son…"

You grimaced as he raised his cup, looking around for someone who wasn’t there. The two of you met eyes instead, and you shook your head to tell him he hadn’t showed with an apologetic look. He turned to his wife, only for her to do the same. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"…The reason I do any of this in the first place. So.. I love you Miles."

Afterwards, the DJ put the records on again. People are talking, laughing, congratulating, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. You’re dragged away by a few little kids to play with them over by a small cluster of barrels, which they’ve decided is their ‘lair’. You play make believe with them for a little while as their parents stand a bit away with your own dad, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure the kids are behaving.

It’s then that Miles finally shows up, pushing the door open with two boxes in his arms. You follow him through your peripheral vision as he tries to avoid his parents, ultimately failing. You’re not sure what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to be going that well. He shows them the contents of his boxes, which doesn’t seem to impress them too much.

After a couple more words, Mr. Morales raises his voice, the DJ trying to divert people’s attention away by upping the volume but ultimately giving up.

"What do you got to tell me so bad?"

"You know what? Never mind."

Miles walked away, pulling his hood up as his dad yelled after him about him being grounded for two months. Must’ve been really bad, huh?

You waited for the music to come back on before you made your way to the exit, ruffling one of the little kids’ hair as he skittered away with his sister. You’re just going to check on him for a minute, just to see if he’s okay. You can do that… right? I mean sure, it might be awkward since things had ended like that last night, but still.

No one else was going to.

You let yourself into the flat once again, approaching Mile’s room with soft footsteps. You’re just outside the door when—

"Are these your drawings?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart freezes right along with you. For a moment, you felt like a deer in headlights.

A feeling crawls its way under your skin, cold and slippery. You don’t know how you know, but you’re absolutely positive.

"Missed you too."

Gwen Stacy.

-

You’re on your way home, your hands rubbing up and down your arms to try to warm yourself up during the walk. You lived a little while away from Miles’s place, but it’s nothing you can’t walk.

You’d left the jacket on the Morales’ couch, turning on your heel and leaving the moment you heard her voice.

Damn it.

When had she gotten back? How had she gotten back? What was Miles’s reaction?

What were they doing now?

…Did you really want to know?

As your brain clouded over with questions, you took a wrong turn. Maybe two. Or three. Honestly, you didn’t know. Once you realized that this definitely wasn’t your neighborhood, you stopped yourself mid-step, looking around to see if anything was familiar at all.

Your eyes settled on a building, as there really wasn’t anything other than that around here other than some roads and bridges. One of the windows were glowing.

Then the whole structure began to rumble.

The ground beneath your feet started to turn… black…?

Wha—

-

You fell.

Not for too long, but you did.

You dropped around six feet onto hard concrete, twisting your ankle in the process. You cried out in pain and surprise.

"What the—?"

"Y/n?"

You looked up at that. You knew that voice.

Except, you didn’t.

The first thing you noticed is that this definitely was not the place you were in before. This place was more narrow, more dark. Light rain pattered on your skin as your hands supported your sitting position, wondering what the hell was going on.

The person who’d said your name was at the entrance to the alley you’d been.. teleported? to.

They took hesitant steps over to you, and, for some reason, you didn’t feel scared that this complete stranger had cornered you in a place you’d never even seen before.

Maybe the voice is what made you think it was alright.

Or maybe it was his face, which made your heart stop its primary function for the second time today.

"Miles?"

But he wasn’t Miles. At least.. not your Miles. This one was skinnier, just a little shorter. His accent had more of a Spanish touch to it and, most of all, his hair was braided into two sections that reached just below his shoulders.

No. He was very much not your Miles Morales.

Nevertheless, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. There was something in his eyes — regret? Happiness? Sadness? Anger? Confusion? Probably all of the above.

He got closer, and closer, and closer. Once he reached where you were half-laying, he crouched down and tilted his umbrella until it sheltered your body more than his.

"…Are you hurt?" He asked, giving you a once-over. You just nodded, still putting all the pieces together.

Had you—

Did you—?

The boy in front of you studied your face for a little while, but then ultimately shook his head and shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to you.

"Come on. It’s cold outside."

[spdrvyn]

full stomachs, fuller hearts — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: miguel has gotten used to eating dinner by himself so you decide to change his nightly routine.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: literally nothing but pure unaldulterated fluff. gender neutral terms mostly but querido is used once.

NOTES: OKAY so this was actually a request for someone but i was a dumbass and accidentally POSTED the draft when i meant to save it for later, i panicked and deleted the post so now i lost the request from my inbox forever 💔 whoever that dude was i hope you find this and i hope you enjoy

Lonely dinners were always a common occurence for Miguel.

That was just how things are. After a long and drawn out day of protecting the multiverse, protecting the city, protecting everything that he's built up and coming home to a desolate penthouse.

It was the norm for him, he had grown accustomed to it. Being isolated in general wasn't a foreign concept to him, but you brought more change to his life that he thought he would hate.

He loves you a lot. You two had been in a committed relationship for a few months now but haven't moved in yet. The every few hours during a day that you would get to visit him or perhaps he could swing by to your apartment were the only times he felt some sense of warmth in his cold, silent life.

It's not like he didn't want to ask you to move in, he does. Oh, so badly. It's just that the constant fear that he's going too fast or getting too excited over this newfound love. He doesn't want to scare you away.

There was also just a small part of him that was getting too used to being around you. It's gone to the fact that whenever he ate dinner, he'd always imagine you on the other side of that table, laughing and sharing stories about how you're day went.

When he snapped out of it, the sight of the empty chair across him brought his spirits down even more.

You were aware of this too.

Which was why you were up at the wee hours of the night, trying to watch an online video recipe for making empanadas. You knew how to cook enough meals to get by but you wanted to try something different for Miguel.

The bar was set a little bit higher this time. You've been over at Miguel's place before and he has cooked for you and every single time you've tried his dishes they were utterly delectable.

You didn't only want to make all of this food for him just because he's constantly eating alone but because he's really expanded your tastebuds ever since you two developed a much more intimate relationship. You could at least owe him one homecooked dinner.

Reminders to yourself, thank Lyla for letting you in and don't blow up Miguel's penthouse.

As you followed the tutorial step-by-step, you couldn't help but let your mind wander a little further. You wondered how Miguel was doing right now.

Yes, he's strong and agile in an almost inhuman way but at the same time you still worried for him. If only he could be here right now, you'd love to have the opportunity to cook with him.

He was grateful that you weren't in the present moment with him right now, his stomach growl in anticipation for it's next meal as he was running and swinging from rooftop to rooftop to get back to his penthouse.

There were many obstacles that he encountered on the way back. The classic old lady getting her purse snatched which gave him severe déjà vu, a bank robbery, and a cat stuck in a tree.

He grew progressively exhausted with each stop, not forgetting that he had his actual duties at the headquarters that he just left from. Sore muscles and a throbbing head, a painful combo for Miguel.

Maybe he should just skip dinner altogether and opt to immediately pass out on his bed, showering in the morning and having a very heavy breakfast. Yeah, that would work...

He glares into the window of his penthouse, not because he was hesitant to make the jump but because the lights were open. He was sure that he left all of his rooms in complete darkness before leaving.

With one final jump, his claws dig into the edge of his window as he pulls himself up. His eyes narrow, in attempts of getting a good peek of what exactly was going on.

An intruder, a home invasion, Lyla having a party without telling him were all of his possible theories.

What he didn't expect was to see you setting up his plate on his kitchen island, plates of delicious smelling food prepared as well.

There was an intrusion, that's for sure. The intrusion of blush on his cheeks, which he quickly had to shake as he took his mask off.

However, as quickly as it disappeared, it came back once he saw the look on your face the moment you noticed his presence.

Pure glee and warmth is how he'd describe it. It's also how he'd describe the embrace that you immediately pull him into, throwing the silverware that you were readying.

It's not like he hesitated to touch you either, he wrapped his arms around you. So glad that he gets to bask in your existence again, bask in you.

"What's all this, querido?"

You separate from Miguel for a brief moment before walking over to the kitchen counter, proudly showing off your creations. "Empanadas and menudo!"

It was like stars clouded Miguel's vision as it all goes through his mind. You came to his house, fixed up a whole meal for him, and for what? He doesn't remember getting you any gifts recently.

So why?

"Are you just going to stare or are you going to try one?" chuckled you, at least it got Miguel to snap out of his daze. His hands reaches out to one of the empanadas and he takes a bite.

Okay, if he was being honest, he's tasted much better before.

But you put so much thought, so much time, and so much care into making this for him. All of those qualities overshadowed the taste and dryness of it, filling his stomach with something else entirely.

This was probably one of the best empanadas he's ever tasted.

"It's really good." He says, swallowing the last of his food, "Best that one I've ever tasted, mi cielo." Then leaning in to press a small kiss to your forehead, warm hand cupping your cheek.

"You're just saying that, Miguel. I tasted them before you got here and they're really dry."

"Still the best I've ever tasted."

He continues to plant kisses on you, trailing from your forehead to the bridge of your nose to your cheek then boarding at your lips, you giggle into the kiss but before it progresses any further, he stops and pulls away.

"Do you want to move in with me?"

request rules here, masterlist here

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”  

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.  

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”  

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.  

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.   

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”  

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”  

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.  

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing? 

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.  

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss. 

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button.  Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

[celestoria]

Cupid’s Game

A/n: Ahhhh, my first request. Don’t worry anon I actually found this very fun to write about that i immediately made a rough draft for the moment i read the ask.

Tags: porn with plot, dirty thoughts, penetration, oral (f), fingering, penetration, implied voice fetish, against the wall, overstimulation, hickeys

Words: 1.4k

Do not interact if you are 16 or below (17+)

The little glances you give whenever Dan Heng would enter the room, the faint smile he has when you tell him good night, and the endless hours you two would spend together without a single regard for the outside world. March has witnessed it all.

It’s still a shame despite the blatantly obvious chemistry between you and Dan Heng, neither had enough courage to make a move. To March, she believes that there is no need for such complications. She had enough of this endless pining and decided to take matters into her own hands.

“Hey, why don’t we play a game of truth or dare,” she said, cutting the silence in her room as you helped her sort out her pictures.

Dan Heng hummed. “It would be a great way to entertain us since we’ve been here for a while,” he commented. You shared the same sentiments as him. There’s no harm in peaceful quality time, however, the air feels hushed and out of character considering you’re in March’s room.

You agreed. March let out a giddy squeal and started the game. After several rounds, she got a little bold as she dared you to sit on Dan Heng’s lap for the entire game.

Though you nonchalantly accepted her dare, deep down you felt like you wanted to burst. You’ve had your fair share of spending time with each other such as walking around in a city you’ve never been to before or quietly reading together in the archives. But this was a whole new level of “closeness” you’re not sure you're ready for.

You occasionally glanced back at Dan Heng to see how well he’s been holding since both of you got stuck in this situation. Oftentimes you found his cold, reserved demeanor quite impossible to read, but seeing him up close it’s pretty clear he’s feeling the same way as you.

Neither of you wanted to be caught up in such a scene but you can’t say you hate it too.

Time flew by in a flash, and eventually, the game had to come to an end with all the polaroids finally sorted out in March’s albums. That was a relief. One minute more and you were sure you could never face Dan Heng for at least a week.

For Dan Heng, you could say the same...but for other reasons.

It was so hard to get his mind out of the gutter with you sitting on his lap while you wore that little skirt of yours. Your ass was pressed on his dick for such a long time, he was sure his dick hardened under his pants. He just hoped you didn’t notice it.

Debauched thoughts filled his mind throughout the whole game. He knew it was wrong but how can he stop when he’s been wanting you for all this time?

You left March’s room and in a flurry, Dan Heng grabbed you by the wrist and led you to the archives.

“Dan Heng, what are you-“ He pinned you up against the wall and your lips crashed together. His fingers intertwined within your hair and pulled you closer for a kiss frenzied with lust and yearning.

He pulled away, trying to control himself from going any further. “Look, if you want me to stop, tell me and we’ll pretend this never happened,” he said, your mouth barely an inch away from each other. He waited for your answer yet not even a single word has been said. He smirked and picked up where you last left it off. “I knew you liked me too,” he added in between kisses while hurriedly taking off your clothes.

Your limbs snaked around his waist and his hand caressed the curvatures of your body. Rough hands brought your thigh to his hips and the space between you getting closer to the point your body pressed on each other.

He grinded himself against you, earning the moan he always wondered what it would sound like. It was addicting to hear you cry out his name; he thought he’d only hear in the figment of his imagination.

Dan Heng got on his knees and pulled down your skirt and panties. He placed your leg over his shoulder, giving him good access to your soaking cunt. Hickeys colorfully marked the inner parts of your thigh as he made his way to your wet folds. His tongue lapped on your swollen clit, so desperate for his touch, causing your pussy to clench on nothing until he inserted fingers deep inside of you. With your pussy so eager for him, it was barely a hassle for him to curl them as his fingers soaked in your wetness.

You tried to hold back your moans, knowing the thin walls behind you were the only thing separating you from potential passersby. Dan Heng looked like a man with many secrets, but you never expected him to be the type of man to take such a large risk like this.

You tugged on his hair and bucked your hips while your clit began to throb. The two of you were barely started and he already has you wrapped around his fingers after making your wet pussy cum hard with his fingers.

Dan Heng slowly rose back up, his knees sore from stooping down to eat you out. The taste of your slick lingered in his lips and his tongue swirled around your mouth while he dowdily undid his pants. The tip of his cock prodded the entrance of your hole, already enough to cause shivers to run down your spine.

Without a warning, he inserted every inch of his dick, making you feel overwhelmed with how far he’s gotten inside you with one single thrust. You were so full of him and you tried to gulp back a moan as you bit your lip.

“Don’t hold anything back,” he demanded. “I want to hear you,” his voice ridden with desire as much as every little action his body advances on you, like how one hand groped on your sore thigh and the other skillfully kneaded your perked-up breast. His lips groaned with the taste of your name, making it sound so honey-sweet than ever before.

He felt ecstatic every time you sinfully mewl his name. It’s as if you turned a word he’s so used to hearing into something so sacred, only to be heard within the four walls confining you. Only you could make him rutt so needily to the point it felt near possible to control himself.

Your legs trembled more as he pounded your insides. “Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you pleaded, tears pooling in the side of your eyes and droplets staining your cheeks.

“A little more,” he rasped. “A little more. It won’t be too hard.”

Your mind went blank with how he’s been overstimulating you and your pussy ached while it clenched around his thick girth. He was so close to breaking you by the time his dick thrust in you one last time, spasming as ecstasy coursed through his veins.

He pulled out his dick, causing you to whimper and your juices to trickle down.  Your legs shook, making it difficult to stand alone. Noticing your struggle, Dan Heng scooped you up bridal style and placed you on his futon to give you the proper rest you deserve.

Carefully, he wiped up the mess he turned you into before wrapping you in his blanket, making sure you won’t end up with a cold.

“Go take a nap,” he replied. “I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

Draped in the warmth of the sheets that smells like him, you were still dumbfounded that something you thought you’d only dream about late at night would turn into reality— how he would ruthlessly plow you down one second then act so considerate and caring the moment after.

All things in the archives are open for everyone, but this little escapade of yours, an aftermath of a not-so-innocent dare, will remain your dirty little secret only the two of you will ever know.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

[dumbslxtclub]

just a taste | e.m - part one

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: a summer pool party at the harrington residence emboldens you to make a move on eddie

content warnings: fem!reader, 18+ for eventual smut, adult language, adult themes, mentions of underage drinking and drugs, reader is 19, brief mention of male masturbation, sexual tension

word count: 2.4k+

a/n: this has been living in my drafts for far too long, so I'm posting it as motivation to actually write the *smut*. big love to @dickfics69 for helping me with this one xx

The raucous and completely off-tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ fills the balmy night air, undoubtedly disturbing the sleepy neighbors surrounding Steve’s property. Hoards of your senior classmates crowd the backyard, beer sloshing against concrete as they jauntily sing at the top of their lungs, hoarse from an evening of inhaling far too much smoke. A forgotten bonfire crackles in the corner, one or two figures passed out in the warm glow. Sweat clings to your skin, the thin material of your summer dress far too claustrophobic in the sweltering heat of the night. No reprieve from this warmth is granted as Robin’s arm wrap around your shoulders, practically blowing out your eardrum from the volume she’s singing. One of those ecstatic inebriated moments of youth, surrounded by people you’ll never see again after graduation, living for today. A perfect night. There’s only one thing missing.

You’ve been eyeing Eddie all night. Liquid courage has fueled your interactions, boldly brushing against the sinewy muscles of his bare arm, complimenting the scratchy tattoo job adorning his forearm. Nothing out of the ordinary, the pair of you close friends who have spent many a night leaning on one another as another movie flashes across the TV screen. But tonight, you feel emboldened to make a move. You’ve tried, and failed, to rationalize your attraction to one of your best friends. His charismatic nature causes anyone who gives him the time of day to fall under his spell, with Eddie remaining blissfully oblivious to his effect on people. Over the years, you’ve watched him transform from a meek boy into, well, a man. Unaware of how he’s grown into his body, lean muscles built from endless nights of loading band equipment into his van. Trading in his buzz cut for an unkempt mane of curls, which somehow always seem to fall into an effortless frame around the sharp bone structure of his face. What has always remained, however, is that boyish smile. Dimples hollowing deep into his cheekbones, causing you to trip over your words whenever they’re flashed in your direction. God, you’re in deep.

With a deep huff, Steve blows out the two pathetic candles Nancy pulled out of the bottom drawer and stuck haphazardly into the thick icing at the last moment. A loud cheer booms from the crowd, sending their drinks skywards in celebration.

“To Steve!” Robin practically screams, sloshing a fair amount of her cider down your already damp chest. 

“To me!” The birthday boy, grinning madly, tips his head back and empties the contents of his lukewarm beer down his gullet. He’s long since discarded his shirt, proclaiming “it’s my house and I’ll do what I want”, leaving nothing to stain as a steady trickle of liquid slides down his bare chest. 

The party is at its peak, electricity coursing through the night as unsupervised teenagers give into their impulses. Couples stand devouring each other in the corner with little regard as to who’s watching, some of the jock’s cannonballing into the pool. The brush of bodies around you clear, illuminating Eddie giving Steve a hearty hug and firm pat on the back. Now’s your chance. 

Shrugging Robin off your shoulders, you grab her wrist and lead her over to the pair, ready to cash in on her promise of playing wing-woman for you tonight. 

“Great party, Steve.” Addressing the younger man, you watch as he pulls a candle out and licks the icing off the base.

“Would you expect anything less?” He quips back, a cheeky smile taking over his face before he wraps a sweaty arm around your shoulders.

“I’ll expect you’re in for an ass-kicking when your parents get back on Monday.” Robin chimes in, clinging to you like a buoy for support.

“Pfft, cleaning up is tomorrow’s problem. We live for tonight!” Wow, Steve is sure getting into the spirit tonight. Eddie shakes his head at his friend’s antics, turning his attention to the sickly-sweet dessert.

“Want me to slice this up, big boy?” Ringed fingers slide along the skirting of the plate, but his eyes are elsewhere. You feel his gaze raking up the expanse of your thighs, oblivious to how your dress has ridden up amidst the sweaty excitement of the evening.

“Sure, could only help to soak up the alcohol at this point. I’ll grab a knife from the kitchen.” Stumbling backwards, he shoots a half-lidded look in Robin’s direction. “And where did you put my beers? Thought you said they were in the fridge.”

“They are, dingus. On the bottom shelf next to the lump that was probably once cheese but now could be studied for science.” 

“They’re actually not. And if someone stole them, they’re gonna have hell to pay.” “Oh my god! They are…” Their bickering trails off through the sliding doors into the house, leaving you and Eddie alone. Time for some world-class flirting, brain flicking through the Rolodex of teen magazines on how to make a move. But before your brain is capable of firing any neurons, Eddie beats you to the punch.

“The uh- the cake looks good.” Oh great, we’re going down the small talk route. It’s cool, totally cool. You can work with that.

“Oh, thanks! Robin and I baked it yesterday.” Off to a cracking start.

“Well, if you had anything to do with it, I bet it tastes as good as it looks.” Is he-

“Sure does, I’m a master baker. Go ahead, try it for yourself, see if your theory holds up.”

Eddie quirks his brow at you, and you give a small nod in the direction of the frosting-covered mound. A small smile creeps across his face as he dips his forefinger into the lip of the cake, a glob of white icing and sprinkles stuck to his fingertip. Raising it to his mouth, he slowly places the pad of his finger against his tongue, licking a long stripe of sugary cream onto his taste buds. You feel your cheeks burn at the sight, breath hitching in your throat. 

“Mmm, ‘ts good.” Satiated, Eddie’s lips curl into a smug smile, is he getting a rise out of seeing you like this? Masochist. But you’re nothing if not competitive. 

“You’ve uh, got something…” Pointing to the corner of your mouth, Eddie mirrors your action and wipes a small dollop of remaining frosting stuck to the apex of his lips. Pulling his hand back to study it, you take a sure step towards him, closing the gap. Wrapping your fingers around his, you bring the digit up to your lips and place his fingertip against the groove of your tongue. Lips curl around his finger, causing his eyes to widen. You know exactly how you look right now, grateful for the veil provided by the inebriated guests to prevent this gesture from being seen by anyone other than Eddie. Glancing up at him, you hollow your cheeks out slightly as you withdraw his finger from your pursed lips. You shoot him a honey-sweet smile, turning on your heels to find Robin.

“Yep, definitely tastes as good as it looks.”

After three bottom-shelf tequila shots, two generous slices of cake and one group rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody later, you’re feeling on top of the world.

And hot.

Like, stiflingly hot.

The living room is stuffy, thick with haze and balmy humidity. The party has begun to wind down, designated drivers loading up their cars with the inebriated to transport them home. And you, Robin and Steve are sweaty messes post-Queen performance doubling over with laughter on the dance floor. That’s when Steve loudly announces: “Everyone in the pool!”

He’s met with a mixed reaction, a few of the popular girls shooting him a dirty look as they resume their couch gossip session. But with your dress now acting as a sweat rag rather than a garment at this point, you jump at the idea. The three of you beeline into the mostly empty backyard, bar a few smokers lounging around on Steve’s deck chairs.

“Here comes trouble.” A voice chuckles through the billowing smoke, Eddie leaning forward on a recliner as you kick your shoes off haphazardly to the side. 

Steve, with little to discard besides his jeans, shucks them off and cannonballs into the pool, spraying the partygoers scattered around the rim with water. Robin quickly follows suit, diving in next to him, maroon tank top turning a shade darker as it intermingles with the liquid. You chuckle at how they immediately take to dunking one another under the surface, hoping an accidental drowning isn’t on the cards for the night. You turn to Eddie, who is shaking his head and taking a steady drag of his cigarette.

“You coming in?” He glances up at you, expression dropping slightly as he contemplates his answer.

“Nah, someone’s gotta play lifeguard tonight. Make sure Harrington doesn’t drown.”

“Suit yourself, then.” Grabbing the hem of your floral dress, you’re quick to shimmy it up and over your head. The cool breeze hits your clammy skin, providing the immediate relief you’ve been craving all night. Tossing it carelessly to the side, you feel soberingly exposed all of a sudden. Standing on the edge of the pool, water droplets tickle your bare feet as your friends splash about. Cool air caresses the groove between your breasts, intermingling with the sweat droplets accumulating between your lacy bra. The unlined cups provide further relief, a mere suggestion of material against your sensitive skin. On one of the rare occasions you elected to wear a matching set, you’re grateful for the cheeky cut design of your panties, allowing more airflow to cool down your body.

In your slightly drunken indulgence, you don’t notice Eddie unable to tear his eyes away from you. Drinking in your curves far more eagerly than any whiskey he’s consumed that night, committing every square inch to memory. Face to face with the body he’s only ever envisioned in his most private of moments, desperately trying to fill in the blanks as he stroked languidly along his cock, chasing the release only you can grant him. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. You’ve become his guilty pleasure, the only satisfying image in his mind’s eye. And now, standing in front of him, it’s better than he ever could have imagined. He’s still running off the high granted from the sensation of your lips wrapped around his finger. So warm and soft, your wet tongue flicking against the pad of his finger, sending shockwaves coursing through his body. Grateful for your swift departure, before you had the chance to notice the tightening bulge in his jeans. Blood rushed directly to his crotch, rendering him slightly dizzy from the whole interaction. Fuck drugs and alcohol. He was completely intoxicated by you. 

“Dude, help me out!” Robin extends her wet hand out to you, hair completely drenched from her underwater battle with Steve. With a smile, you reach out to your friend, grasping her hand in yours. With a swift tug, Robin’s grin is manic as she pulls out into the pool with a squeal. Water crashed around you, submerging you in a tepid ocean of relief. Bobbing back up to the surface, you feign annoyance before bursting into laughter. “God, you’re too easy sometimes!”

Stevel, floating on his back, looks unbelievably content gazing up at the night’s sky, another successful party in the books. Robin takes to doing laps of the pool, using up any excess energy she’s accumulated through the night. And you can’t help but notice the outlier, still sitting in the poolside lounge. You wade over to the edge, looking up at Eddie.

“It’s nice in here.”

“I’m sure it is.” Taking another drag of his cigarette, he shoots you a small smile. It’s sheepish, unlike him. 

“Didn’t bring your bathing suit?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“I can see that.” Eddie chuckles, respectfully averting his gaze.

“Can I have a quick drag?” You don’t usually smoke, but when in Rome. Eddie obliges, holding the butt of the cigarette out to you, just out of reach. Pressing up on the pool’s ledge, you hoist yourself up high enough out of the water to lean over and take the cigarette between your lips.

What you fail to notice is the way your breasts are pressed together, hands hip distance apart on the rough cement to just enough to accentuate the groove of your bust. Water droplets accumulated on your delicate skin, glimmering like the impending Autumn dew on grass under the moonlight. Ancient Greek artists could only hope to carve such a divine sculpture, striving for unattainable perfection as they tried to capture your beauty. And then, through the wisps of your lashes, you look up at him. Doe-eyed, cigarette perched between your parted lips, gaze boring into him. And Eddie feels the ground fail beneath him, no longer providing unconditional support. Head growing light as his blood rushes elsewhere in his body causes him to quickly clamber to his feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m just, um- not feeling great. Just gonna head inside for a bit.” And with that, Eddie averts his gaze and beelines for the sliding doors, disappearing into the house. 

Fuck. 

So much for playing it cool, it looks like tonight isn’t your night.

“Is Munson okay?” Steve floats over to your side, plucking the cigarette from your mouth to claim it as his own. 

“I don’t know, he said he wasn’t feeling well. Should someone check on him?”

“Nah, probably just smoked too much. I’m sure he'll just grab some water and settle down.”

You hope Steve is right, but five minutes turns to ten, and you begin to worry. What if he’s passed out in the bathroom? You need to go and see if he’s okay, he would do the same for you. Pulling yourself out of the water, you ring the remaining chlorinated water from your hair. In your drunken excitement, none of you possessed the foresight to bring towels out with you. And so, you concede to pulling your floral dress back onto your damp frame, sure Steve will let you borrow some of his clothes later on. Trailing water droplets into the carpeted living room, you peak around for any sight of Eddie. With no one left in the kitchen besides a couple shoving their tongues down each other's throats, you elect to head up the stairs. The bathroom is empty, as is the master bedroom, both doors ajar and rooms dark. 

“Eddie?” You approach Steve’s bedroom door, noticing the light seeping out from under the threshold. Hand meeting the door handle, you give it a shake and notice that it is unlocked. Tentatively pushing it open, you remain quiet in case a poor drunk girl is napping on the bed, not wanting to wake potential inhabitants.

The image you are instead presented with is far less innocent.

[vivi-snow]

PLEASE LET ME GO

Gojo Satoru x f! reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••Summary: You had enough of Satoru’s teasing antics. He didn’t realize that you were actually hurting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••Reminders: teasing, high school setting, popular student! Gojo,

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••a/n: this is a complete draft. No edits, no proofing. Sorry in advance for the mistakes and for the terrible English since it’s not my first language. Also, this is my first time writing emotionally so idk if it’s good.

Word count: 1.5k

╚⏤⏤⏤╗🌺╔⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤╗🌺╔⏤⏤⏤╝╚⏤⏤⏤╗🌺╔⏤⏤⏤╝

It has always been like this. Whenever yours and Satoru’s paths cross, he would seize the opportunity to make fun of everything you have.

Over time, your insecurities become more severe. Every outfit you wear, every book you read, every activity you do, he always has something negative to say about it. Every time you report his behaviors to the teachers, he would act all innocent and insist it was a joke.

     “hey!” his voice pierced through your ears the moment you heard it. You paid no attention as you read your book on the basketball court trying not to retaliate.

“Hey!!!” his voice sounded closer than it was before. His footsteps echoed throughout the court, even though your whole class was there, he just had to pick you to annoy.

“Watcha’ readin’?” he yanked the book from you and decided to look at it. He’s not even reading the book. He’s just flipping through the pages as he’s trying to get a reaction from you.

You rolled your eyes in irritation and took the book from him. You gathered up your belongings and prepared to leave the court when he gripped your wrist tightly, stopping you from your tracks and almost making you fall from imbalance.

“What’s the rush? I’m just trying to communicate with you.” He lowered his sunglasses a bit and anticipated your reaction.

You noticed your whole class has been staring at the both of you- some even whispering. If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s gossip and rumors spreading. You can’t even defend yourself with it because people see it as an excuse, and this very situation you’re in, is a perfect breeding ground for it.

You tried pulling your hand, you tried shaking it, you even tried loosening his grip by using your other hand. He won’t budge, and he is still looking at you with those eyes.

Those damn blue eyes.

He started walking towards the exit door, his hand still gripping your wrist, you were forced to follow him since you had no escape.

     “Satoru!!!” a voice called. “Where are you going?” Suguru asked from a distance.

“On a date!” Satoru answered with a mischievous smile.

Suguru replied with the same smile and continued his dribbling. It seemed he couldn’t care less about the situation.

     Satoru walked outside the court and into the hallways of the school, his hand still gripping your wrist. The whispers of your class slowly faded as you went farther from the court. As you both were walking around the empty halls of the school, he found an empty classroom and you both entered there. He placed you on one of the chairs and he closed both doors, ensuring that no one is able to hear from the outside.

As you were stuck in the room with the most annoying person in the class, he was walking in circles around you, his hands in his pockets, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his inner garment.

You didn’t look up at him, you already knew he was grinning at you as he walked around, so why bother?

He was laughing the whole time. He wanted to know how long you could put up with your silent treatment.

     “I’m surprised you made it this long princess.” He stated. “It kinda hurts me if I don’t get to hear your sweet voice.”

he heard you sobbing after that and decided to provoke you even more.

“You cryin’?” he teased.

You shook your head in response. Annoyance was expected, but an unwelcome emotion- fear, was added to the turmoil of emotions within you.

You were crying, you just didn’t wanna show him. But that sob earlier gave him a clue.

You spoke something to him that he didn’t quite understand.

     “Huh? What was that?” He cupped his hand behind his ear. “Speak clearly princess.” He ordered.

     “What” you paused. “Did I do to deserve this?”

You stood up and wiped your tears with your forearm, looking up at him as the tears didn’t seem to stop rolling down your face.

 ‘Stop crying… please…’ you reminded yourself.

Your shaking breaths are loud enough for him to hear. You pushed him away as you wiped your tears again.

     “Please Gojo… Stop this…” “Please let me go…” “I’ve had enough…” “It hurts… so much…”

This is when he realized it’s actually a serious matter.

     “You… didn’t like it?” He asked, genuinely this time.

You shook your head in response as you turned around, avoiding eye contact with him.

     “I’m…sorry” He responded.

It was too late of an apology now, he had already ruined your self-image. You can hear his footsteps walking toward you.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, everything seemed to spin. You gasped for air as your lungs were strained from the invisible weight that pressed down on your chest. Your legs were wobbling like jelly, unstable and unreliable. The whole room was like a ship deck rolling on a strong current.

     “Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

 You tried to balance yourself by holding on to a table, you felt suffocated. And then, you collapsed. You fell to a somewhat hard surface, and even hear a sound that resembles a heartbeat. Everything was pitch-black. All you can hear is a faint sound of him panicking, a voice whose words aren’t clear enough for you.

     After what seemed like an eternity of catching your breath, you were finally able to open your eyes and breathe in a stable way.

The first thing you notice is that the room is surrounded by curtains. You flickered your eyes to see clearly, and you weren’t dreaming, you ended up in one of the clinic beds. You got up, and there he was.

Satoru Gojo, resting by the edge of your bed facing down with his forearm below his forehead.

He seemed to be sleeping, and you tried not to disturb him as you tried to find out how much time had passed since, but he felt your feet move and immediately grabbed your ankle.

He raised his head and turned towards you, eyes flickering as he cleared his vision.

“Oh… you’re awake,” he stated, his hand still gripping your ankle.

You gently shook your ankle to remind him to let go, to which he did.

     “How long has it been?” you asked him.

     “Hmmmmm,” he checked his phone. “Four hours since you were taken here.” He replied. “Class ended twelve minutes ago.”

“Oh, What’s it about? The class I mean,”

“I didn’t take it. Someone had to watch you.”

“Oh. I’m… sorry,”

Satoru chuckled at your response.

“I had Suguru record the lecture. I’ll send it to you later.”

You smiled in response.

It was the first time he saw you smile. His face was warm and red as if he was inflated with blood.

After you had recovered, he took you home. As your parents waited outside to see you, they noticed a car stopping at your house.

After they confirmed it was you stepping out, they quickly ran towards you and gave you a big, warm hug.

They bombarded you with questions. “Are you okay now?” “Do you need some water?” “Do you need to rest?”

     They notice Satoru standing outside the car. Your parents went towards him and bowed down in gratitude.

     “Thank you, child,” They spoke in unison.

     “Oh, it was nothing Ma’am, Sir,” He responded.

You went to see him again to thank him.

“Thanks for the ride,” you smiled. “Get home safe,”

He waved goodbye to you and went on his way.

Ever since that encounter, he never teased you again.

     At a school party, everyone tried to get close to the duo. You can see from a distance just how much their presence alone made the room filled with fun noises.

You were enjoying your alone time when screaming noises slowly filled the area you were in. A hand grabbed your book, but it didn’t yank it out of you.

  “Hey,” a voice spoke.

It was Satoru, and behind him were the other students looking at you.

You looked at the students, then you looked at him. understanding the message, he turned around to look at the students. He then grabbed your hands and intertwined them with his.

The students saw this and immediately backed away. He laughed in response.

He then glanced at you with a sweet smile, not letting go of your hand.

     ���Come with me to the school park,” he stated.

Suguru noticed the both of you holding hands and heading outside.

“Hey, Satoru!!!” He yelled. “Where are you guys goin’?” He asked.

“On a date!” Satoru yelled back.

He took you to one of the parks with high tables that you can’t even sit on.

He noticed your struggle and placed his hands on your waist as he lifted you to the table to sit on.

He looked up at you with puppy eyes, anticipating a reaction.

Your face was red as his hands were still gripping your waist. You ruffled his hair as you smiled at him.

“Hey,” He called.

“Hmmm?”

“I kinda like you,” He confessed.

You didn’t expect this at all. Your heart starts to beat faster as you try to make sure you hear those words right.

You cupped your hands on his face and slowly lowered your head. You kissed his forehead in response.

“Is that another way of teasing?” you asked.

He smirked at you in response. He quickly kissed your cheek.

“Maybe.”

[moonlight-prose]

Ahh I am so in love your 𝑰𝒏 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒅 - what a great idea!! Could I please request Joel Miller + clumsy attempts at flirting? 💕 So excited to see what fics you share!!

BE STILL MY FOOLISH HEART

a/n: the thought of joel being clumsy with flirting is absolutely how i'd see it going down. he's messy and fucks up sometimes and it's so human it just makes me want to smile stupidly thinking about it. this one in particular has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time, so i am finally happy to finish it. i hope you enjoy it babes!

summary: "yet somehow—despite you never realizing it—joel always ended up with you."

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, joel tripping over his words, flirty joel, softness, the beginning of more.

There was going to be a party. Not a small gathering of older folks that normally happened around the holidays, but an actual party. With alcohol and music and fun. The type of event that you hadn’t been to since well before the outbreak. Sure, you’d been an adult at that time, the years having passed you by long ago, but there was something about the prospect of fun that made you feel your past self peek out.

You weren’t sure exactly how it would happen. What they planned, but you could see yourself enjoying at least some of it. If nothing came of this so-called party, then there was always the bar where you knew many—if not all—the adults would wind up before the night came to an end.

The sun had just begun to stay out a bit longer during the day, giving way to some warmth in the midst of the frozen atmosphere. You wanted to savor it for as long as it was around—knowing just how brutal winter time was. But it still wasn’t warm enough to forgo your favorite denim jacket. It was old, worn in and nearly falling to pieces, but you refused to part with it.

It had seen you through the worst of the outbreak and still continued to last. For some reason it reminded you of yourself.

Entering the stables you headed straight for the little notebook stuck to the wall—your name top of the list to help clean the horses. You didn’t mind the task. Time with the gentle animals gave you an opportunity to think, to find some peace amidst the destruction and decay of the world.

“Busy?”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the man who walked in. Joel smiled softly, the same look he always seemed to give you whenever you ran into one another. Apparently you hadn’t checked the name beside yours. He was scheduled to work the same day too. Of course, you didn’t mind. Why would you? He was kind, helped when you needed it, and more often than not was considered a loner in this small town.

At least that’s what Tommy called him jokingly when you spoke. Yet somehow—despite you never realizing it—Joel always ended up with you. Whether that was doing chores around town, or making runs to go hunting. You had half a mind to ask Tommy if it was his doing, but thought against it.

It wasn’t your place to complain.

“Not yet,” you said, grinning when he moved to sign his name. “Did you hear?”

He glanced at you, eyes a little wider than before and mouth slightly parted. You found it was difficult to tear your eyes away from his plush bottom lip. “Hear?”

“The party.”

He chuckled—the sound echoing in your chest until you could feel it in your heart. “Oh that.”

You laughed, grabbing for the supplies needed. “That. You sound like an old man Joel.”

“I am an old man.”

“Well…I’m old too but it still sounds fun.”

He shrugged. “Yeah I suppose.”

“Are you agreeing with me about me being old? Or the fun part?” Biting down on your lower lip when he nearly dropped the brush you handed him, his cheeks flushing a dark crimson.

“No I’m—you’re not—ah shit. Darlin’ I didn’t mean you’re old—”

Laughing, you nudged him in the shoulder and headed into one of the stables, greeting the horse with a soft coo and pat on his side. “Calm down Joel I was kidding.”

“Right,” he huffed, following your lead. A beat of silence passed between you two before he decided to break it—wanting nothing more than to hear the sound of your voice again. “Are you uh…you goin’ to the thing?”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes entirely. “I was thinking about it.”

His chance was now or never and Joel honestly would have rather taken on several infected than try to come off as some type of suave. He hadn’t dated since before the outbreak. Shit he couldn’t even call what he did dating. It was merely him trying to fill an empty space for Sarah, because he thought she needed it. Yet deep down he realized all she really needed was her dad being there for her.

But now he was alone. Ellie needed him, but not as much as she used to. Which meant he now lived in his big old house all by himself—wondering if maybe…you’d like to live there too. With him.

“Do you got…” He let out a long breath, trying to calm the racing of his heart. He felt like a fucking teenager again and you seemed to be enjoying the nervousness that radiated off him. “Do you want to go with me?”

You tried to stop your smile from growing, but gave in once you saw the sheer panic in his eyes. It suddenly occurred to you why he always ended up paired with you. All his attempts at conversation, his stuttering comments. He was flirting with you. Heat rushed to your cheeks, eyes alight with a wonder that hadn’t existed since you were young.

“Are you asking me on a date, Joel?”

He stuttered, his eyes quickly glancing to the horse that let out a puff of hot air from its nose. “I um…”

To put him out of his misery, you stepped closer, catching him entirely off guard as you lightly gripped the front of his coat. “Pick me up at seven?”

He nodded, mouth parted in awe as you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sure thing darlin’.”

[aurumalatus]

how do i get good at writing like you 🥺👉👈

being "good at writing" is def a process, and since "good writing" is subjective it can kind of be all over the place. i don't really consider myself a good writer, and i was never an english major or anything when i was in college, so i'm probably not the *best* person to be giving writing advice, but i've been writing fanfic for a long time so this is my genuine advice in that regard! (below the cut)

serina's totally legit (maybe not) writing advice

start with an idea this one seems obvious. like, serina, no fucking duh. but starting with an idea that YOU like and are passionate about can make all the difference. for me, this is the difference between words naturally flowing on the page, and me writing shit like "he laughed laughily while laughing". if you can really get into an idea, it makes the process a LOT easier.

flesh it out if you're not an outline person, that's okay. i'm not really either, unless it's for multi-chapter fics. i just kind of skip around writing scenes that i think of as it goes, but warning this can get VERY disorganized very quickly, which is why i ALSO have a habit of restarting like 8 diff drafts of one piece LOL. everyone works differently so find your vibe. if your idea is something like "kinich and reader kissing", figure out WHY kinich and reader are kissing. where are they kissing? is it awkward? what's the vibe?

set the tone for me, every piece has a bit of a different style. pixelprincess has a lighter style, which means more basic descriptions that essentially serve to lead into the funny dialogue and other things. "brighella, the hellraiser" is one that i wanted to have a more evocative tone and a frigid vibe, which means it has more flowery-esque prose and metaphors, rather than straightforward description. turnfire is somewhere in between. for me, setting the tone can be helped by a lot of things, like making moodboards or playlists. for me personally, the music i'm listening to while writing matters SO MUCH.

don't be afraid to start over/change as i said before, i have a habit of starting over my drafts a LOT. i think the last chapter of turnfire had something like 6 drafts. but i always think "if this is dragging for me to write, it's probably dragging for them to read too". and sure, maybe that's not always true, but why would i keep writing something that even i don't like? i'm really not afraid to start over or put things in a different direction than i originally intended if i feel it's more interesting. if you're someone who likes to stick to your outlines though, do that! like i said, i don't really outline, so that's up to your individual preference.

write things down as they come i find ideas everywhere. you guys might have noticed that i like to write a lot of aus, and it's because i truly get ideas in every single media i consume. games i play, music i listen to, etc. if i think of an interesting wording or metaphor, i'll write it down. seeing these things really helps when i'm writing, and it often helps me branch out my writing.

don't be afraid to put it down. you might have also noticed that i have TONS of wips going on at any one time. THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR EVERYONE. some people find this very overwhelming which is understandable! for me, it gives me other things to work on when i'm feeling stuck in one piece. by switching between them, i can keep my ideas fresh and stay in better form without burning out for longer. again, this is a personal preference! if you want more specific advice regarding ACTUAL writing, like sentence flow, descriptions, etc, let me know! again, i'm REALLY not the best LOL but i also want to encourage everyone to get started on writing however they can if they feel the urge! the fandom can always use more writers :)

[zarla-s]

Man it's been a long time since I've done an ask cluster! Let's see if I can get some down...

He's an extremely fun character to write for and play with! So in that sense I'm fond of him, haha. He's such a huge disaster of a person, there's always something fun to do with him. Well "fun" in a relative sense.

I don't have anything to forgive him for, he didn't hurt me. |D He hurt the brothers!

I do have an idea for a cute feature inspired by Six-Eared Macaque! I should really sit down and do that already... and finish the one I half started but never finished...

I don't think my opinion on any of them changed! I love them all, haha. Which ones I drew comics about just depends on which ones I get ideas for really. Sometimes I get Alphys ideas and sometimes I get Goatparents ideas! Inspiration is fickle!

I don't have any solid plans or anything. :B Just gonna keep chugging along with silly comics and art! Work on Defrag and such. I'd like to finish a Ladyverse comic I've had lying around forever, and I had vague plans for doing a doujin for them too I could work on... and also seeing if I could format Handplates into a book format... I've always got a bunch of projects, haha.

It works on that level! It wasn't intentional though. |D

I do enjoy speculation! I don't really have much of my own though, I didn't predict anything in chapter 2 so now I'm assuming I can't predict anything in the future chapters either, haha.

Emesis Blue is great! Some really beautiful visuals in there, very striking! Love the mood of it too and a lot of the surreal imagery. I think it helped spur me back into TF2 again, haha. Medic and Scout's relationship was so cute.

I have thought about this! It has its share of challenges though... I outlined them more in this post. A pdf would be more doable though... could even include some extra stuff as well! Hmm...

I can see that! He'd probably spend as much time out in the rain as he could just doing whatever to stay outside.

It was pretty much always going to end like that. I always wanted it to end on a hopeful note! Which might seem weird with how dark it is at the beginning. I DID for a brief period at the very beginning of Handplates think about stopping with the Pacifist run, but that was only because I thought going where I wanted to go would take too long and already the project seemed so dauntingly huge at the time, haha. But it was always going to end in a positive way!

Gaster talks about what he originally intended to create here, and he explains a bit about the physical experiments he runs on the brothers here. They aren't really a solution in and of themselves so much as tools to try and find a way to break the barrier. Really though, Gaster got stuck in the sunk-cost fallacy lol.

I don't really have opinions about what canon Gaster would be like. |D Handplates Gaster is his own thing really. Canon Gaster, who knows! Deltarune Gaster, who knows! I will say I hope Gaster stays a mystery in Deltarune and never actually shows up but I think the odds of that are really low at this point.

I thought about doing a script along those lines! I did a few rough drafts of one, but it never really went anywhere... it'd end up dead-ending or kind of meandering off. I might see if I can get an actual script down for a side-comic or something in the future... it might be better suited for a fic.

I was just thinking about this lately! I was picturing Gaster totally forgetting about that until he sees Papyrus squinting and is like OH GOD YOUR EYES THAT'S RIGHT D: and goes to get him looked at lol.

I couldn't come up with a good idea for Flowey which is a shame, I do like him, haha. If one comes to me though I might make a little side comic about it!

Gaster's LV is complicated... his stats in-game are ludicrous if I recall correctly. Did he carry the damage from his murders into the void, even if those murders weren't his in the new timeline? Deep thoughts.

He fed them anything he could find, haha. Which is why sometimes they just ended up with chocolate bars (which he intended as dinner for himself). He probably fed them more often than he fed himself lol. He did feed them fairly regularly though.

Not about skeletons, probably. |D

Man I know I had an explanation for this but it was so long ago... it's hard for me to remember. It could be that the Riverperson is just weird and has weird insight into elements of things, had a prophetic dream... I don't know! It bugs me now that I can't remember this, haha.

[fungalittleweirdo]

ROTTMNT 60s AU !!!

UHHHH JUST WANTED TO PUT THIS OUT THERE WHILE I'M STUCK IN DENIAL ABOUT MY WRITER'S BLOCK

raph

please this man has SOUL

he sings in clubs in new york, he has a record coming out in '67 with his band Raphael and The Digg

his brothers didn't feel like joining the band, so it's up to some talented musician girls he met without a trained main vocalist (digg, with prairie dog, honey badger, and groundhog)

they're super popular in harlem and they make it to charts

raph meets other motown records signees and they always find he's the gentlest of giants

he and his band DESERVES a grammy

leo

he's a surfer !!!

he loves competing in surfing tournaments in long island

the boy's a legend, other surfers think he's a fish at first

if he didn't have separation anxiety for his brothers (a post-kraang headcanon) he would have gone to the west coast where the real competitions are (they never feel like leaving new york for very long)

for now he's happy surfing the coast of long island

he loves when todd surfs with him, his favourite part is the lemonade he gets afterwards

donnie

donatello is OBSESSED with the space race

he managed to hack nasa for rocket blueprints

he got caught and they asked him if he was a communist but there was no found evidence that proved he was so he was let go and his name was cleared

he managed to improve the blueprints he got his hands on and built more efficient rockets, then he used computing tech to make his very own battleshell

he has a super-powered telescope he nicknamed shelldon

donnie predicted the states would win the space race in 1965 because it had something to do with the war, i myself don't know how he used that data point to draw a conclusion

mikey

mikey is such a hippie he has mugshots of his charming smiling face framed to prove it

very anti-war, very pro-civil rights movement, pro-dope and lowkey anti-united states government

he was at the stonewall riots !!!!!

he not only fought for human civil rights, but for mutants too, so that he and his brothers could be acknowledged as citizens

humans turned into mutants are already citizens, but the mistreatment they get is unfair and mikey chose to be a leading pioneer for mutant rights

leo (hesitantly) opened portals for mikey in the south so that he could stand with people of colour in their trying times

misc notes !!

lou jitsu was popular in golden age hollywood, he won many accolades for his films until big mama made it look like he was signed to stay in the battle nexus

jupiter jim films are actually westerns, his name is junebug jim instead

big mama is a big mafia boss woman regardless of the era she's in, though her battle nexus is televised for all ages

instead of becoming criminals, mutants follow mikey's lead protesting for mutant/yokai rights and new york is the first city to acknowledge it

the turtles' beach parties are insane, there's always some people other than the siblings lingering around at midnight

april is the best reporter out there, she reports on the turtles' exploits all the time and she makes mad BANK over it (successful 60s black woman slay)

the foot clan is a cult a lot like the manson family, the turtles hate their guts

baron draxum does the same thing he always did, brood in his lab trying to destroy the humans (that is until mikey gets through to him)

sr. hueso's run of the mill pizza is still the turtles' favourite pizza spot, though the establishment is beachside because he's on good terms with his brother, who mainly does imports

casey jr. is a star hockey player, he also avoids the draft because he's from the future, so the government doesn't have his records

but cass protests against the war with mikey whenever she can, she's also anti-war

donnie also managed to be the first mutant on the moon by his own means, it's been a childhood dream since he saw laika's launch in sputnik 2

aight that's all i have for now, i hope you enjoyed !!

[linpunny]

Fever Dream

Hanma Shuji DC

A/N: It has been a long long time since ive written anything and actually posted it. Most of my content is fluff from Obey me! shall we date but ive always loved TR since it first aired. Ive been stuck with horrible writers block forever. BUT BOY DID HANMA HELP ME OUT OF IT. So please enjoy, i usually don't post any smut that i may or may not write or have saved in my drafts ! Reblogs over likes plz :3

Network: @enchantedforest-network

WC: 910

♡

TW/CW: DARK CONTENT: somnophilia, drugging, reader receiving while unconscious, unprotected sex, unconscious reader, non con, pussy slapping i guess but it only happens once, orgasm denial

established relationship, naive reader, penetrative sex, female reader with a kitty. No pronouns. 

PLEASE BE ADVISED THIS A DARK CONTENT /SMUT FIC!!! DNI MINORS 

“Shh…go back to sleep baby♡~” Hanma breathed hotly into the shell of your ear. Luckily for him you had been falling back to sleep so easily as of late-thanks to the special tea he gave to you each night. Laced with just enough sleeping pills to keep you lucid enough to think you were dreaming but strong enough to keep you from realizing just how naive you really were around him. 

You were now drifting to sleep, humming in response while Hanma smirked and gently placed a kiss on the back of your neck as he bullies the fat tip of his dick in between the warm folds of your pussy. The sin tattooed hand firmly digs into your hip holding you in place as he shutters burying his entire length inside you with ease. Your walls flutter tightly around him as he begins to shallowly thrust, setting an excruciatingly slow pace. Your body is well trained and immediately grinds down on him, your hips rolling to match his thrusts. 

“Dammit,....can’t get ‘nough of this pussy.”He groans into your neck, leaving small bruising kisses along your nape. 

Intoxicated was an understatement. Hanma was addicted to you. The shape of his dick was already molded into your pussy- no, his pussy and he loved how soft, sweet and wet you were for him. The best part was how easily he could control you at night while you dreamed. Your body is so pliable under his fingertips. For once he didn’t have to hold back or restrain himself unlike when you were awake. He wouldn’t dare to ever indulge his dark desires in fear of you leaving and realizing he was still the same rough street thug he was all those years back. 

He was already dangerously close to his release, and you whined in between the gentle breaths of sleep as his tip kissed the entrance of your cervix. “Shu-shu…ngh~”

You squirmed wildly, humping what you assumed to be a very life-like and very hard version of Hanma’s dick that you had only felt in your dreams. A slight sense of pain washed over your body as you felt something like a rough slap pulse through your clit, causing a pathetic moan to leave your parted lips. The overwhelming sense of pleasure quickly faded as another jolt of pain pinched and squeezed at your overly sensitive bud. You stirred slightly in your sleep, brows furrowed deeply, hands gripped tight to the covers as you begged aloud, voice cracking as you chanted his name over and over. Praying for Hanma to let you cum in between sleepy sobs. And like always your climax never came in these vivid dreams that you yearned for every night. 

Hanma wasn’t going to let you cum first like he always does. This wasn’t about your pleasure. It was about his. These late night sessions were about making you his personal cum dump.

‘Such an obedient slut’ He thought as he re-positioned you, rolling you onto your back. His golden eyes glowed with lust as he watched your breasts rise and fall as you whimpered in your sleep. He now hovered over you, hands on either side of your head caging you in between his large body as he dipped down to suck and nibble your plush lower lip. His lips worshiped you as he placed wet kisses along your jawline, down your neck and all over your chest. His punishment hand roughly cupped a breast squeezing just enough to hear you moan while his tongue licked over your perked nipples. Just the sight of you right now all laid out, body glowing from the sheen of your sweat, pussy slick from his cock was almost too much for him as he smiled with his eyes down at you. He truly loved this version of you. 

Hanma had done this enough to know that if he waited any longer you’d wake up and realize he was balls deep inside you without the condom that you nagged him to wear every single time you had conscious sex.  He hated not being able to fully feel how soft and wet you were for him. He needed to feel your pussy clenched so tightly around his cock as he edged you into submission. He just didn’t have the heart to tell you how badly he wanted to pump his cum into you.

He pried your legs open with his thigh, pushing your knees to your chest. He admired you for one last moment, dripping wet pussy on full display just for him. His cock leaked as he stroked himself, letting his predator-like gaze devour you before lining himself back up with your slit. He grunted as he bottomed out, thrusting repeatedly into the deepest part of you that he could. Your eager cervix easily accepted his thick bulbous tip as he painted your walls white, draining every last ounce of his thick milky cum into you. He pulls out and proudly smiles as he watches your gaping pussy dripping with his cum. 

Hanma really couldn’t let you know how rough he wanted to be with his sweet, caring, angel.  So instead he resorts to drugging his “pretty baby" and pumping you full of his cum, only to finger it out of you each morning before you awake. 

Not his proudest moment but Hanma couldn't stop. Why would he want to when your body keeps pulling him back every night for more?

© Linpunny 2023 All of the following works are fictional and belong to me. Please do not copy, edit, or steal any of my content. Do not advertise on any other social media.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tyvm for 8k+ followers!! 😭

Ignore the crazy number of drafts I have—

WEHHH 🥺 You guys keep surprising me time and time again! Like I always say, thank you for the support!! Each and every one of you has been such an integral part of this journey.

At the 7k follower milestone, I revealed seven NRC dorm uniform designs for Miss Raven (my TWST OC and blog mascot/muse!). For this milestone, I’ll do the same, but for RSA and NBC uniforms 🎵 They’re just sketches, but I hope you find them interesting all the same! I designed them with the prompt of "what if Raven ended up at a different school than NRC" in mind. How would these new environments and students shape her as she learns and grows?

Royal Sword Academy

The hairstyle for RSA!Raven is similar to NRC!Raven, but with the pigtails lifted much higher to represent a shift in her place and role in the world. It's crazy how just the pigtails being higher makes her look so different... almost kind of resembles Hatsune Miku! You'll also notice that it's not actually a single large chunk of hair curling in each pigtail; it's meant to look sort of like two segments intertwining (think like OMGkawaiiAngel from Needy Streamer Overload, but with thicker hair; it looked weird when Raven's hair wasn't thick).

RSA!Raven's look is a mixture of what a tomboyish, active princess would wear and what a more traditional princess would wear. The base look is very Snow White-inspired, since that's an important and historical film for Disney. She has a little red bow clipped to the center of her hair, puff sleeves that resemble the ones on Snow White's dress, and her collar is high and poofs out similar to Snow White's. The bow also appears on her boots, which are high and come with a stable sole for trekking around.

Raven's jacket is long and boasts a flamboyant train that flares out, and with the sash repurposed to her waist and the pleated skirt, it gives the illusion of a dress. On top, she wears a frilly blouse and a cravat of raven feathers. Cinched as an accessory atop the cravat is her magestone inlaid in an RSA brooch. She wears a pair of safety shorts under her skirt so she can run and climb without worry. What if there's a cat stuck in a tree or an old lady that needs help crossing the street?! Have no fear, the tomboyishly heroic Raven-san will come help!!

This version of Raven is much more upbeat and outgoing! Since RSA is a place that promotes teamwork, she's now the type that's eager and willing to fight for her friends and to help those in need! Raven's still ever the curious intellectual, but at RSA, where her wishes and hopes for the future are planted, watered, and left to bloom, she's much more open about sharing her dreams and confiding in others. No trust issues here! In fact, maybe she's a little too trusting (much like how she initially started off at NRC). Even though she may have girlish dreams and small stature, you shouldn't underestimate her! She can pack quite a punch with her small fists and loudmouth. RSA!Raven is a classic bright, doe-eyed do-gooder that would surely piss the NRC boys off. When she's not writing a story, she's going around with Chenya and seeing what fun new things lie in store for her. (It's rare that you'll find Raven cooped up in a room!) She's also the first to admit wrongdoing or defeat if she's done something wrong or stepped out of line. RSA!Raven is just honest to a fault, and it's usually Chenya who has to talk her out of apologizing for everything. "Mmm? What's the big deal if we sneak onto NRC campus? Sure, they may not like us, but there's no rule against paying a visit to old friends! You should come along~ I bet it'll be real fun!"

Noble Bell College

NBC!Raven doesn't have too many outrageous modifications (like, no super short skirts here) to her outfit because in my mind, the school is pretty conservative and wouldn't stand for that. There's a ribbon tied in her beret, as well as another at her chest to secure the diamond-cut magestone there. Usually the shawl NBC students wear is all cloth, but I layered it so there's cloth over Raven's usual feather shawl. The sash coming from her shoulders is also longer and cut a little differently to help signal that she's an anomaly within the student body. Her collar is also a little looser to help her breathe. Last but not least, Raven decided to personalize her uniform a little bit by tying a loose piece of fabric over the longer robes underneath. It has golden beading along the hem, which resembles a piece on Esmeralda's own skirt. Raven wears strings of pearls on her waist in her original NRC outfit, so I thought this would be a neat parallel for her NBC look.

I wanted Raven's hair here to be simple, so it's let down and falls in natural loose waves. Some of it is over her shoulder, but the rest is behind her back, so this helps to slightly differentiate it from the other hairstyles she has worn before. I think it helps to give the impression that she's a studious scholar, but there's a cute and quirky side to her too.

If you thought NRC!Raven was an introvert, hoo boy 😅 you haven't seen anything yet! In the quiet solace of Noble Bell's untarnished halls, peace reigns supreme. Under the watch of the Bell of Salvation, Raven has blossomed into a quiet, stoic, and innocent flower. She does her due diligence sweeping the floors and washing the gargoyles (greeting them every day with a soft smile), then writes stories by candlelight. In the afternoons, she likes to observe the townspeople from a seat at a cafe, or even from up on high, at the tallest tower in the city. Raven respects authority and the rules, and, above all else, believes that justice and equality should be upheld. As expected of someone growing up with the tales of the Just Judge!

If the bad influences of NRC aren't around to be bad influences on her, then surely Rollo will get the job done for them. Thing is, we don't see him acting out in the presence of his peers. This will, naturally, lead to Raven foolishly thinking that he's an excellent role model and thus strive to be just like him. She follows him around like a lost puppy and shyly asks him for advice on various things. Maybe she'd even be a member of student council (secretary?) and hope that her contributions will bring her ever closer to reaching the pinnacle that is the president. With the vice prez and aide, they form the Rollo Fan Club!

... And yet, even though she admires him so deeply, there's a part of her that suspects that Rollo-senpai isn't telling his whole story. She's incredible empathetic and good at reading people (after all, she talks to the stone statues around campus too!)--and her senses tell her that behind Rollo's calm demeanor and dependableness, there's something dark eating away at him. "I wish he would trust us enough to let us know," she says. But maybe someday he will open up to her. (ie Raven is so totally going, "I CAN FIX HIM!!")

[dreamties]

Bo Sinclair General Relationship HCs

A/n- A while ago (like, last year while ago), realized that I had never actually written anything for a lot of the characters on my list. So, I wanted to change that. Dug up this work from my drafts and edited it for y'all to enjoy! <3

One for Vinnie is already in the works!! and i believe i already have a post for Lester <33

T/W: Bo should be his own warning (he's kind of mean), very vague nsft implications

despite the way he treats his brothers- he does love them. Vinnie and Les rr all he's had for so long ! he just doesn't know how to show them he cares, since all he really knows is the pain and hurt his parents (especially his mother) caused him.

of course that doesn't make everything he does okay! but at least it helps to explain the cold and hard exterior he always has. not only is he capable of showing kindness- he actually has a very soft nice side to him. it's just difficult to reach that layer.

when the two of you first meet, he thinks ur cute and flirts with you. who knew that he'd be letting you live that fateful afternoon...

after that first encounter- Bo's gonna seem like a total asshole at first. (well- he is)

it takes months...but he does warm up to your presence after a while. he still doesn't totally trust you. he had been keeping a very close eye on you, making sure you wouldn't leave. but he loosens up and lets you explore town by yourself more. not constantly stuck by your side.

any touch or affection that's on the spicier side is likely to develop in the first few months. the soft side of him can take years to fully unravel though...

god damn is he handsy. always has a hand on ur ass ( discreetly hidden in ur pant pockets, or on display for anyone in town to let them know HEY. ur fuckin taken >:( )

not much of a hugger. especially in public. exceptions to this are: holding uu or being held by you while the two of you sleep OR if one of uu is upset. hugs and gentle touches when he's angry always calm his nerves a bit.

what touches and when they're okay takes a lot of experience of situations to figure out. Bo isn't straight forward with his feelings. You have to infer and make mistakes and fuck up a lot to really understand him

also !! picking uu up and twirling uu around as an occasional greeting <3

okay honestly?? he's a total flirt but also a bit of a romantic. like Classic Romance.

there's not much good that came from his upbringing- but he learned to be quite the gentleman and knows how to treat his partner right (sort of...not really) (you probably have to teach him to be kinder and more gentle to ya- he'd work on that for you, though <3333)

like, I think he'd get his S/O roses or your first date would be at their fake movie theater set up. Bo would flip through a few of the old reels, settling on whichever one seemed the least boring. it would be only you and him (and several wax figures). maybe you'll rest your head against his shoulder as you watch the film, he'll snake an arm around you, pulling you ever so slightly closer. holding a small conversation filled with passing remarks and stupidly flirtatious lines. which begins in small whispers and ends in uproarious laughter. you leave before the movie even ends (Bo will deal with it later), and you just can't help keeping your eyes off him.

(he's quite the charmer, isn't he?)

back to physical affection with him !! his kisses are more often than not- rough. They don't meld or connect to yours- they don't Try to. they'll bruise and hurt you.

yet, at the end of the night, he'll peck little kisses on your face and lips and down your neck.

is very keen on using terms like: gorgeous, beautiful, handsome, etc when referring to you. like, instead of your name lol

he'll just lean against the door frame, seeing you plate the table for dinner- for him and his brothers. a smug smirk on his face as he ogles you.

"hey gorgeous, miss me?" he'll say. putting his fingers beneath your chin, lifting your face so you could see each other better. kiss the corners of your mouth, lick the sweetness from your lips.

you'll turn your gaze to him. surprised by him. not by how nice he's being (you know your boyfriend, and your boyfriend could also be a real sweet fellow if he tried), but from his sudden appearance. he didn't usually seek you out when you cook or bake.

face melting into an adoring, eager expression when your eyes finally meet his.

"bo," you'll smile. "good to see ya down so early. what's got ya so excited?"

he'll smile and press a dozen kisses across your body. "to see you, darlin."

also, while i imagine Bo sees himself more fitted for a traditional relationship- man/woman, him doing the work, his gal staying at him to cook and such. . . he's known to surprise folks every once in a while. he doesn't mind who or what you are- either way he's gonna be a curmudgeon till you grow on him.

despite Bo's personal feelings- he'll try to apologize to you when he fucks up. he doesn't really do apologies- especially if he thinks he's in the right.

he hates seeing you all upset, especially from something that he's done- he'll treat you extra special whenever he messes up <33

who knows . . . maybe Bo will even change and grow as a person for you hehe

[drabbles-mc]

Catching the Red-Eye

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anon: I just saw a funny post that gave me a fic idea: Friend says “Our flight is at 3am so we could go drinking and then straight to the airport.” Y/N: “Sound like a great idea!” Narrator: “It was not a great idea.” Can I request a Juice x reader where she & her gf (maybe Tara or someone?) are coming back from a girls trip and Juice(&Jax or whoever) have to deal w/ whatever state they find their girls in? 😂😂

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I started a draft for this months ago when you first sent it in and then my computer deleted it. But I got back to it tonight because apparently my muse is only awake between 11pm and 1am these days 😂 I did tweak a couple little things from the original request but the idea of writing reader an Tara as friends just made my heart way too happy. I love them so much and I hope they have many adventures together going forward. I've missed writing slice of life stuff like this. 🥰 (Also I can't lie this made me want to write more fic for Jax and Tara. It's such a small glimpse of them here but god I mourn the missed opportunities of them just having normal relationship moments man idkidk)

A/N 2: My requests are closed this is an old one that's been sitting in my inbox for literal months. Unedited and unbetad as always lmao

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @juicyortiz @meadowofsinfulthoughts @i-just-read-stuff @bport76 @withmyteeth @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @yourwinchesterbros @nessamc @garbinge @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was the first time that you’d ever actually been drunk on a plane. For all the times you heard people talk about airport bars, and all the times that flight attendants had offered you cocktails, you had never really thought much about it. You were always on the go through the airport, always had a book or something to keep you company on the flights. You had never even been buzzed near a plane, let alone drunk and on one.

Apparently the missing ingredient had been traveling with Tara. You had no idea what you had been missing out on until you had it. All because of a trip for a hospital conference. The two of you had spent the better part of your week sitting through lectures and seminars. Sure, the information was interesting, and sure, you were both thankful for the opportunity. But after an entire week in a swanky resort it felt like the two of you had nothing to show for it.

Then to top it all off, your flight got delayed. So you and Tara were stuck at the airport with a few extra hours to kill. It wasn’t long enough to justify leaving just to have to go back through security, but it was too long to just sit there doing nothing. You had no interest in the book in your backpack, and the way that Tara was looking around the airport had you thinking she was in the same predicament.

Then she turned and looked at you, eyebrows raised and a little bit of a glint in her eyes. “You know,” she leaned on the armrest between your two chairs at the terminal, “since our flight isn’t until three now, we could just…” she shrugged casually, “hit one of the bars here and head straight to our flight afterwards.”

You chuckled, trying to gage just how serious she was. “R-really?”

She shrugged, “Why not? The plane has a designated driver. Plus,” she stood up from her seat, “I think we deserve something besides pamphlets and lecture notes for the week we’ve had.” She held her hand out for you to take. “Come on. Closest bar is just a few gates down.”

Despite knowing that it was most likely going to end in a hangover on a plane, you slapped your hand into hers and let her pull you up from your seat and down the hallway. The amount of laughter erupting from the two of you were the sure sign of an impending good time.

It was such a good time, in fact, that it was a just before midnight when your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You pulled it out to see who was calling at such a late hour. You half-stifled a giggle as you showed Tara the name flashing across your screen.

“I forgot to tell him the flight got delayed.”

Her eyes widened as she laughed, taking a sip of her drink before saying, “Oh. When you tell him, make sure he tells Jax.” She let out another laugh. “I forgot to tell him, too.”

You were laughing as you answered the phone. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” Juice had been confused the second he dialed your number, but the drunken lilt to your voice only made him more confused. “Are you good? We're at the airport and—”

“Promise me you won’t get mad?” you asked, still giggling.

“He better not!” Tara chimed in with a laugh before ordering the two of you another round of drinks.

Juice couldn’t help but to laugh at the fact that Tara was also drunk. After getting it together, he said, “I promise I won’t get mad. What’s up?”

“Our flight got delayed.” You laughed. “Until 3AM. We aren’t,” you took a sip of the drink that Tara handed you, “we aren’t gonna be home until morning.”

Juice sighed but he wasn’t mad. All the shit that you went through because of him being in the club, all the changed and canceled plans for a myriad of reasons, you more than earned this one. Tara too.

“You’re mad,” you said.

He laughed. “I’m not mad. Just, you know, don’t get carried away and miss your flight.”

You smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “We won’t.”

“Text me later with an ETA?”

“As soon as we board the plane.”

“Alright. I love you.”

You were beaming. “I love you too.” He was halfway through saying goodbye when you remembered, “Oh! Shit. Make sure you tell Jax! Tara forgot too.”

Juice laughed. “Yea, I think he might have figured it out by now.”

You heard Jax's muffled hello on the other end of the line, laughing before finally getting around to saying one more I love you to Juice and saying goodbye.

The rest of the night into the tiny hours of the morning flew by in a bit of a blur. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of drinks. If your memory served right there were a decent number of them that you and Tara didn’t have to pay for yourselves which always seemed to make a drink taste better. It was a great time, and despite the amount of alcohol in your systems you still made it to your flight on time. You even remembered to update Juice.

The two of you managed to get your laughter somewhat under control for the sake of the other passengers on the plane. You didn’t want to keep them up with fits of giggles so you dialed it down. It didn’t take long for Tara to drift off to sleep, but you knew that wasn’t going to be happening for you until you home and in your own bed. And, with any luck, curled up with Juice.

Not sleeping had the unique upside of allowing you to nurse another drink or two on the flight. Just enough to keep you buzzed, to stop you from getting slammed with a brutal hangover. You kept yourself perfectly amused on the relatively short flight home. A few hours on a plane seemed to go by faster than in the car. Being able to watch the sun come up while still having a buzz certainly didn’t hurt.

Tara woke with a groan when you nudged her shoulder after the plane landed. She shook her head at you, not opening her eyes all the way as she felt around on the floor for her purse. “This is why I don’t drink,” she grumbled.

You laughed as you stood up, slipping your backpack on your shoulders. “No, you don’t drink because we always have to be grownups.”

“If we’re both grownups, why am I the only one who’s dying?” she asked as she reached over and snatched your sunglasses off the top of your head and put them on.

“I stayed up,” you laughed as you walked through the airport towards baggage claim, “and I stayed drunk.”

She had to laugh at that. “Smart. I’ll have to remember that next time.”

“Next time?” you said with a grin as you pulled your suitcase and then hers from the carousel. “Hell yea.”

When the two of you stepped outside, Tara immediately let out another groan at the bright morning sunlight. You couldn’t help your laughter as you continued walking, looking for either your car or Tara's. She followed along behind you, trusting you to do the real scouting on her behalf.

It wasn’t long until you saw both Jax and Juice standing on the sidewalk, leaning back against the side your car. You waved to get their attention, picking up your pace, not caring about the suitcase rolling and bouncing along behind you. The second you were close enough, you let go of the suitcase and ditched it on the sidewalk in favor of running up and hugging Juice. You hopped up, wrapping both your arms and legs around him as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

He laughed, the impact of your jump making him stumble a step but he still caught and held onto you. He hooked his arms underneath you, holding you as your legs wrapped around his waist. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, holding you tight for a moment before you let your feet hit the ground again. Pulling back, you kissed him hard on the lips, leaving the both of you breathless and somehow still laughing.

“I missed you too,” he said with a chuckle. He leaned into it as you cupped his face in your hands. “The trip was good, then?”

“It was great!” you beamed. “Missed you, though.”

“Looks like you two did just fine without us.” He paused, looking over at Tara who was leaning into Jax as he chuckled at her hungover state. “Well, one of you did just fine.”

Jax kissed the side of Tara's head. “Rough trip, babe?”

She shook her head. “The trip was great. I’m still dying, though.” She hugged him and kissed him on the lips. “Take me home so I can die in peace.”

He laughed. “Is this how I am when I’m hungover?”

“You’re worse,” all three of you replied in unison, laughing when you realized.

Jax rolled his eyes but he was laughing too as he picked up both your suitcase and Tara's to toss them into the trunk of your car. “Let’s get you party animals home.”

You immediately ran towards the front of the car. “I call shotgun!”

You were comfortably slouched in your seat with your feet on the dash before Jax and Tara finished settling themselves in the back seat. Jax had his arm draped around her shoulders, keeping her tucked snug against his side as she got ready to lightly doze for the duration of the ride home.

Juice reached over, resting his hand on your thigh as he drove. You interlocked your fingers with his, watching the scenery through the windshield and the passenger window.

Juice squeezed your hand. “How the hell are you not, you know, super fucking hungover?”

You were too busy laughing to answer the question, so Tara piped up from the back seat for you. “Hair of the dog,” she mumbled.

You laughed as you nodded. “Something like that. I just didn’t let myself sober up all the way.” You saw the way Juice peeled his eyes off the road to look at you for a moment and shrugged. “What? The flight attendant offered! Who was I to say no? Don’t worry,” you patted his hand, “when I wake up from my nap in a few hours I will be plenty hungover. By then Tara will be doing better than I’m doing now.”

Juice dropped the two of them off at Jax's. You said a lazy goodbye from the passenger seat, the exhaustion of the week and the all-nighter finally catching up to you. You were starting to close your eyes when Juice got back into the driver's seat. He looked over at you before he put the car back in drive, unable to stop smiling at the sight of you.

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was looking at you. “Yea?”

He laughed quietly. “Nothing. I love you.” He leaned over the center console so he could kiss the side of your head. “I’m glad you two had fun. I’m even more glad that you’re home.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him with a smile. “You’re a sap, Juan Carlos.”

He chuckled as he backed out of their driveway. “You love me, though.”

You couldn’t deny that. “I do. But remember that you love me in a few hours when I’m cranky and hungover.”

“When you’re trying to bury yourself in all of our pillows and blankets?”

“And trap you there with me.”

“And all of your crankiness.”

You laughed, resting your hand on top of his on the console between you. “Exactly.”

[mochi-coffee]

🚗

A/n: this one has been sitting in my drafts so I thought I might as well post it! Just random hc that came to me while I was on a road trip - super rough, not proofread but let me know what you think! 🥰 (do you have some wakasa driving hcs to share 👀)

masterlist

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Imagine you and Wakasa are going on a road trip and had to rent a car.

Sitting at opposite ends of the table in the same room, with skewers to snack on, the two of you both fixated at your laptops, with you figuring out the accommodations and Wakasa looking the car rental.

It was a comfortable silence, with occasional typing sound from the keyboard and music coming from the speakers.

Wakasa broke the silence first.

"Do you have a driver license?"

"Yeah, why?"

Wakasa put his hand out.

"They're asking for a drivers license"

"Just use your license? You can drive right?"

"I can drive, but...."

"But?" You looked up your screeen, meeting his half-lidded eyes and you stared at Wakasa confusedly as he continued to chew on the wooden skewer.

And then it clicked.

All those times Wakasa picked you up in a car came rushing back to you - you should have known.

It was always late at night when there's barely people around (with the exception of that one time you were stuck at work during that super typhoon and the trains aren't running). Wakasa always borrowed Takeomi's car instead of getting his own and shrugged whenever you asked if he wants to get a car. You've always thought it was because he already has a bike and doesn't really need a car.

But no - this bastard has been driving without a license for god knows how long.

Wakasa was about to open his mouth but you put your hand out, stopping him before he had the chance.

"... okay stop. I don't even want to hear it - I don't want to your accomplice know about your illegal driving"

Wakasa raised his brows at your comment, but quietly watched as you bend sideways to reach for your bag, fishing out your wallet and passed your driver's license to Wakasa. Taking the card from your hands with his fingers, Wakasa quickly flipping over the card to the front for the license number, before snickering at the sight of your photo.

"You looked stoned"

"I- shut up! I don't know how to smile for photos okay?!"

You tried to kick his leg from under the table, but knowing you, Wakasa moved his leg out of the way and so instead you kicked the leg of the chair.

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Fast forward to the actual trip, you two picked up the car, the weather was great, the scenery was amazing, the Spotify playlist was spot on - it seem like everything is going great.

Except it was tiring.

Being the sole driver on a multi-day drive is exhausting, with the long drives, the early starts, and the fact it's been a while since you drove so you were even more alert than usual, it wasn't a surprise by the third day that a midday nap was needed. So when you and Wakasa stopped for a late lunch, you inhaled the food and quickly propped your head on the table for a power nap.

As you two walked back to the car from lunch, you put your arms up, stretching your arms, shoulders and back, bracing yourself for the coming drive, when suddenly you felt a light nudge on the shoulder.

"Tired? Want to swap?" Wakasa asked as he takes a sip of his drink one hand, the other hand held open towards you.

"We could" you grumbled, pulling the car keys from your jacket pocket. "If only you gotten your drivers license like a normal person"

Before you know it, Wakasa has pried the car keys from your hand.

"I never said I don't have a license" Clicking the button on the remote to unlock the car, Wakasa hooked his finger through the keychain and started spinning the car keys around on his fingers, before giving you a shit-eating grin.

"It's just that if I'm driving, you'll definitely just sleep the whole ride and that'd just be boring"

And with that note, Wakasa was the designated driver for the rest of the trip while you snacked happily on the passenger seat.