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norikuna · 3 days ago

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THE BOLTER ★ naoya zenin

prologue ⋆ ★ whoever said 'love at first sight' was lying, this is more like loathe at first sight. unfortunately, it seems like you and naoya zenin are stuck in the same boat together.

but at least the two of you can put on a great show.

pairing ⋆ ★ naoya zenin x reader genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab!reader, arranged marriage, enemies/rivals, first meetings, outdated views on marriage and wives, public consummàtion, éxhibitionism, voyéurism, ooc naoya to a point but he's still a massive jerk, aphrodisiàcs, mild overuse of bloody/fruit symbolism, oràl (f. receiving), reader pushes naoya into a koi pond, gojo cameo (he wants to go home 😱)

word count ⋆ ★ 9k a/n ⋆ ★ i watched my lady jane 😭 could be a part two to this, or series of husband!naoya but idk...🤷‍♂️

"Stop fidgeting. You look like you're about to bolt any second," Naoya mutters, his voice low, biting through clenched teeth. Sharp, amber-glazed eyes slide sideways to lock onto you, dark brows pulled together in irritation. He's still got that plastic smile in place for the elders, a façade of civility that's only skin deep.

You meet his gaze with a smile that could cut glass, all sweet and syrupy, the kind of smile a bride's supposed to wear. Serene, demure, perfect. But you know better, and so does Naoya Zenin.

Oh, how I wish I could just walk right out of here, you think, lips curling just a fraction. You can barely keep the sneer from slipping through. "Well, I'm looking for the nearest exit," you murmur, barely above a whisper, voice as sweet as honey, "All I can smell is that stupid cologne of yours, and it's making me sick. Did you seriously bathe in it, or something?"

You can see the flush violently flash over peach-toned skin, first his cheeks, and then the tips of ears. Naoya's fingers twitch, hidden beneath the voluminous green sleeves of his haori, betraying his irritations. You can tell he's just dying to throttle you right about now.

"No wonder your clan sold you off like a broodmare," he hisses, venom dripping from his words, sickly sweet with malice, "I bet they couldn't wait to get rid of you."

You heroically bite back the urge to stab him with something sharp. You know it would have been so easy, to have a blade hidden in the folds of your robes. God, it would feel so good to shove it right between his ribs.

Instead, you take a delicate step forwards, sandals clicking softly on the polished floor. The attendants bustle behind you, their soft paces blending with the thick air that's rich with incense, pine, and the sweet smell of roasted chestnuts.

"How sad that Naobito Zenin had to buy a wife for his youngest son. Desperation really doesn't suit you, Naoya," you keep your tone placid and amiable, "Though, let's be honest, most things don't really look good on you."

You can feel Naoya bristle next to you, the faintest tremour in his posture. It feels nice to have struck a clean crack through his iron-clad composure. Victory tastes so sweet.

Without missing a beat, Naoya slides his hand over yours, the picture of practiced, marital tenderness as the two of you approach the threshold of the feast hall. All eyes are on you now, the guests straightening in anticipation. But the slender pads of his fingers are pinching at the flesh of forearm, sharp enough that they would be leaving an impression.

You wrinkle your nose, fighting the urge to wince. His grip is painful, and even though you want to pull away, you're not giving the moron the satisfaction of hearing you gasp.

"Yes," Naoya murmurs, too charming to be sincere, his voice dripping with false affection, "And how sad that out of all the mouthy, insufferable wenches in the world, I got saddled with you."

"Well, someone's mad," you sigh melodramatically, lowering yourself onto the cushions at the head of the table, folding your legs beneath your copious layers of silk, "Stay mad. And ugly."

Your new husband scoffs, sinking beside you, as his long limbs stretch out with lazy grace before crossing them. He looks far too comfortable for your liking. You wish someone had scattered tack needles under him, just to watch him yelp.

You watch quizzically as Naoya reaches across the low table, drawing a slice of pickled radish from the porcelain bowl. You watch, blinking, curious even as well-manicured nails balance the slide between elegant fingers.

He just flings it at you. The sodden radish hits you square in the forehead, the cold and wet slice dropping into your lap with an unsatisfying plop!

Bitch.

See, you already had been having an awful day. The kind that dragged you through the mud and left you feeling as though you had been drowned in your own perspiration.

Trudging through the gates of the Zenin estate, as the sweltering summer heat drowned you in sticky humidity. The estate was sprawling, its grandeur suffocating — all sharp angles, and lacquered panels of wood. Meticulous gardens designed less for beauty, rather for flexing obscene amounts of wealth.

The Zenins did not lack for wealth, that was for certain. But taste? Subtlety? Humility? Those were luxuries that they couldn't seem to afford. Whoever said money couldn't buy class had clearly been familiar with the big three clans of the jujutsu world.

It wasn't just the heat. It wasn't just the estate. It was all this, from this stupid contract to the commitment, to your life here. Your new home.

The summer heat clung to you, heavy and wet, like a damp cloth draped over your shoulders, sapping any energy you had left.

Eventually, you'd given up entirely on the elegant cushions and carved chairs of your new quarters, opting to morosely plant yourself cross-legged on the cool, polished floor. It wasn't graceful, but at least it was comfortable.

Attendants fluttered around you like busy little bees, arms laden with swathes of silk and intricate jewellery in shades of forest green. They moved in perfect sync, as though their every motion was rehearsed for the new bride. And you, well, you were supposed to sit still, look pretty, and wait for whatever nonsense came next.

But fuck that. Proper propriety be damned. The heat had you feeling too raw, too suffocated. So, you had been stripped away from the layers of heavy silk and ceremonial robes. Left in nothing but a thin, creamy-white cotton yukata. It hung loosely from your frame, clinging to your skin in the oppressive humidity, beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

And just as you had settled into the most brief, fragile sense of peace, the soft groan of a sliding door shattered it all. A servant stepped inside, shoulders stiff as their eyes fell upon you. As though they could sense your sour mood.

"He will see you now," the servant said, eyes lowered, voice tight, "In the gardens."

He. Naoya Zenin. Your soon-to-be husband, for the evening's grand spectacle and festivities.

A pit began to twist uncomfortably in your stomach. You had never even met this man. Hell, you didn't even know what he sounded like, nor what he looked like up close, what kind of man he really was.

Everything about this arrangement had been handled by clan elders, who were more concerned with keeping up appearances than with any personal connection. Their mouths were always full of flowery promises, and backhanded compliments, none of which did anything to ease the sinking feeling that made a home in your gut.

The reviews on Naoya Zenin though? Those were more consistent than the elders' pleasantries.

Arrogant? Check. Irritating? Beyond measure. A man with a superiority complex the size of the country? Absolutely, what a shock. Naoya Zenin was the youngest son of one of the wealthiest clan heads in Japan, so entitlement practically ran through his veins as though it were his birthright.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on, though? The man was handsome, fine-featured. Of course, they'd say that to placate you, as though a pretty face could somehow excuse all the other bullshit. But you weren't quite in the market for a glorified Adonis as a trophy husband.

With a resigned sigh, you trudged forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sound of your sandals echoing on the winding stone path that stretched out before you. You tried to ignore the fatigue that settled in your bones, the faint feeling akin to that of a medieval monk walking towards his doom.

Your first impression of Naoya Zenin? You didn't like his voice.

"Weren't you meant to be here an hour ago?" He's calling, tone smooth and melodic. But there's a languid air about it, and whiny. You don't know nor understand why, but it makes your skin crawl.

You narrow your eyes at the back of his figure, perched lazily on a rock, legs swinging carelessly over the edge. Naoya's broad back is turned to you, gaze fixed on the iridescent koi gliding lazily through the pond beneath him. He hadn't even bothered to look at you yet.

First impressions were everything, so you did your damn best to hold back from snapping, "My apologies. There was a...delay," you bite out, your fingers tugging impatiently to tighten the sash of the thin robe around your waist.

You had half a mind to just turn around and leave, but no, it just wasn't in your lucky cards. Not when your family had practically signed you away to the Zenin clan, forevermore and all that nonsense.

Naoya lets out an exaggerated sigh, all long and drawn-out, as though your presence is enough to inconvenience him. His head tilts lazily, turning just enough to throw a half-lidded, uninterested stare in your direction.

"Well? Don't just stand there. I'm not going to bite."

The restraint it took to not roll your eyes could have won you sainthood. Still, you refrained. Barely. You hoped your expression conveyed what you really wanted to say. I am mentally chasing you around with a big stick and a hornet of wasps, but I'm refraining because I'm polite and I was raised right.

Reluctantly, you step forward, just as the wind picks up while you move. Sweeping the light cotton fabric around your legs in a way that made you wish for anything but these damp robes. You certainly don't miss at how Naoya's golden eyes widen in mild interest, tracing every curve of your figure. Warmth flushing down the back of your neck, and not just from summer's golden glare.

But then, your betrothed scowls, "Too good for the Zenin robes, are you?"

You cross your arms over your torso, the motion defensive. Naoya's gaze suddenly drops again to the pushed swell of your chest, lingering far too long.

"It's hot."

Naoya suddenly shrugs, all primped arrogance in his charcoal-gray and forest-green robes, like some ashen leaf springing obstinately out of cold winter ground. "Whatever. You seem adequate, I suppose," he flicks a hand dismissively, "I don't care for this attitude of yours, but you'll do for everything else."

"I'll do?" Your voice pitches an octave higher, incredulous, "What the hell does that mean?"

Naoya begins counting on long, slender fingers. As though he's sizing you up, checking boxes, "What do you think I mean? Just the usual requirements for a wife. Pleasing to the eye, which you are, I'll admit. But it's much less pleasant when you aren't smiling."

You spot a loose stone skittering on the mossy earth. You could absolutely brain him with that, right here. Right now.

But the man doesn't let up, "And of course, childbearing hips." He's waving a dismissing hand, "Well, clearly, I can see you have those. Tch', don't make that face. And a bit of wit for conversation — I refuse to marry an empty airhead. I mean, can you imagine?" Naoya's laughter is sharp, all glossy red lips over sharp fangs, "Docile, obviously. I think that might need some work, but — hey!"

Before you could think better of it, your hands are on him. Pushing, shoving, your frustration boiling over as your palms meet the flat, toned planes of his chest. The satisfaction of sending him tumbling back, of stupid, pretty golden eyes going wide as he flails, arms caught in the air. Priceless.

And then, with a splash! He disappears into the pond, the koi scattering like flashes of colour. Your betrothed surfaces slowly with a snarl, water dripping from his golden head of hair, plastering it flat. A piece of moss hangs awkwardly to Naoya's template as you stand over him, chest heaving.

"Harebrained! Idiotic! Empty-headed! Shallow, pompous, arrogant!" The words tumble from you, reckless and from the depths of your sudden-found hatred, "Rocks for brains! No wonder no-one wants to marry you, with that stupid, backwards nonsense. And your voice, it's stupid! And, well, there's clearly a lightbulb off in that oversized skull of yours. Don't you ever, ever say things like that to me again!"

For a moment, Naoya says nothing. He's only staring up at you with his mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. You realise in that brief silence, that you betrothed bears an unsettling resemblance to an angry, speckled hyena.

Rather than offer a rebuttal, or heaven forbid, an apology, a sodden arm shoots forward, fast as a viper, clamping around your ankle. And the world tilts.

"Don't you dare! Wait — no!"

He yanks at you hard, and with a sharp yelp, you tumble straight into the water beside him. Cool, refreshing water slaps your face as you sputter, wiping thin algae from your cheek. The koi scatter, unimpressed by human antics.

You're gasping as the chill must surely be soaking through your thin yukata, giving...quite the view to the eyes of others. No wonder Naoya's suddenly smirking, and you can see rosy lips part to deliver some awful, sleazy comment.

"Not a bad sight, don't you — mmph!"

You've scooped as much water as your hands can manage, flinging it straight at his face — watching as Naoya Zenin splutters, pinning you with a glowering stare that could cut through glass.

You were still simmering hours later.

The sun had already shifted, sinking deeper into the afternoon, but the humidity clung to the air like a thick and suffocating blanket. You were scowling at absolutely nothing, letting the maids drape you in layers of deep, emerald silk that shone like fresh leaves after the rain. Edges embroidered with delicate golden vines and flowers that twisted around your limbs.

You barely felt the soft hands of the maids as they pressed cool, rosewater-soaked pads to your cheeks and the crook of your neck. Idly wondering if they had plucked out every last remnant of pond water and scum that clung to your hair.

One of the older woman, with a sharp and matronly face, walked up to you, a platter balanced gently in her hands. At first, you didn't even register what she was offering, too preoccupied with nursing your own misery. But the food looked absolutely perfect, delicate rolls that had been sliced so neatly they could have come from an Imperial painting.

You raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't I eat after the ceremony?"

The woman gave a knowing glance to the other maids, but then her gaze flicked back to you. Careful. "This will help with your appetite for the latter half of the ceremony," as though she were choosing each word precisely, "It is...custom. Master Zenin would also partake in this tradition. It will make things easier."

Easier, huh? You stare at the plate again, and not that you didn't appreciate it, but if they really wanted to settle you nerves — they could have offered you a rolled blunt. But sure. Why not?

With a little sigh of resignation, you popped one of the sweet rolls into your mouth. The flavour was fresh, like citrus. Something like yuzu, perhaps? There's a hint of honey, and an odd aftertaste that lingers at the back of your throat, a touch bitter. You narrow your eyes, for it is something like ginseng.

You take a second roll, letting the smooth cream slide along your tongue, as you click your teeth. Well, if it would calm you down enough to keep you from throwing Naoya Zenin off the temple stairs, then...sure. You'd eat the whole damn platter if it meant you would be able to fight the urge to punt bricks at him.

And so, this circles you back to the beginning your sordid tale. The rooms buzzing with voices, and clinking porcelain in celebration, but somehow, all you can focus on is the man sitting beside you.

Naoya's practically been ignoring everything on his plate, pushing food aside with passive disinterest. Meanwhile, you've been aching for a good meal, your hand moving to scoop another bite of soft, fragrant rice. The nobles and elders have been weaving their way around, painted with polite and practiced smile — an endless cycle of verdant-draped Zenins, crimson-robed Kamos, and more clans all looking to suck up to Naobito Zenin.

There's another man, swathed in a vibrant, dark blue. You watch as Naoya stiffens as the white-haired man doesn't bow, just shuffles forward. As though his presence is more of a courtesy rather than a display of genuine well-wishes.

"Gojo," your husband is muttering, petulant all of a sudden.

The white-haired man grunts, blindfold wrapped around the upper half of his face, "Zenin." You swear you can feel his eyes on you, and there's something unnerving about the way he moves through the room, as though he can see much and more, without nary a glance.

So, that was Gojo Satoru.

You feel someone tug at your sleeves, and Naoya's golden eyes are still fixed on Gojo's broad back with a sharp, defensive gaze, "Stop looking. It looks stupid as fuck. And he'll still see."

You blink, wrenching your arm away from his cold grasp, "How? He's got that —," you gesture to your eyes, "That thing on."

Naoya scowls, fangs poking underneath curled lips, "Trust me. He can see better than anyone here."

"Is that why you're scared of him, or something?"

Naoya's jaw tightens, and he reaches for a platter of fruit, a pomegranate globe falling into the palm of his hand, "I am not. Tch', watch your words."

"Or what? You'll push me into the koi pond?" You snipe, watching him, fascinated despite yourself. His hands are elegant, precise, even. Tearing into the fruit with a casual brutality that makes something flicker oddly deep in your chest.

The juice, rich and ruby red, drips lazily down his fingers, following the slope of his knuckles. Staining the fine silk of his sleeves in a losing fight. As though the fruit had been desperate to remain whole before Naoya split it.

How strikingly brutal to witness. There's something almost obscene about the mess he makes, how the juice is pooling thinly on the silk. How the sweetness of the fruit is ruined by the way it's overpowered.

You think your new husband is the kind of man who would see a dangerous sort of beauty in the way he wrecks things.

But Naoya has surely noticed your stare. The corner of his rose-teak mouth twitches as he looks up from his conquest, fingers still dripping with thin crimson.

"Something wrong, wife?" He's asking, voice slick with amusement. You faintly wonder why there's a low buzz in your ears.

The question is sharp-toned, but there's something underneath his smooth voice that almost dares you to continue watching. As if he's aware of the effect of proxy brutality. You want to scowl, to look away, to prove that you aren't transfixed by the bleeding mess of an awful man.

"Nothing at all," you reply, and voice is colder than you'd intended — all to mask the faint trace of fascination that lingers in your tone.

Naoya glowers at you, lazily lifting his hand to capture the blood-red streak with the tip of his tongue. The faintest trace of wine marking the curve of his jaw. What an oddly intimate gesture, one that shouldn't be nearly as captivating as it is.

With a casual flick, he's breaking off a piece of the pomegranates flesh. White and succulent, with the little arils clinging to the flesh like jewels.

"Be a good wife, and open your mouth."

You glance down at the fruit in his hand, irritation flickering at the back of your throat. Licking acidic flames in your chest, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Naoya doesn't even bat an eye, his gaze already bored as he leans back, unimpressed by your resistance. Infuriatingly arrogant in his manner, "Don't want people thinkin' there's something wrong with my bride. Go on, open."

With a sharp, deliberate sigh, you part your lips. Heat suddenly coiling tight sinews around your hips. Eyes locked onto his hazy, copper gaze with the slightest flicker of defiance.

Naoya tips the arils into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to nip at his fingers, pointed and sharp. Just enough to make him jerk back in surprise. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you see conflicted disgust flash across his face.

But the taste, the sweet and tangy burst of juice on your tongue, it catches you entirely off guard. It's blooming across your senses, like the most unexpected pleasure. The tartness of the fruit lingering longer than you'd anticipate. Despite yourself, you almost lean into it.

Naoya's expression tightens as he wipes his hand on the edge of his robes, so irritated. But a flicker of something darker passes across his features. Whether it's annoyance, or loathing, or something else, you cannot tell.

"Better now?" Naoya mutters, voice thick with irritation as though you'd personally dragged him through a field of thorns.

"All thanks to you," you reply, sardonic sugar snapping through your teeth. Wiping the corner of your mouth with a lazy swipe of your thumb, smearing away the fruit's crimson stain.

Naoya's grumbling something under his breath about summoning Ten Shadows to whisk him out of this ridiculous wedding feast. Something far more sharp and acerbic follows, but it's not able to cut through your growing haze.

You're about to respond when his hand — warm, and rough, replaces your own. Thumb pressing against your lower lip with a firm, almost possessive and angry drag. Wiping away the sticky remnants of the juice.

Without thinking, or without fully understanding why, you let your tongue dart forward, brushing the pad of his thumb. A slow, deliberate gaze. Teeth follow, with dull pressure, as you pull the digit just a little further into your mouth.

You can feel the shift almost immediately.

Naoya goes still, the barest hitch of breath betraying him before he yanks his head back like you'd scalded him. But not before you catch the faintest tremour in his grip, or the way his sharp eyes darken. His neck flushes, a telltale searing burst of heat creeping up beneath the golden fall of his hair.

"They give you something before the ceremony?" His tone is off, almost accusing, as he's clearing his throat. Glowering at you, as if you're to blame for the crack in his insurmountable arrogance.

You shrug, fingers brushing the rim of your shallow cup. Letting cool water trickle down your suddenly parched throat, "Yeah. Something 'bout relaxing me. Or making things easier." You frown, a little breathless, wondering why heat coils in your chest, and prickles at the nape of your neck, "It didn't do anything at the time though."

Naoya stares at you for a beat too long, his teeth catching his lower lip. Worrying the plush, pink flesh — dragging a thin, cold hand through flaxen hair, rifling pale green roots.

And then, your new husband's scoffing, "Same here. Not that I need help performing there." His gaze is sweeping over you again, slow and deliberate. His eyes trace the curve of your mouth, the swan-slope of your throat. The heat of his amber eyes make your skin prickle, tugging at something just beneath the surface.

"I think you'll make it easy enough."

Your pulse kicks against your ribs. Eyes snapping to him, ignoring the dull throb low in your groin, and how each breath of air seems so much sweeter and heavier, "Make what easy?"

Naoya's expression wavers, just for a second — enough to give you a glimpse of his own faltering composure. As though he's genuinely fearing that you're that clueless, cocking a dark brow with an edge of incredulity.

"You don't think that platform's there for show, do you?" He's knocking his head back towards the dais behind the two of you. The plush, emerald cushions scattered over velvet drapes that pool at the sides. Ornate and so uncomfortably obvious for all those who have eyes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Naoya's metallic eyes glint with triumph, watching the realisation dawn on your features like it's the best entertainment he's had all evening. His lips curling into something that's more of a lion's grin, rather than a smile, "You're not that stupid, are you?"

"I'm not!" You snap, "I just didn't think — I didn't realise, it was going to be...there." You're jabbing a jewel encrusted finger at the platform, not caring which fussy elder sees.

Naoya's grin sharpens, teeth flashing with unrestrained, wolfish amusement. Jerking his chin towards the dias, "Yes. Right there. What'd you think? Some privacy, or maybe, a little mood lighting?

Your scowl hardens like stone, "Well, no. But —"

Your husband sarcastically interrupts you, chopping the air with one hand, "No, no. You're right. Why didn't we think about setting the mood? Lanterns, maybe? Candles, or how about a live string quartet for m'wife just because she said so?"

Your glower deepens, a slow burn crawling beneath your skin. You forgo the water this time, opting instead for the nearest cup of sake. The burn of it sears your throat, a welcome distraction.

"You'd think people would drop this kinda' thing by now," you mutter, swallowing hard as the air seems so much warmer, "It's the 21st century, for god's sake."

Naoya shrugs, the silk of his robes shifting as you can watch a thin drop of perspiration roll into the crook of his neck — you wonder if he's just as affected as you are right now. Wondering who will crack first. "I don't mind watching. Or being watched."

The sake nearly comes back up, "You're obscene."

A soft hum, dark and amused, slips from his throat. Then a finger, his finger, hooks beneath the curve of your jaw. Titling your head towards him with a hardened pressure that feels surprisingly gentle in this hazy state.

"M'wife wants me to take them out instead?" Naoya's voice is a lazy drawl, but there's a dangerous gleam in his amber-shard eyes. Thumb skimming lower, tracing the delicate dip of your collarbone as a shiver prickles down your spine, "Force them all away so I get ya' all to m'self?"

You swallow hard, breath hitching as his hand lingers, "Yeah. Because I'm sure you could take on an entire room of sorcerers. Jus' so we could —"

The corners of Naoya's mouth twitch, his eyes dark with something almost hungry. And jeering, "Just say the word."

Your gaze flickers to the far corner of the room. Gojo Satoru sits there, arms folded across his opulent, oceanic yukata. The head of the Gojo clan looks thoroughly put-out, sandwiched between two elderly women that gossip into his ears. His white hair gleams under the warm lanterns, and you're certain that Six Eyes can catch every word being passed through this room.

"No-one can land a hit on Master Gojo," you murmur, voice slow and syrupy. The heat in your blood feels unnatural, liquid fire curling beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly. Your head is swimming by now, heavy and light all at once.

And there's Naoya's stupid, stupid cologne. Something dark, and wooden. Edged with a sharp spice, clouding your senses and tangling with the sweet, heady ache that builds in your chest. It's all too much, his nail dragging into the tender skin of your neck. Just over your jumping bulse.

The worst part? Your body betraying all rational thoughts, leaning into your husband. To find yourself closer to this man that you do not like. Entitled. Arrogant. The heir to the Zenin clan is fuckin' awful.

"Mhm, perhaps they can all watch then. Stay as I fuck my wife, yeah?" Naoya says, low and quiet. But there's no softness to it, only possession. A claim that crackles at you, sends you hurtling towards no good end.

"You know I don't like you, right?" You breathe, marvelling at how little it would take to close this distance, with nary a care for whose eyes have turned to you now.

A huff of laughter escapes your husband, warm and bitter, "I don't quite like you either." His hands have found the edges of your robes, teasing the silken fabric, and for a moment, Naoya Zenin looks almost thoughtful. Except that priggish smirk never quite leaves his face. His peach-tinged skin flushes darker, and his glassy eyes flicker, "But they wanted a show, right? Wanna' give it to them?"

You don't even wait to consider. Ignoring the protests of the elders, who jump and claim that these things have to be done in all due time, with proper ceremony.

The kiss is fast, furious. Lips crashing into his before the words have fully left his mouth. You taste rich and tangy fruit on his tongue, and it's both maddening, and so sweet, mixing with the sake that's drenched your mouth.

Naoya's faint sound of surprise, the soft grunt as he sinks into the kiss? Hiking a toned arm around your waist to pull you closer as the audience gasps? That's a victory.

You drag your mouth back, letting clingy and cloying strands of slick linger in between your lips. You've been pulled right onto your husband's lap, perched on his emerald, jewel-toned haori. Taking in the sight of Naoya briefly speechless, warm and angrily flushed.

"Not playin' fair," Naoya seethes, "K-know your place, wife."

But you're too far gone now to entertain his bullshit, pawing at the edges of his robes. Swivelling your hips down so you can have some pressure applied where you need it most. Right over there, a thick and solid curve that has the both of you gasping, "M' so, hah, feelin' so faint."

Naoya groans, and curls his fingers over the nape of your neck, forcing you to look down at him from your perched position, "L-listen to me all proper, an' I can fix that."

"Enough!" A sharp voice cuts through the heat between you, splintering like glass shattering on stone. You blink, dazed as dew begins to gather on your lashes, just in time to see a twitching elder standing at the edge of the room, face blotchy red beneath a crown of thinning white hair. He's shaking a bony finger in your direction, pale robes swishing, "Enough of this depravity!"

"There are proper proceedings to this ceremony, to this consummation." His voice is rising, veins straining in his neck as the room is silent, "Not whatever this is!" Waving his hands now, as though his gestures are enough to warrant purification.

You try to muster some level of embarrassment, some shame as the eyes of the room fall on the two of you. But all you feel is a thick ache and thrum of heat still simmering, pulse skipping in your throat. Your lips tingle from where they touched Naoya's, tasting of sake and sugar, and —

Oh. His lips. You glance at your husband, whose mouth is still glossy and swollen from your kiss.

Naoya's barely turned his head towards the outburst. He's already running his hands down your robes, doing his utter best to undo whatever he can. To lave sharp fangs over skin, and leave blooming marks. He's languid, half-lidded, with a wicked spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

He looks thoroughly unbothered, tongue flicking lazily over his lower lip, "Proper proceedings?" Naoya drawls, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk that makes you desperate to catch it, "Isn't a little late for that? Hah, I mean, ya' spiked m'wife and I. How are y'not shocked when she's panting over me like a bitch in heat?"

The elder turns a deeper shade of red, spluttering as he gestures to the raised dais and neatly arranged cushions. You press your lips together to hold back a thin whine. Naoya, having pawed at your ceremonial robes enough, has been sinking teeth over the swell of your breast, making you gasp.

"The platform! The customs and —"

There's a crowd of eyes on you. The elders, the clan heads, the nobles, the sorcerers. All of them, scattered through the room, lingering like ghosts. Some, you think, have left for sanctity. You're not sure when, your mind is still a haze of warmth, and confusion, and lust. Too caught up in the way that Naoya's fingers brush and dig into your waist.

But there are others still here. Stubborn, and not powerful enough to grant themselves leave, and so, they cannot claim the right to exit. You're aware of silent whispers, of the way they lean in and keel over. Faces pinched in curiosity, discomfort, as though you're a prized creature in a zoo that they both hesitate and marvel to look upon.

With no choice but to watch the Zenin heir with his hand on your waist, his new bride of the clan. The future madam that they're now forced to acknowledge.

"N-Naoya," you mumble, tearing your nails into the fine haori. Some desperate hope to expose searing skin to the air, already sweltering in the summer heat, "Can't we jus' -"

Your husbands tuts, pressing a firm finger to your candied lips, "Shh! Gotta' make sure m'silly wife knows how to speak up. So everyone can hear, try again." He sounds almost pained, and you wonder how Naoya Zenin hasn't absolutely lost his mind by now. For you feel as though gauze has been draped over you, casting a veil over your senses.

You hear someone mutter disdainful murmurs, something about a spoiled Zenin brat indulging his good-for-nothin' wife.

You can see the flash of anger, and the promise of blood cross Naoya's face, so you seek to roll your hips against his once more, "Jus' thinkin', y'know," you gasp against his slack jaw, "Why don't we jus' move to the platform? I mean, they wanna see, right?"

Naoya's nodding, sandy hair falling into his eyes, "Hah, yeah. That's right. Wanted a show, and that's what we said we've give, jus' gotta hope you can keep up."

He's sweeping you up, hand tight around your wrist as he pulls you over in a brief stumble, pushing you down over the dais. Over green, plush sheets as he splays you out, "Better like this? Tsk, 'ts for me to decide, not you, wifey. And 'm thinking, I like this view so much more."

You're struck by the sight of Naoya Zenin, and it hits you like a sudden wave. Sharp, and bitter, and so impossible to ignore. It's that feeling again, the way you had stomached the creamy rolls on the platter. The same kind of cloying tang that hits the back of your throat when you swallow too fast. The ginseng, and sweet citrus.

His eyes are still glassy, pupils unfocused, and it's the shimmer of tears clinging to the dark, long lashes framing his eyes that make you pause. Crystalline, fragile. But he's already ahead of you, moving faster than you can think, swatting your hand away with forceful grace, pressing his mouth to the corner of yours.

"You jus' gonna keep lookin' at me?" You murmur, reeling from the searing heat of his mouth. Taking in the sight of mussed golden hair, green roots entirely out of place. The divot of creamy, tanned skin from where his robes have loosened.

Naoya blinks, shaking his head as if he's trying to clear it, "You gotta' tell me where you wan' it first." Lips parting, as if he's suddenly not sure what to say to you, like he's drinking in the sight of you and he can't stop.

He's patting a hand to your chest, cupping the swell in your robes, "I don't know if you wan' me here," and then, he's dragging a hand lower still, hand folded over the thick robes that cover your thighs, "Or, here. Probably got ya' weepin' like a poor, little slut down there."

You scowl back at him, "Watch it, 'm not a slut."

Naoya grins, all wolfish canines, "Wasn't talkin' about ya'. Was talkin' about her." Giving you a loving pat in between your legs, "Thinkin' if I pushed these stupid robes right up, everyone could see you drip right onto my waiting hand."

You gasp, pushing your hands onto his broad chest, groaning as his fingers trail further down. Pulling the silk of your robes up further, so your thigh meets cool air, "Can I request a-anything, then?"

Naoya hums, lips pursing as his brow quirks, mocking even, "Wasn't planning on givin' in to ya' so easily, but just this once. Only 'cause it's our wedding night, don't you think?"

"Wan' your mouth."

You see a flash of something pass over Naoya's face. As though he's warring with himself, some obstinate spirit telling him otherwise, but he shakes his head, almost amused, "Y'know, I should have sent ya' back the minute you pushed me into tha' stupid pool. Shoulda' demanded another one. A wife that isn't so mouthy."

He's chuckling now, splaying your thighs further apart with rough hands, an odd sort of deference painting his fine features, "And now look at what you've got me doin', hey?"

Naoya's tutting at you, shaking his head in faux disappointment when you whine in embarrassment, "This is what you wanted, right? For me to show e-everyone jus' how wet you are. I mean, hah, look at this."

Pinning the thickest part of your silken robes over your abdomen, so your legs were bare, parted so he could slot in-between. Amber eyes almost bewildered as he took in the deep, swollen outline of your glossy cunt underneath flimsy garments, "Sittin' there like this, the entire time?" Naoya whistles low, cold and cutting, "I mean, fuck, ya' can really see everything here."

"Shut u-up," you sputter, hearing your own pulse thrum in your ears, in-between your legs. You barely have a chance to take in syrupy air once more, for Naoya's hand is there, swift and firm, pressing over your mouth. Fingers cool against your skin, it's not harsh. But it's forceful enough to swallow your words, as his eyes light up with that familiar, mocking amusement.

"Careful now, wifey," he's grinning, looking far too pleased, "Ya' don't get to give me orders, 'm gonna be doing you a favour."

Naoya doesn't seem burdened by this, not at all. In fact, if anything, he looks downright pleased, like the sight of your weeping, drizzling cunt before his eyes is a golden opportunity that he intends to savour.

He's got an icy finger sliding over the waistband of your gauzy, flimsy undergarments, toying for a brief second. You can see it in the way his beastly fangs curl into a grin, like he's getting off on the scandal of it all. Of having everyone watch in quiet silence as he suddenly tugs. Hard.

The fabric splits with a squelching hiss, thick and sludgy, as you gasp, feeling the heat throbbing in your pussy swell as the cool air hits where you're most sensitive, "You ass, t-those weren't cheap."

Naoya rolls his eyes, amber disappearing into white, "So?" He's drawling, looking up at you from between your thighs, "What, you think I'm some broke bitch?" He's popping a single, long digit into his mouth. Having swiped a curious hand through your glistening folds, marvelling at the slick, translucent strands that followed him. Tongue flicking over the tip like he's savouring something, "Fuck, you're kinda' sweet. Heh, who woulda' thought?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even give you the chance. Not even a mere second to form the words, for his hand is patting your cheek. Leaving something sticky and cool lingering on flushed, warm skin. Your own arousal glimmering in the lantern light, upon your skin, for all to see.

It's as if Naoya's humouring you, and it's almost affectionate. If not for the edge in his voice that makes you tighten your thighs around his shoulders, "Don't worry y'dumb, little head about it. Y'know, shit — almost lost a drop there, you know, you're the future Madam of this clan now, right? Anything you want, you'll get."

And he's giving you a look now — head tilted just so, almost tame. Like a promise wrapped in docility. Almost. If you didn't know of him more, if you weren't already simmering with tampered fury from your first meeting, earlier in the day, you may have been fooled. Might have fallen for the gentle downturn of his lashes, like ink pooling on creamy skin. The slow, deliberate way he puffs a small breath against your glossy cunt. Doing you a favour, indeed.

His grin is all teeth, unapologetically smug, as though he knows what you're thinking. Knows that he's destined to clash with you, to draw proverbial blood and blades whenever it amuses him, but he's got you right where he wants you now. Under him, and splayed wide.

Your waiting cunt pooling sweet juices over his wandering fingers — the sharp tip of Naoya's nose twitching before ducking and brushing through your glistening folds. A satisfied chuckle when you arch your spine, desperate for more friction.

"Not that patient, are ya'?" But you don't think you'd be wrong in assuming that Naoya can't hold out much longer, for the crack in his voice betrays him. That melodic, charming, insolent tone giving way to a deeper rasp, like granite grinding against the earth.

You don't know what comes over you, carding a hand through golden, soft locks of hair. Digging into pale green roots, "Think your audience is gettin' bored?"

Naoya almost, so very almost, purrs at your nails digging into his scalp. Pushing himself into your trembling cunt, letting his tongue paint a thin, long stripe right through your throbbing pussy. Reaching up right to your swollen clit, briefly flicking over it.

And now, Naoya is not a sentimental man. Fuck that, he's never been one for gushing, and roses and nauseating sweetness. But this may very well be the first time that he's ever understood what it means to be pussydrunk.

For he's shooting amber eyes up, to where your expression has twisted, almost blissful and idyllic compared to the frown that's been marring your face all day. He'd hate to say it, but he's almost content as the sweet moans that fall from your plush lips, over and over.

"T-that's good, hah, Naoya, 'm — s-so good," You're cracking an eye open to see your flaxen-haired husband snickering, enjoying how damn sensitive your puffy folds are to his ministrations. Only the mild, quiet shuffle of the elders harkens you to their presence, them bearing witness to the consummation.

"Yeahhh," Naoya drawls, angling one bare thigh so it sits over his shoulder, where his robes have slipped right off, "Good, huh?"

"S-surprisingly."

He pinches at your clit in retaliation, just lightly enough that it sends a jolting sensation through your quivering form, but not enough to bring sheer relief, "Watch your whoreish mouth, wife. Could jus' leave ya' here, high and dry." And Naoya's scowling, but despite himself, still pushing his pulsing tongue to the very apex of your core. The glossy, winking entrance where he meets little resistance from your waiting, gummy walls, "Could jus' leave ya' here, and have you rub one out yourself in front of everyone, so you can get off on your own."

You should be ashamed, flushed and embarrassed at how he's speaking to you. There's brief fantasies running through your mind, of strapping your husband down and taping his mouth so he can stop running it so crudely, but you file the thought away for now, arching your hips further into him. Dragging your sloppy, leaking cunt over his face — something he surprisingly welcomes.

Naoya, who's leaning deep enough in between your thighs for the golden strands of hair framing his forehead have been dampened by your arousal, a darker, sandy shade. Pouty lips covered in sweet, tangy sheen, and sticky from munching at your glossy folds.

"Bet they're all watching you," Naoya grins, with little warning as he slides a slender finger into your cunt, immediately curling it in search of some spot, "Bet they're wishing it was them in m'place. Tastin' you like this."

You can't help the involuntary clench of your walls at his words, and Naoya's eyes widen, lashes blown long enough to kiss his eyelids, "Mhm, you like that. But hey," your husband's pumping determined fingers in and out of your cunt, rummaging and massaging at sticky walls, "You're my wife now. Mine to fuck, they can't have what o-only a Zenin can have."

"Can y-you —" You're writhing now, legs spread even wider and you frankly don't care at this point who can see the light reflect your dripping cunt, "A bit f-faster, hah." Let them see, right?

Isn't that why they had you all dolled up, squirming in your seat during the feast so they could watch you fall so undone? And fuck, Naoya would probably slit the throat of another man who dared breathe what he saw this night, if not for your honour, but for his own ego.

"F-faster? Greedy, tch' and you said you w-weren't a pretty, little, slut!" Each word is punctuated with his fingers falling in a curved arc through the air, smacking down over your drooling pussy. Sending sloshes of slick spattering over his finger tips and the edges of his robes, "That's it. Jus' keep your hips like that."

"Heh, hope the lot of ya' are paying attention because she's p-pretty close right about now."

You don't even know who he's speaking to, or where his words are directed because it's an endless rotation for you now. Circling your hips over Naoya's nose, with him greedily lapping at your cunt, with a satisfied look in your eye that just screams of him planning to hold this over your head for at least six months.

You're practically soaking Naoya's smug, beautiful face, smearing translucent mirror-sheen over his chin, and he's pistoning clever, cruel fingers in and out of your tight heat. Messily toying with your throbbing clit, pulling at and under the hood until you're heaving for gasps of sweet air.

"B-bet you'd feel tighter around my cock, y'know that?" Naoya grunts, lips curling to suck around your clit, "Was plannin' to take ya' right here, but think 'm a bit greedy now, hah. Show's gonna be over soon for these cunts, but 's only jus' beginning for us, wouldn't you say, wife?"

You're certain that he must have left bruises at your hips now, right over your groin as he drags you impossibly close to himself, as though he's determined this public display will leave no question as to whether the heir to the Zenin clan can pleasure his wife to the point where you're practically trembling, and abandoning your loathing of the man, temporarily. Just to squirm as tears hang from the edges of your lashes, gleaming from the stimulation, "Wait, w-wait, 'm gonna, I think 'm gonna —"

There's a satisfied noise from Naoya, almost like one of relief, though you know he would be loathe to admit just how affected he is by your climax.

There's a shooting, fleeting sensation in your abdomen. Tremours of pleasure practically streaming and gushing out of you, as you see little else but stars and streaks across your vision, "S-so good, Naoya, fuck. Fuck! I think 'm still cumming, hah, oh my god."

You're hardly even aware of the gushing slick that sprays across Naoya's face and how briefly stunned he looks, and so utterly pleased with himself as you ride out your high. You certainly don't miss at how he almost doubles over, as if there's an equally tightening sensation in his groin as well, pleasurable just from the sight you spread bare for him.

The look on his face cuts sharp — triumphant, smug in a way that speaks of retribution. As though he's just scored the first point in a game that's only just begun.

Before you can so much blink, dazed from your orgasm as heat continues to throb between your thighs, Naoya's arm tightens around your waist. A quick, practiced motion that pulls you flush against him. He's grinning like a man who's already won, a faint and cooling flush now painting his features in some blissful afterglow.

But then, he kisses you. Rough, messy, sloppy even. His lips are hot and unrelenting against yours, a press of teeth and frustration that's more greedier than anything he's done so far. "There, that's it. Tastin' yourself, aren't you?" Naoya's murmuring, nipping at your lower lip.

His arms shift, and he's scooping you up effortlessly. Tilting your world for the second time that day. You're cradled sideways in a bridal hold, against the broad frame of his chest, as his fingers are splayed possessively over your still bare hips. The bastard doesn't even break a sweat.

"Put me down," You scowl at him, but the recent climax is still painting your breathy vocal cords, lacking the heat you had hoped for.

Naoya's golden eyes glitter with amusement, "Nah. We're jus' getting started, don't you think?"

You instinctively grip his robes for balance, and you can feel your husband's chest rumble with laughter, rich and infuriating, "I'm starting to think this whole hate game is a charade, or a ruse. You actually like this."

"I'm starting to think you want a concussion."

Naoya makes a faux-move to drop you, to have you pile to the floor in jittery limbs and crumpled silks, as you desperately cling to him tighter, "Mouthy woman. Can't stand that. Don't like you at all."

The elders, a cluster of now pale-faced men who look like they've just swallowed their own tongues, gape in stunned silence. Their eyes dart between you, rumbled and flushed — thoroughly compromised with the slick that still runs down your thighs. And the heir of the Zenin clan, whose lips are still moist, glistening faintly.

Your husband's tossing them a lazy, half-lidded gaze over his shoulder, "Well," he says, dragging the word slowly, "Like I said, show's over." His voice drips with mock reverence, "We're going."

"Where?" One of the elders, bold or perhaps just stupid, dares to croak, voice thin and trembling like dry parchment.

Naoya stops, just for a breath. His gaze pins the man, golden eyes cold and dangerously amused. "Where do ya' think?" Words like a blade, dripped in honey, "Our quarters, 'course."

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't even glance back as he pushes past the screen door with you still cradled against his chest. His momentum sends it rattling against the frame, and the hushed, horrified whispers that follow are clearly music to his ears.

You glance up, your pulse a rapid thrum against your throat as you take in the faces of the nobles you had excused themselves earlier, milling outside. They shuffle uncomfortable, some pretending they have somewhere better to be. Others frozen in a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disdain.

Gojo Satoru is still there too, leaning against a wooden fixture, his jaw tight, as though he's working through something unpleasant. Glowering and grumbling something about leaving Tokyo for this, about the Zenins having no class as usual, and you get the idea that unlike last time, his blindfolded gaze is sweeping anywhere but you.

You bite back a smile.

"But...but the consummation!" The elder follows through the doors, his voice thick with outrage, "How can we be sure — the ceremony, it requires —"

Naoya doesn't even let him finish. You can feel the smirk against your temple, pressing over the shell of your ear, "I did all this," he's splaying your robes aside, "With jus' my mouth. Think I can do even better with my cock. Don't worry," He drawls, "I'll make very sure it's all handled."

"I'm going home," Gojo Satoru loudly announces, to no-one in particular.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #naoya zenin x y/n #daphworks

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happyk44 · 11 hours ago

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[Text ID: 1. What's all this fuss I have been making about, thought I to myself - the man's a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him. Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

2. I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolater in worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. But what is worship? - to do the will of God - that is worship. And what is the will of God? - to do to my fellowman what I would have my fellowman to do to me - that is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellowman. What do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particularly Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolater. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeq; salaamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.

How is it I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples oten lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, lay I and Queequeg - a cosy, loving pair. /end ID]

Obsessed with whatever the fuck Ishmael is on. My favorite problematic christian

#what i like about this is I was at the bookstore the other day wondering if I should get moby dick and now its like hmm maybe I should have #moby dick #pics #described images #reblogged

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moonlitwitchdaisy · 3 days ago

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photographer!gojo was undeniably the best in the industry—a fact known to everyone. if you were lucky enough to be photographed by him, you’d instantly become the most talked-about person worldwide. with just a camera, he had the ability to make anyone look flawless and utterly desirable. satoru gojo was, without a doubt, a man who understood aesthetics.

but no matter how playful, laid-back, and flirtatious people in his orbit knew him to be, the moment he encountered someone who didn’t know how to pose or thought they weren’t photogenic, he became the exact opposite of what his reputation suggested.

like his attitude toward you right now.

as a new model who had already caught the attention of fashion houses, magazines, and influential figures in fahion industry, you’d heard countless praises about your talent. yet, the cocky white-haired man staring at the large computer screen of photos he’d just taken didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

what the fuck was wrong now?

since arriving at the penthouse where the shoot was being held, you’d been excited. while you’d posed nude before, becoming the face of a famous lingerie brand was a much bigger deal. Plus, everyone involved, from the hair and makeup team to the stylists, consisted of the best professionals in the field. and, of course, satoru gojo himself.

naturally, throughout your modeling career, you’d encountered plenty of snobbish, cold people. that was just how the fashion world worked; everyone hated everyone else and thought they were better. but no one had ever looked at you with such a frosty expression from the moment he met you and said, “thank god they’re paying me well, or i’d never waste my time shooting someone with no spark.”

even though his words had deflated your mood, you’d plastered on a smile and acted professionally. causing a scene could cost you everything. as a rising name in the industry, you couldn’t risk your career—especially since anything satoru gojo said about you would be taken seriously by everyone.

judging by the current situation, it looked like he was determined to ruin you regardless.

it had been an hour and a half since the shoot began, and you were still wearing the same red lingerie set. you’d posed a million different ways on a couch with a panoramic view of tokyo, yet gojo’s face remained a picture of disdain. though, you’d caught how his gaze had lingered on your body the moment you first stepped out in the set.

it was like he wanted a piece of you.

there were rumors about him, of course. stories of him fucking with models during shoots, recording the encounters, and making the rounds in the fashion world. and it wasn’t just models—oscar-winning actors, chart-topping musicians… everyone wanted a piece of satoru gojo.

“hey, want me to touch up your blush?” the makeup artist approached, pulling you out of your anxious thoughts. you nodded, smiling as she quickly reapplied the color to your cheeks. noticing your troubled expression, she reassured you that she’d worked with gojo many times before and that he was only acting this way because of stress.

when she finished, your eyes drifted back to the man standing by the large computer screen, scrutinizing the photos. he was discussing options with his assistant, but it was as if he could feel your gaze on him. his icy blue eyes left the screen and landed on you—still sitting on the couch in nothing but a red bra and thong.

your cheeks burned under his intense stare. the disgust you’d been expecting wasn’t there. instead, he looked at you the same way he had when you first walked in wearing the lingerie set, his expression downright ravenous.

while still looking at you, he said something to his assistant, grabbed the camera he’d placed on the table, and clapped his hands loudly.

“alright, everybody! break’s over. back to work.”

he positioned himself slightly in front of you but kept some distance. leaning down slightly, he said, “grab the back of the couch with your arms and look at the camera. not with empty eyes—look like you’re begging whoever’s behind the lens to fuck you right now. got it?”

was he supposed to be the one behind the lens in this scenario?

your body hummed with nervous excitement as you nodded. following his instructions, you wrapped your hands around the back of the couch. one foot rested on the ground while the other was propped on the cushion. your gaze fixed on the camera, eyes brimming with desire, imagining how you’d look at someone you desperately wanted to fuck you.

with each flash of the camera, you shifted the angle of your head but kept your expression the same. for the first time, gojo shot multiple frames without cursing or saying, “this is awful.”

as you added a personal touch to the pose, sliding one hand from the back of the couch to the strap of your bra, a sharp, irritated voice stopped you.

“did i tell you to touch the strap?”

you immediately withdrew your hand, frustration bubbling over. no one deserved to be treated like this.

“excuse me?” your questioning tone cut through the silence of the set, making everyone freeze.

“what did you just say?” gojo stood to his full height, his expression unreadable.

“i said excuse me. why are you being so rude and unreasonable? posing is my job, not yours.”

a tense silence filled the luxurious penthouse. everyone’s eyes darted between you and gojo, convinced this was the end of your career.

it didn’t matter to you in that moment. being new to the industry didn’t mean you deserved to be humiliated.

gojo’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. his voice boomed across the set, “everyone out. don’t come back until i call you.”

no one moved, paralyzed by the anger radiating off him.

“did i fucking stutter? get out!” his voice grew louder, sending everyone scurrying out of the penthouse. the door slammed shut behind the last person, leaving you alone with him.

the tension was suffocating. you hadn’t fully processed what you’d said—your frustration had taken over. there were still photos to be taken in the bedroom and kitchen, yet here you were, stuck on this damn couch.

gojo stepped closer, his imposing presence making you shrink slightly. his sharp gaze locked onto yours as he demanded, “do you even know who i am?”

“y-yes.”

“then how the fuck do you think you have the right to question me?”

“i just—”

“just what?” he tossed his expensive camera onto the couch beside you and leaned down, gripping the back of the couch on either side of you. his piercing blue eyes bore into yours as he spoke, voice low and dangerous.

“i’ve worked in this industry for 15 years. even the highest-paid supermodels wouldn’t dare talk back to me. as a photographer, i decide how you’ll look. you’ll move the way i want, wear what i want.” his gaze dropped to your cleavage, accentuated by the red lace of your bra. one of his hands drifted to the delicate fabric, his fingers brushing over the lace. “you’re new, so maybe you’re eager to ruin your career. one word from me could make you the most talked-about name in the industry—or its biggest failure.” his fingers grazed your nipple through the fabric, drawing an involuntary gasp from your lips.

so, he did want to touch you.

“you think i’m untalented, and that bothers me,” you said boldly, letting your thoughts spill out.

for the first time today, a genuine smile crossed gojo’s face. he seemed to enjoy the fact that you sought his approval. “prove it.”

“prove what?” goosebumps rose on your skin as his fingers trailed to the exposed flesh of your chest.

“prove to me that you’re talented. show me you deserve to be the woman i photograph.” his hands continued their teasing exploration, both over the fabric and the bare skin beneath.

you didn’t need to prove yourself to anyone. countless industry professionals had already told you that you belonged in front of the camera. but there was something about this arrogant, white-haired man with those mesmerizing blue eyes that made you want to rise to the challenge—not because you doubted yourself, but because you wanted to see the look on his face when you proved him wrong.

“do you enjoy taking nude photos?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he chuckled darkly. “i take the best ones, baby.”

“perfect, then.” you shoved his body away slightly and walked to the large windows overlooking tokyo. pressing your back and left leg against the glass, you said, “go ahead. start shooting.”

intrigued, gojo grabbed his camera and positioned himself at a distance.

you gave him exactly what he wanted. each pose radiated the desire and submission he’d demanded, as though you were begging to be taken against that glass. the shutter clicked rapidly, capturing every movement.

despite some shots blurring with the motion, gojo didn’t tell you to stop. not once.

your poses grew increasingly erotic, as seductive as you could possibly make them. after all, this was a lingerie brand. anyone who bought a lacy set like this would probably strut around their house wearing it, striking sexy poses just for fun.

your hands moved to the clasp of your bra, and with a sly grin, you unhooked it. gojo’s finger froze on the shutter button. he lifted his head from behind the camera, his hungry eyes fixed on you as if silently begging you to take the damn thing off already.

“don’t you want me to keep going?” you teased, hesitating before sliding the straps off your shoulders.

“don’t you dare stop!” his tone was husky, almost growling.

you tossed your bra aside, exposing your breasts. your fingers found your nipples, teasing and pinching them until waves of throbbing heat pulsed through your core. tilting your head back, you let out a moan.

“keep going, baby. you’re perfect,” gojo encouraged as his camera flashed relentlessly. you continued to torment your sensitive nipples, wishing more than anything that he would drop everything, pin you against the glass, and fuck you right here with all of tokyo watching.

your hands trailed to the edges of your red lacy thong, playing with the fabric while keeping your eyes locked on the camera, filled with lust and desperation. gojo’s voice rarely interrupted, only breaking the silence to mutter short curses or to comment when he found a particularly good angle.

you liked it. you wanted to prove to him just how much you craved him.

you pulled away from the glass you had been leaning against, lowering yourself to the floor. slowly and deliberately, you began crawling toward gojo with a sly intent. your movements were never rushed, maintaining the same unhurried pace until you reached him.

“fuck, take it off, baby. let me see that sweet pussy,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he kept snapping photos. every glance you threw his way, full of desperate longing, seemed to make his finger press the shutter even faster.

“of course,” you murmured, now on all fours with your ass arched high in the air. slowly, you laid flat on the cold floor, your legs spread wide, and gojo immediately moved between them, positioning himself for the perfect shot.

his voice came again, commanding yet low, “play with your nipples again. like it’s my fingers teasing them, like i’m the one taking care of you.”

you obeyed, your hands returning to your needy, sensitive nipples. your head fell back, and you closed your eyes, moaning loudly as you followed his instructions.

gojo’s camera clicked incessantly. his own arousal was evident as he captured every moment. “you want my fingers, don’t you? maybe even my mouth. you’d love for me to use my tongue, wouldn’t you, baby?”

his filthy words made you moan even more “yes.”

“now take off your panties, baby. let me see that wet, swollen pussy.”

god, he was good at giving orders.

your hands finally slid to the waistband of your thong. you pulled the delicate fabric down slowly, making sure to maintain eye contact with the lens. every second, every movement was for him—and for his camera.

raising your legs into the air, you peeled the thong off completely, letting it dangle from your ankles before biting your lip and releasing a soft moan.

“stop teasing and get rid of it already,” gojo growled impatiently.

you chuckled softly, finally sliding the thong off and tossing it in his direction. to your surprise, he caught it effortlessly. while one hand remained steady on the camera, the other brought the lacy fabric to his face. he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of your arousal.

“so sweet,” he murmured under his breath. he knelt down further between your legs, angling himself perfectly to capture the view of your dripping folds.

wasting no time, you spread your lips, showing him just how wet you were.

gojo adjusted the camera slightly, letting out a sharp curse. “touch yourself. show me how badly you want to prove yourself.”

“please, just touch me…” you begged, unable to hold back any longer. his touch was the only thing you craved.

“you can count on me ruining you the next time we meet,” he said darkly. “but for now, touch yourself and let me capture every second of that needy pussy throbbing.”

and so you did. your fingers glided over your slick walls, circling your clit before plunging inside. as you moved, all you could think about was how it would feel to have the world’s most famous photographer doing this to you instead. gojo didn’t miss a single moment. you had no idea how his camera hadn’t run out of storage, but he kept shooting until you reached your climax.

that day, you went on to complete the planned shoots in the kitchen and bedroom, wearing the other lingerie sets required. you posed exactly as gojo instructed, and not once did you hear a single word of disapproval.

when the shoot ended, the two of you were still alone in the luxurious penthouse. “good job, new girl,” gojo said, pulling out his phone to call the crew back. you got dressed and waited for the others to return so you could say goodbye.

once the team arrived, you thanked everyone and apologized for earlier. then, you turned to gojo. his face was blank, unreadable.

“i hope this is the last time i see you, new girl. but know this—if we meet again, i won’t be this calm.”

you said nothing, offering only a small smile that showed you understood exactly what he meant. then, you left the penthouse and headed to the car waiting for you downstairs.

about a month later, as you walked through shibuya to grab a coffee, you spotted a massive billboard featuring one of the photos gojo had taken of you. when the lingerie brand said they loved the shoot and wanted to sign a long-term contract with you, you felt like you could burst with happiness.

as you waited for your coffee at the café, your phone buzzed with a message. the number was unfamiliar, but you knew immediately who it was.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: heard you’ll be walking paris fashion week. also heard you’ve got a magazine shoot coming up.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: funny coincidence, looks like i’m the one shooting that.

𓉘13:15𓉝 unknown number: after the shoot, you’re coming to my hotel, and i’ll deal with you personally for that time you stood up to me in front of everyone.

biting the inside of your cheek, you slipped your phone back into your coat pocket, a small smile tugging at your lips.

photographer!gojo was definitely the cockiest and most arrogant guy you’d ever met, but he was always the best at what he did. no one could rival his professionalism. he knew exactly how to elevate his subject and make them look absolutely stunning.

a little note: it’s been a scenario swirling around in my head for about a week now. it’s a bit long... but i hope you’ll like it

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo headcanons #jjk headcanons #jjk x you #gojo satoru headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you

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agiiiiiiiiiiiii · 3 days ago

Text

The Proposal

Part 2 of Soon.

Your wish is my command @siennaluvshcky !

nico hischier x reader

Theme: fluff, proposal

Words: 2767

—————————————————————————

The fresh air of Switzerland greeted you as you and Nico stepped out of the car. You were in his hometown, visiting for a short holiday between his busy hockey schedule. He had been unusually quiet on the drive up to the mountains, but you chalked it up to the breathtaking scenery—snow-capped peaks rising against a blue sky, the scent of pine trees filling the air. It was serene, magical even, like something out of a fairytale.

Nico led you to a secluded hiking trail, a place he said was special to him. “I used to come here as a kid,” he explained, his hand warm around yours. “Whenever I needed to clear my head or just… think.”

The path wound through a dense forest before opening up to a clearing that overlooked a stunning lake. The water sparkled under the afternoon sun, perfectly mirroring the mountains and trees around it. Your breath caught at the sight—it was as though the world had stilled just for the two of you.

“This is beautiful, Nico,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe.

He smiled softly. “It is. But it’s even better with you here.”

Before you could respond, Nico pulled a picnic basket out from behind a tree. “Surprise,” he said, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a great prank.

You laughed, shaking your head. “When did you plan this?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he teased, spreading out a soft blanket on the grass. “Just enjoy it.”

The two of you sat together, sharing wine, cheese, and chocolate—a quintessential Swiss experience, he’d said. You leaned against his shoulder, letting the peaceful silence wash over you. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks, but Nico’s arm around you kept you warm.

As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, Nico stood up and reached for your hand. “Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with a certain gravity you couldn’t quite place.

He led you closer to the edge of the lake, where the view was even more breathtaking. You turned to comment on how beautiful it was, but when you faced him, Nico wasn’t standing—he was kneeling.

Your heart stopped.

He held a small velvet box in his hands, his dark eyes locked on yours, filled with so much love it made your knees weak.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were special. You’ve been my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the love of my life. I can’t imagine a future without you.” He opened the box, revealing the most stunning ring you’d ever seen—simple yet elegant, sparkling like the lake behind him.

Tears pricked your eyes as he continued. “I brought you here because this is where I’ve always come to dream. And now, my biggest dream is to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like the entire forest could hear it. But you managed a tearful, “Yes!”

Nico’s face broke into the most radiant smile you’d ever seen. He slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly. Then he stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you with a passion that made the world around you disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both laughing and crying at the same time. “You really planned this all out, didn’t you?” you asked, admiring the ring on your finger.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he admitted, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Because you deserve nothing less.”

As the sky turned darker, the two of you stayed by the lake, wrapped in each other’s arms, dreaming about the life you would build together. And in that moment, with the stars beginning to twinkle above and Nico’s heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, everything felt absolutely perfect.

—————————————

As you and Nico walked hand in hand back to the house, you felt your heart still racing from the magical proposal. The glow of the moment surrounded you, but nothing could have prepared you for what came next. When Nico opened the door, the warm, familiar sound of laughter and chatter reached your ears.

You froze in surprise. When you’d left earlier, only Nico’s parents had been in the house—but now it was full. Not just his family, but your family too. Your parents, your sister mingling with Nico’s brother and sister and family.

“What…?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned to Nico, your eyes wide.

He grinned, looking immensely pleased with himself. “You didn’t think I’d let you celebrate this without your family, did you?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you realized the extent of his thoughtfulness. Before you could say another word, your mom spotted you and gasped, rushing over with outstretched arms.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion as she hugged you tightly. When she pulled back, her gaze dropped to your hand, and her breath caught. “It’s beautiful,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she cupped your face. “You’re glowing.”

Your dad joined next, pulling you into a bear hug. “He did good, huh?” he said with a proud smile, nodding toward Nico, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, watching the reunion with a soft, affectionate smile.

“He did more than good,” you replied, glancing back at Nico, who winked at you.

The room erupted into cheers and congratulations as everyone crowded around you, marveling at the ring and celebrating the big news. Nico’s mom pulled you into a warm embrace, whispering, “Welcome officially to the family, my dear”.

You didn’t even have to say a word. The way you beamed at her and held out your hand said it all.

Then, amidst all the excitement, his nephew toddled over to you, his wide, curious eyes fixed on your ring. Tugging gently on your hand to get your attention, he asked in his sweet, innocent voice, “So… you’re gonna marry Uncle Nico and be with us forever?”

The whole room fell silent, everyone smiling as they watched the exchange. You crouched down to his level, your heart melting at his sincerity. “That’s right,” you said softly, brushing a strand of his hair back. “Forever and ever.”

The little boy’s face lit up, and he threw his arms around your neck in the tightest hug, as if sealing the deal himself. “Good,” he said firmly. “I really like you.”

Everyone laughed, and Nico came to crouch beside you, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “I really like her too, buddy,” he said, winking at you.

The moment was so pure and filled with love that it made your heart swell. You looked around the room at the people who had become your family, feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging. Nico caught your gaze and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered, and you nodded, your hand finding his.

“Me too,” you replied, and as the celebrations continued, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of your forever.

—————————————

Later that night, after the laughter had died down and the house was finally quiet, you and Nico lay side by side in bed. The day had been nothing short of perfect, and the weight of everything that had happened started to settle in. The ring on your finger felt like a dream, and Nico’s arm draped over your waist was a comforting reminder that it was all real.

As you lay in the cozy silence, Nico broke it with a soft chuckle. “So… were you surprised?” he asked, his voice low but amused.

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I mean…” you hesitated, biting your lip playfully.

His eyebrows raised, and he leaned up on one elbow, giving you a mock-serious look. “Don’t tell me you knew. I planned so hard for this!”

You laughed quietly, tracing a finger over the edge of the blanket. “Okay, I had my suspicions,” you admitted. “But!” you added quickly, “I had no idea my family would be here. That completely caught me off guard.”

Nico let out a satisfied sigh and flopped back onto his pillow, a triumphant smile on his face. “Good. At least I managed to pull off something without you figuring it out. You’re impossible to surprise, you know.”

You turned onto your side, propping yourself up to look at him properly. “I might be impossible to surprise,” you teased, “but you did really good today. I was blown away, Nico. Everything was perfect.”

His hand reached for yours, his fingers gently playing with the ring on your finger. “I just wanted it to feel special for you,” he said softly, his voice sincere. “You deserve that.”

You leaned down to kiss him gently, your lips lingering against his for a moment. “It was better than special,” you whispered. “It was everything I’ve ever wanted. And having both our families there? That made it even more perfect.”

Nico smiled contentedly, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his chest. “That was the part I wasn’t sure I’d pull off,” he admitted. “But seeing your face when you saw them? Worth it.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “You pulled it off,” you murmured, your voice growing drowsy. “And I’ll never forget it.”

As Nico pressed a kiss to your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around you, he whispered, “Neither will I.”

As you lay against Nico's chest, your hand rested lightly on his stomach. You couldn’t help it—your fingers kept shifting, twisting your hand slightly to catch the light of the room on your ring. Every time the diamond sparkled, your heart gave a little flutter.

Nico noticed, of course. He always noticed. “You can’t stop looking at it, can you?” he teased, his voice warm with affection.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’s not my fault. It’s so beautiful. You did this,” you said, holding your hand up for both of you to admire. “You picked this.”

“Of course I did - with the help of Emma,” he replied with a grin, his fingers brushing over your wrist.

You blinked, sitting up slightly to look at him. “Emma? She knew?!”

He grinned at your reaction. “Of course she did. I needed someone who knows you better than anyone, and she was perfect for it. She helped me make sure it was... well, you.”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh my God, I haven’t even told her yet! She’s going to kill me when she finds out I didn’t call her the second it happened!”

Nico laughed softly, clearly amused by your slight panic. “Well, you can fix that right now. Want to FaceTime her?”

You nodded eagerly, grabbing your phone off the nightstand. You clicked on her contact and hit the video call button, bouncing a little with excitement as you waited for her to answer.

When Emma’s face appeared on the screen, her curious expression immediately turned into one of shock. “OH MY GOD, IS THAT A RING ON YOUR FINGER?!” she screamed, nearly dropping her phone.

You and Nico both laughed, and you held your hand closer to the camera, wiggling your fingers. “It is!” you confirmed, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Finally!” Emma exclaimed, covering her mouth with her free hand as tears filled her eyes. “Wait, you are still in Switzerland right? Did he propose there? Please tell me he did it in Switzerland!”

“He did!” you said, practically bursting with excitement. “It was perfect. Everything about it was perfect.”

Nico leaned into the frame with a sheepish smile. “She said yes,” he teased lightly, as if it had been a question.

Emma rolled her eyes, wiping at her tears. “Of course she said yes! Look at her—she’s glowing. And this ring is stunning!”

“Thank you,” Nico said with a proud smile. “But I couldn’t have done it without you, Emma. You were a lifesaver.”

Emma waved him off, though she looked deeply touched. “Please, you just needed a little guidance. You had everything else under control.” She turned her attention back to you. “So, tell me everything! Every. Single. Detail.”

For the next hour, the three of you sat in bed, recounting the story and reliving every magical moment. Nico chimed in here and there, but he mostly watched you with a soft, adoring smile, his hand resting on your thigh.

When the call finally ended, you set the phone down and leaned back against Nico, sighing contentedly. “I think she’s even happier than I am,” you joked, though your happiness was undeniable.

“She’s just excited for you,” Nico said, pressing a kiss to your lips.

Moments later Nico’s phone began buzzing on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen and smirked. “It’s Jack,” he said, already reaching for it.

“Perfect timing,” you said, nudging him playfully. “Put him on FaceTime. I’ll tell him!”

He raised an eyebrow but complied, answering the call and turning the camera on both of you. Jack’s grinning face filled the screen. “Hey, lovebirds. Did she say yes, or am I calling to console a brokenhearted Swiss guy?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up your hand to show the ring. “She said yes,” you teased, grinning from ear to ear.

Jack let out a loud whoop, throwing his arms up in celebration. “I knew it! Congrats, you two! I’ve been waiting forever for this to happen.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at the screen. “Wait, you knew about this too?”

Jack grinned, leaning back smugly. “Uh, yeah. Nico told me weeks ago. Someone had to approve the ring and the plan, obviously. I mean, I’m basically the mastermind behind the whole thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. Meanwhile, Nico rolled his eyes, muttering, “Yeah, sure you are, Jack.”

You turned to Nico, feigning shock. “How many more people knew about this?!”

Nico laughed, looking adorably sheepish. “Not that many… just my family, Emma, a few of the guys... oh, and your dad.”

“My dad?!” you repeated, your jaw dropping.

“Of course,” Nico said, his grin widening. “I asked for his blessing before I even bought the ring.”

You blinked, overwhelmed but impressed. “And nobody let it slip? Not even a little hint?”

Jack chuckled. “What can I say? We’re a trustworthy group. Well, except me—I almost told you, like, ten times.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Honestly, I’m impressed. I thought I was good at reading people, but you all got me.”

“That’s the goal,” Nico said, pulling you closer. “It wouldn’t have been as special.”

You looked at him, still slightly in disbelief. “You pulled this off perfectly.”

Jack chimed in with a grin. “That’s my captain—always clutch when it counts.”

You and Nico both laughed, and after a few more congratulatory words, the call ended. Nico set his phone aside, turning to you with a satisfied smile.

“So?” he asked, wrapping an arm around you. “How does it feel knowing I managed to surprise you at least a little bit?”

You rested your head on his shoulder, looking at the ring on your finger. “It feels like I’m marrying the most incredible man in the world,” you said softly, and Nico leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Good,” he murmured, holding you close. “Because you are.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let you go. When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, you rested your forehead against his.

“I love you, Nico Hischier,” you whispered, the words spilling out effortlessly, just like they always did.

“And I love you, Mrs. Hischier,” he replied, the new title rolling off his tongue like it had been meant for you all along.

Your laugh was soft and filled with pure joy as you nestled against him again. Even as your eyes started to grow heavy, your fingers instinctively found the ring once more, twisting it gently on your finger.

And as Nico held you close, his lips brushing your temple, you realized you weren’t just staring at the ring—you were dreaming of the life that came with it.

#nhl imagine #nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader

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n0vazsq · 3 days ago

Text

Always | Pau Cubarsi x Reader

pairing . . . pau cubarsi x gf!reader

summary . . . After a tough day at university, all you want is Pau's comfort

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . this is so cute omgg

. . . The day had been a train wreck from the moment you woke up. You were already running late for your first lecture, only to find out when you arrived that the professor had moved it to a different building, an email you somehow missed amidst the chaos of your inbox.

By the time you sprinted to the right room, you were sweaty, exhausted, and ten minutes late, earning a sharp glare from your professor.

It only went downhill from there.

The group project you’d spent hours preparing for fell apart when your so called friends barely contributed during the presentation, leaving you to stammer through most of it alone.

Afterward, instead of apologizing, they made taunting comments about how 'stressed' you always seemed and how you should 'just relax.' The words stung, their laughter cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

By the time the day ended, you felt like you were walking around with a storm cloud over your head. Your chest felt heavy, like a balloon slowly losing air. The worst part? You knew no one would notice. No one ever did.

When you finally got home, the tears you’d been holding back all day began to spill the moment you closed the door behind you. You sank to the floor of your room, curling into yourself as the weight of the day crushed you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you ignored it at first, assuming it was another pointless notification. But then it buzzed again. And again. Reluctantly, you reached over, glancing at the screen.

Pau

The sight of his name made your heart twist. Pau had a way of always calling at the right moment, as if he could sense when you needed him. Still, you hesitated, not wanting him to hear the weakness in your voice. The phone buzzed again, persistent. With a shaky breath, you answered.

"Hey," you croaked, trying to sound normal.

"Carino, what’s wrong?" Pau’s voice was warm, concerned. You could hear the frown in his tone.

"Nothing," you lied, sniffling quietly. "Just… tired."

"No, you’re not just tired. I know you better than that," he said softly. "Tell me what happened."

The gentleness in his voice unraveled you. Your carefully constructed walls crumbled as you choked out, "It’s been a horrible day, Pau. Everything went wrong, and my friends were… they were mean, and…" You trailed off, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I just feel so done with everything."

He was silent for a moment, and you worried he’d hung up or didn’t know what to say. Then, his voice came through, steady and resolute.

"I’m coming over."

"What? Pau, you don’t have to-"

"I want to," he interrupted firmly. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Before you could argue, he hung up. You stared at the phone, conflicted. Part of you felt guilty for dragging him into your mess, but another part was relieved. Pau had always been your shield, the one person who could make you feel safe even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. You shuffled to the door, your heart thumping in your chest. When you opened it, there he was, looking as effortlessly perfect as always. He held a bag of your favorite snacks in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. His warm brown eyes softened when they met yours.

"Hi," he said softly, holding up the flowers. "These are for your mom. Figured she’d like them."

Your chest tightened at his thoughtfulness. "You didn’t have to do that," you whispered.

"I wanted to," he replied, stepping inside. He placed the flowers gently on the kitchen counter before turning back to you. "Now, let’s talk about you."

He studied your face, his brows knitting together as he took in your red rimmed eyes and trembling lips. Without a word, he stepped closer and pulled you into his arms. The second his arms wrapped around you, the dam broke. You buried your face in his chest, the tears coming fast and heavy as he held you.

"It’s okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody. "I’m here. Let it out."

You clung to him, sobbing as the weight of the day poured out of you. He didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubbed gentle circles on your back.

When your sobs finally quitened, leaving you sniffling and exhausted, he guided you to the couch. He handed you a tissue from the box on the coffee table, waiting patiently as you wiped your face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently, his voice low and steady.

You hesitated, but the honest look in his eyes encouraged you to open up. Slowly, you told him everything; the missed email, the failed presentation, your friends’ harsh words. He listened intently, nodding along, his expression shifting between anger and empathy as you recounted the day’s events.

"I’m sorry your friends were awful to you," he said when you finished. "You don’t deserve that. You’re one of the kindest, smartest people I know. And if they can’t see that, they’re not worth your time."

His words made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you," you whispered. "For being here. For everything."

"Always," he said, wrapping an arm around you. "Now, how about we eat some snacks and watch something dumb? We can make fun of it together."

You laughed softly, the sound surprising even you. "That sounds perfect."

He pulled the bag of snacks onto the couch and let you pick what to watch. The two of you ended up on a cheesy rom com, the kind Pau loved to mock relentlessly. His running commentary had you laughing so hard your sides hurt, the heaviness of the day slowly lifting with each joke.

By the time the credits rolled, you felt lighter. Pau turned to you, his smile soft. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," you said honestly. "Thanks to you."

"Good," he said, leaning back against the couch. "Because you deserve to feel happy, carino. Don’t forget that."

You leaned into him, closing your eyes as his words settled in your heart. With Pau by your side, the world didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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f1daydreamer · 1 day ago

Text

Timeless

Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst

Plot: A budding romance between Lewis Hamilton (38) and the reader (25) is tested by the pressures of fame, the scrutiny of an age gap, and the lingering doubts of belonging in each other's worlds.

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities, fame-induced stress, emotional vulnerability, and a heavy dose of fluff at the end.

---

You hadn’t planned on being at the Monaco Grand Prix, let alone in the paddock among the glittering elite. When your best friend begged you to join her, swearing it would be an unforgettable experience, you caved.

“C’mon, how often do you get to be this close to Formula 1?” she’d argued.

Your response had been a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t even follow it. What am I supposed to do there?”

Apparently, the answer was meet Lewis Hamilton.

You hadn’t recognized him immediately. It wasn’t his fame that struck you first—it was his presence. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a calmness that felt out of place in the chaos of the paddock. And when his eyes met yours for the first time, it was as if the noise around you dimmed, leaving only the two of you.

It started with small talk about the chaos of race day. You joked about feeling out of place, and he smiled, saying he understood that feeling better than you’d think. His laugh, deep and unguarded, lingered in your mind long after the conversation ended. So when he asked for your number, you gave it to him without hesitation.

---

What followed was nothing short of magical, though not without complications.

Your conversations were endless, spanning across time zones and countries as Lewis balanced his relentless schedule with a growing connection to you. He introduced you to the world of Formula 1 with patience, laughing at your many questions but always answering them thoughtfully. You, in turn, introduced him to your quieter world—one free of flashing cameras and constant scrutiny.

But as months passed, doubts crept in. Not about him—you’d never felt more seen, more loved—but about whether you could truly fit into his life.

The first crack appeared one night when you were scrolling through social media.

“‘Lewis Hamilton spotted with mystery young woman,’” you read aloud, the headline making your chest tighten. The comments below it stung even worse.

“She’s probably just another fling.”

“Honestly, he should date someone on his level.”

“Who even is she?”

You didn’t notice Lewis enter the room until he gently took your phone from your hands.

“Why do you read that stuff?” he asked softly, sitting beside you on the couch.

You avoided his gaze, feeling foolish. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see what people thought of us.”

“And?” His voice was calm, but his eyes searched yours.

“They think I’m not enough for you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis let out a heavy sigh, his fingers brushing over yours. “Listen to me. The only opinion that matters is mine. And I know exactly who you are—smart, kind, beautiful, and more than enough.”

His words made your heart ache, but the doubts didn’t vanish overnight.

---

The turning point came at the next Monaco Grand Prix.

Lewis had insisted you come, this time as his guest. You’d hesitated, knowing how much attention it would draw, but his quiet reassurance won you over.

“Come with me,” he’d said. “I want you there. With me.”

Walking through the paddock hand in hand, you felt the weight of countless eyes on you. The whispers were there, faint but undeniable.

“Who is she?”

“Isn’t she a bit young for him?”

You squeezed Lewis’s hand, trying to steady your nerves. He looked down at you, his expression softening when he saw the tension in your shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmured, stopping to face you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true. “I just… feel out of place here.”

Lewis stepped closer, his free hand cupping your cheek. “You belong here. With me. Don’t let them make you doubt that, okay?”

The sincerity in his voice melted your insecurities, if only for the moment.

---

That evening, as you sat together on the balcony of his Monaco apartment, the city lights casting a golden glow around you, you finally voiced the question that had been haunting you.

“Do you ever wonder if this is… too much? The age gap, the pressure, everything?”

Lewis was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Then he turned to you, his expression both tender and resolute.

“I won’t lie to you,” he began. “This isn’t easy. But the best things in life never are. And you? You’re worth it. Every challenge, every doubt. I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything.”

Tears stung your eyes as you leaned into him, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

“I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted.

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone in this.”

---

When race day arrived, you found yourself back in the paddock, this time with a newfound confidence.

Lewis had qualified on pole, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, your heart swelled with pride. You watched as he climbed out of the car, his grin wide and unapologetically joyous as he sprayed champagne over the crowd.

When he finally found you in the chaos, his arms pulled you into a tight embrace, heedless of the cameras.

“I told you,” he murmured against your ear, his voice full of emotion. “You’re where you’re meant to be.”

And as you looked up at him, the doubts that once clouded your mind faded away, replaced by the certainty of his love.

---

A/N: Hi lovelies! I hope you enjoyed this longer, fluffier one-shot with just a sprinkle of angst for emotional depth. Lewis has such a warm, grounding presence, so writing this dynamic felt really special. Let me know your thoughts or if you’d like to see more stories like this! <3

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eris-norwega · 2 days ago

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Human Alastor x reader, where they are in an established romantic relationship, and they are on a date taking a stroll through the woods. Alastor notices that they are being watched by someone who wants reader for themselves, and confronts them later on killing them.

Blood Will Make It Better

Notes: YIPPEE human al is my favorite. y’all idk why my one shots keep getting shorter but i thought i wrote a lot more than i did. apparently it’s hard to write extended gore scenes without it getting repetitive.

Synopsis: Reader has been dealing with a pest at work, and despite her partner, Alastor, telling him off, he just doesn’t get the message—so Alastor will just have to send a clearer, more permanent one.

CW: human alastor, reader has she/her pronouns, pov change, stalking, harassment, gore, murder, it’s the 1920s so reader works at a library

Word Count: 1268

It was always moments like these that I enjoyed the most. A joyful night in the warm woods with Alastor, laughing all our problems away as we watched the fireflies float through the trees. It was hot, and dreadfully humid, but I could easily ignore it when I saw his smile.

He was a strange man. Snarky, distant, and incredibly outspoken—all things that drew me to him. Where others saw him as arrogant and guarded, I saw a man willing to do anything it takes to accomplish his goals, all while protecting himself fiercely.

Despite it all, I wanted to get to know him better. I saw past his flaws and went right for the center. Apparently, he admired that.

Alastor happily led me through the forest on his expansive property, his glasses shining in the moonlight. He hummed a soft tune as we settled on the small dock in the bayou where we loved to sit and talk.

We sat, feet dangling dangerously off the side of the ledge and the hands bracing ourselves backwards just barely brushing. He leaned his head at almost a right angle to set his head on my shoulder. I chuckled, using my arm to pull him closer. He laughed softly, wrapping his arm around my waist and placing a light kiss to my cheek.

We sat in silence, looking at the fireflies dance, listening to the chirping of crickets and the croaking of bullfrogs. Alastor snuggled into my shoulder, a gesture never seen by the outside world. But here, we were safe.

Or so we thought.

A snap of a twig is heard, making us jolt and my heart begin to race. I clutched onto Alastor, my eyes darting around in the moonlit forest.

There was a rustle of a bush, and then the night resumed its symphony. Alastor stared daggers at the bush as I clung to his arm.

“Let’s go,” he growled, getting up from the dock, his eyes never leaving the bush.

“What is it?” my voice wavered.

“I’m not sure,” he hissed. “Let’s just be safe.”

~Alastor~

He did, in fact, know what it was. And it made his blood boil.

Lance. A sleazy frequenter at his beloved’s library job. She had mentioned on multiple occasions just how crass and disrespectful he was to her and her personal space—always trying to flirt. She had indicated multiple times to him that she was seeing someone, but that only seemed to spur him on further.

Getting angrier at his behavior, Alastor decided to pay a visit to her day job, as Lance was beginning to appear every day now.

Alastor made it known to the man that she was, in fact, taken. He almost got himself kicked out of the establishment when he warned Lance—in a particularly loud voice—that he would not hesitate to press charges and get a restraining order on him on behalf of his partner if he showed his face again. Lance had sulked away with a frown on his face, and Alastor hoped that might be the end of it.

Seems he was wrong.

That very night, Alastor spotted Lance’s ratty eyes peaking through the bush. He bristled with rage. How did that pig even find them? On his property?

Alastor now only had one goal in mind. Keep her safe, and kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor kept track of him for long, agonizing weeks. His fingers itched to slice his throat, to gut him like the pig he was. He memorized his every move, where he was at every hour, particularly at night when it would be easiest to catch him.

Alastor knew now that Lance would leave the bar he was at soon enough. He twiddled his knife, the cool metal glinting in the dim light of the alley he leaned against. His heart raced, pumping with traces of adrenaline that would soon flood his brain.

His ears pricked when he heard the door open and close, poorly placed footsteps nearing his hiding spot. Alastor dared to peak around the corner, and his smile grew. Finally.

Alastor waited patiently behind the alley, listening closely to Lance’s footfalls. The man was clearly drunk, his steps wobbly and unsteady as he stumbled closer and closer to his death.

Alastor watched with glee as Lance stepped over the threshold into his line of sight. The man didn’t even see Alastor until he was being dragged backwards into the dark alley, his eyes wide and scream muffled by a large hand.

To Alastor’s luck—and great delight—no one else had stepped out with the man, and it was so late that nobody wandered the streets. He dragged Lance completely into the shadows, bashing his head against the brick wall to leave him disoriented. Lance groaned, slumping against the wall as Alastor let him go.

He quickly locked a hand around his neck, a choked sound gurgling from the man’s throat as he stared at his killer with wide, scared eyes.

“Do you know,” Alastor drawled, tracing the sharp end of the knife over Lance’s cheek, “just how long I’ve been waiting to do this?”

Another strangled scream escaped Lance as Alastor once again slammed his head into the wall, leaving a bit of blood on the brick.

“You think,” Alastor hissed, “that you can just harass her—stalk her—without any repercussions?”

A startled noise made its way past Lance’s lips, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please,” he choked.

Alastor laughed lowly. “Sorry, old pal. Didn’t hear you there.”

With a wild look in his eyes, Alastor slashed his knife across Lance’s mouth, his jaw falling open in a grotesque maw as Alastor cut his mouth wider.

Another gurgled scream tried to tear itself from Lance’s throat, but Alastor ensured no one could hear him as blood flooded his mouth.

Alastor cackled. “Repeat that for me, good sir. If you can.”

Another slash was made over Lance’s eye, blood gushing from the wound and pooling into his gaping mouth. The man whimpered in pain, surrendering to his fate.

“You don’t deserve to look at her,” Alastor growled, plunging the blade into his other eye socket, the eye popping out with an unnatural squelch. The drunken man tried to claw and kick at his assailant, but his intoxicated body and rapid blood loss made his efforts futile.

In a fit of impulsivity, Alastor took the eyeball and shoved it down the man’s throat with a gleeful laugh. His adrenaline completely taking over, Alastor shoved the knife into Lance’s ear repeatedly, smiling all the wider as blood sprayed on Alastor’s face.

“You’ll never hear her again,” he cackled, slicing his nose off next. “Never smell her intoxicating scent.” He yanked out his tongue, cutting it clean off. “Never taste her lips.”

Alastor continued to stab him in various places, blood pooling in ridiculous amounts on the floor, all while he laughed.

He felt insane and so, so good.

Alastor yanked Lance’s hair, and, although barely conscious, made one last promise to the man.

“You will never get to feel her like I do.”

And then he sunk the blade into his throat.

~Reader~

“Alastor!” I called happily as he picked me up from the library. “You’ll never guess who wasn’t here today!”

He chuckled softly as I buckled my seatbelt. “I have some ideas.”

I giggled. “Lance! For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t here!” I wiggled in my seat happily. “I think your little talk yesterday scared him off!”

Alastor laughed softly, taking my hand and placing a delicate kiss on my knuckles. “How wonderful.”

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #human alastor x reader #human alastor

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redrose10 · 11 hours ago

Note

i see you're taking more reqs!! i wanted to suggest a yoongi sugar daddy or dilf au maybe? or both? 🤪 i don't have anything specific in mind tbh, maybe something he did makes oc jealous and then he reassures her? or whatever else you'd like to do will be fine!

There will be a part 2 to this. I hope its’s okay and that you like it so far!

Idol Yoongi x Female Spouse Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, body insecurity, hints of cheating, Jealousy, maybe more…

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

You admired the man standing infront of you carefully fixing his tie so that he could look perfect for the evening ahead.

“I can’t believe I lost my cherry tie.”, he pouted as he spritzed on some cologne. “I’m sure it’ll turn up, besides we’re supposed to dress formally tonight and a tie with little cherries on it isn’t exactly formal.”, you chuckled. It was the night of the talent show at your daughter’s school. They had asked the parents to dress as nicely as possible to really make the kids feel like it was a special night for them.

When your husband gave you a little spin you couldn’t help but be stunned in silence. Your husband Yoongi was incredibly handsome. His suit was tailored to hit him perfectly. More than though he was also charming and charismatic with a smile that could melt even the coldest of people. Not to mention the immense amount of talent that he had. It was no surprise that he had people all over the world shouting Yoongi Marry Me any chance they got.

You were lucky though. You were the one he fell in love with. The one he calls his and the one he comes homes to at the end of the day. You are the one he started a family with that was growing by one more any day now. All of this should keep you happy and satisfied yet somehow you often, especially lately, felt like you weren’t quite enough.

“Ready?”, Yoongi asked as he reached out for your hand. His wedding ring glistened in the light. You groaned as he helped you get off of the bed. You were nine months pregnant with your guys second child. Your belly was large and you were sore and swollen and exhausted, but you were determined to watch your five year old daughter perform in her school’s winter talent show. Yoongi kept his hands on your waist to make sure you were steady before you took any steps. “You look beautiful Y/N.”, he said before placing a kiss to your lips. “I look like a cherry about to burst.”, you groaned while really regretting the red dress you had chosen. “You don’t…but even if you did you know I’ve always had a thing for cherries.”, he smirked before leading you to the car.

The school was packed. Yoongi walked infront of you to help create a path while his hand was gripping yours tightly to pull you through the crowd with him. Every few steps he would take a look back at you to make sure you were still doing okay all while politely dodging questions and denying other eager parents of photos and autographs. He knew your feet were already killing you so he was trying his best to get to your seats quickly and without being noticed, but unfortunately being a famous idol came with lots of attention, both positive and negative.

You heard the gasps, the camera shutters, the whispers,

“He’s so gorgeous.”

“He’s even better looking in person.”

“I hope I have a husband like him one day.”

“Yoongi’s such a good dad. His daughter is lucky.”

But there were also the negative ones that were mostly directed at you and while you were used to it by now they were still uncalled for and hurt you quite a bit.

“Wow, I know she’s pregnant, but that’s not an excuse to let herself go like that.”

“Yoongi must be so embarrassed of her.”

“Yeah he could do so much better.”

“Yoongi is definitely cheating on her. There’s no way he still finds that attractive.”

The entire walk to your seat you kept your focus on Yoongi’s hand intertwined with yours while willing yourself to ignore the comments and not end up crying on your daughter’s big night.

The auditorium quickly filled with family members as well as some school staff all ready to watch the kids put on the show they had worked so hard for.

The principal gave a little speech and then the curtain opened and the first act commenced. The kids were adorable and you loved watching them put all of their talents on display. You and Yoongi especially loved the little boy who danced to Boy With Luv.

“And next we have Hana Min.”, the announcer said. You laughed as Yoongi got his phone out ready to take a video.

Your daughter scanned the crowd looking for the two of you and immediately started waving as soon as she saw you. Then she went on to do a wonderful job performing a dance to a piano tune Yoongi had recorded for her. The crowd applauded and you couldn’t have been prouder. Then after a few more acts it was finally time to leave.

“What do you think? Ice cream on the way home?”, Yoongi smiled as he helped you out of your chair. “You know me so well.”, you chuckled going to take a step forward when you were cut off by a group of the other moms. You recognized them from various events around the school. You had always tried to be nice and friendly wanting to make some friends, but they always excluded you for some reason. You assumed it was jealousy, but never really probed for a reason.

Now they were surrounding your husband badgering him with compliments and questions,

“Hana must’ve got her talent and her cuteness from you Yoongi.”

“Are you free to give my son piano lessons? I’ll pay EXTRA….*wink wink*”

“Have you been working out? Your shoulders look so broad.”

“You’re such a good dad Yoongi. I wish my husband was half as involved as you are.”

Those comments you could ignore. They were nothing different than the usual things you heard and you had seen even worse online over the years.

“Oh Yoongs…I’m so glad to see you here.”, an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind you. A woman, about your age maybe a little younger, was walking up towards you and your husband. Her floor length shimmering gold gown caught your attention thanks to the way it perfectly hugged every curve of her body. You thought the thigh high slit was a little inappropriate for a kids event, but you couldn’t deny it looked good. Her hair was long and curled perfectly which matched her perfectly applied makeup. You started to feel like you should’ve put more effort into your appearance tonight, but just getting dressed was an accomplishment on its own at this stage of your pregnancy. You were so caught up in her appearance that it took a moment for her words to process in your brain.

“Yoongs?”, you questioned with furrowed brows.

The grip Yoongi had on your hand increased, almost to the point of pain and you had to pull away.

“Aera.”, he nodded, “It’s nice to see you here.”

“The talent show was great. Little Hana did amazing. I would’ve loved to sit up front with you, but my asshole of an ex-husband cancelled at the last minute. Chul was devastated and it took a while for me to convince him to still show up and perform so I got here just as the show was starting.”

“Yeah he did a great job. He has definitely got a shot at a rap career.”, your husband smiled.

You had seen this play out many times before. Someone would tell Yoongi how he inspired their kid to get into music and he would play it off and get all shy and nonchalant. This time seemed different though, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Well he has a great mentor in you.”, she replied, “I just wish he had a dad as good as you too.”

Your husband awkwardly chuckled before running his hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his. He tried reaching for your hand to lead you away when Aera suddenly jumped in excitement startling both of you, “Oh, I almost forgot!” She started digging around in her purse before pulling out a neatly folded tie. Not just any tie, but the tie you had given Yoongi on your third wedding anniversary. It was covered in little cherries, an inside joke between the two of you. It was the tie with the cherries that he was looking for earlier and thought he had lost.

You started to pull your hand out of his wanting to question why this woman had his tie in her purse, but he strengthened his grip keeping you put.

Aera handed it over, “You left it at my place a few weeks ago and I just keep forgetting to give it back. I’m just so forgetful sometimes.”

You forcefully ripped your hand out of Yoongi’s grasp and backed away. There was only one reason why your husband would remove his tie at another woman’s house and the thought of it made you sick.

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #bts x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi #dilf Yoongi

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bradleysass · 2 days ago

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Headphones - @black-brothers-microfic - Word Count: 752 - Starchaser + Wolfstar

The low hum of chatter mixed with the clinking of mugs filled the shared apartment. Regulus sat curled up on the couch, a book in his lap that he wasn’t really reading. James had left to pick up coffee for everyone with the promise of returning before Sirius and Remus arrived. Regulus had appreciated the quiet, even if the anticipation of Sirius’ inevitable arrival made him feel a little on edge.

Sirius Black was a force of nature—loud, vibrant, and unapologetically chaotic. He wasn’t someone who understood the concept of “inside voice.” And while Regulus loved his brother in his own, complicated way, he needed the buffer of his headphones to withstand the onslaught of noise Sirius brought with him.

The front door burst open, and Sirius’ voice immediately filled the room like a storm.

“Oi! Reg! You’ll never guess what just happened!” Sirius called, bounding into the living room with Remus trailing behind him, far more subdued.

Regulus tensed, his eyes darting to the coffee table where he always left his headphones. They weren’t there. His chest tightened as he patted around the cushions of the couch, hoping they’d slipped into the cracks.

Nothing.

Sirius’ laugh boomed as he recounted some ridiculous tale to Remus, and Regulus felt the edges of his world begin to blur. The noise was too much—Sirius’ voice, the door shutting, the rustle of Remus’ coat, the faint sound of traffic from outside. He needed his headphones.

“Where are they? Where are they?” he muttered under his breath, his movements becoming more frantic as he searched the couch, the coffee table, and the floor around him. The air seemed thicker, his pulse louder in his ears.

“Regulus?” James’ voice cut through the fog, gentle and warm. Regulus hadn’t even noticed him come back. He was holding two cups of coffee, his brow furrowed in concern as he set them down and crouched beside the couch.

“What’s wrong?” James asked softly, his hand hovering near Regulus’ knee, unsure if touch would help or make things worse.

“My headphones,” Regulus choked out. “They’re gone. I can’t—I can’t do this without them.”

James immediately understood. Regulus had once explained how the headphones acted as his shield, a barrier against the overwhelming noise of the world. Without them, he felt raw, exposed.

“Okay,” James said, his voice calm and grounding. “It’s okay. We’ll find them.”

James straightened and turned to Sirius, who was now watching the scene with a confused frown.

“Pads, can you tone it down for a sec? Reg’s having a rough time,” James said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Sirius blinked, looking slightly taken aback, but he nodded and quieted down.

“Remus, can you check the kitchen? I’ll look in our room,” James continued.

“Of course,” Remus replied, already heading toward the kitchen.

James crouched back down in front of Regulus. “Hey, I know it feels like everything’s closing in right now, but I’m here. Focus on me, okay?”

Regulus nodded stiffly, his breathing shallow. James reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Breathe with me,” James said, taking exaggerated breaths. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Regulus tried to match James’ rhythm, his grip on James’ hand tightening. Slowly, the haze in his mind began to lift, the edges of his panic receding.

“Got them!” Remus called, holding up the headphones triumphantly as he re-entered the room.

James smiled, relief washing over him as he took the headphones from Remus and gently placed them over Regulus’ ears. Regulus immediately curled into himself, the comforting pressure of the headphones muting the noise around him.

“Better?” James asked softly.

Regulus nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

James leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Regulus’ temple. “Always.”

From the corner of the room, Sirius watched the interaction with an unreadable expression. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re loud, love,” Remus said with a teasing smirk, though his tone was gentle. “Maybe tone it down next time, yeah?”

Sirius huffed, though his gaze softened as he looked at his younger brother. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

For the rest of the evening, the apartment remained quiet, Sirius making a conscious effort to keep his voice low. Regulus stayed curled up on the couch, his headphones firmly in place, with James by his side. The noise of the world had receded, and for the first time that day, Regulus felt safe.

#marauders #jegulus #sunseeker #starchaser #sunwater #wolfstar #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #black brothers microfic #microfic

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multifictional · 3 days ago

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Following there's a kind of plot and a blurb for the acotar story I mentioned. The idea has been in mind for so long and I finally wanted to give it a try!

In the long run it will have anti-feysand hints, and it’s an Eris and Lucien centred fic, so be aware. I am still debating if making the reader an oc.

Here we go..

[Y/N] Archeron always felt the pull of autumn, even as a human. The fallen leaves, the warm colours, the spicy sweets, even her birthday. For Elain, her sister, it was the sun and the way of feeding her gardens and flowers with its light.

Together in the Night Court after being thrown into the Cauldron, they both feel out of place. But while Elain has her growing bond with Lucien, [y/n] remains an outsider. With her powers still silents even after years, she feels a longing in herself she can’t quite place.

A mating bond with Eris, heir of the Autumn Court, is the last thing she expects at this point and also what she needed the most without even realising.

This is Prythian though and, even without a new villain after their heads, nothing is never easy as it seems. Especially not in a life where court rivalries seem to have their way of creating complications.

Yes, it will focused on both relationship (Eris with the reader and Elain with Lucien). It would also be set after ACOWAR with some elements of ACOSF implied (just Nesta giving up her powers to save Feyre’s family and accepting the mating bond).

As the plot says, there’s no new villain. I suck at writing all fantasy war storylines so I leave this to people who actually can write them better than me. This doesn’t mean this story won’t have plot twists or… other things. The focus will be mostly on relationships between characters, their inner turmoils and courts rivalry.

And a lot of spice, sorry not sorry. Not right away though, especially for Eris and the reader.

Keep reading if you are curious about the blurb!

Eris looked at the food you placed in front of him with a strange look on his face. It seemed as if you just slapped him, a mixture of confusion and wariness. It was as if the heir of the Autumn Court was surprised for once.

But then his mask came back.

You looked at him expectantly, heart beating fast. This was the moment of the truth, the moment where your wish could become a reality: that your new life as a Fae wasn't completely worth nothing. That, after all, you had finally found your ground. Your place in a world that was so foreign and so meant for you at the same time.

But then your expectation fell on you like a lighting strike, sending your heart from the top of your throat to the bottom of your feet. He pushed the plate towards you, refusing your offering.

“I can’t accept the bond,” he said calmly, with a coldness that was opposite to the fire running inside his veins. He was used to that. “I won’t.”

The hurt you felt in that moment was new for you. You felt the bond tugging at you in a painful way, a string threatening to broke. He felt it too, but he masked that feeling instantly, burying the need for you and cursing the timing in his mind. You blinked, refusing to let him see a single tear coming from you.

“W-what? W-why?” you stuttered. You had thought that someone like Eris wouldn’t wait a second too much to claim what was rightfully his, and yet, here you were, in front of his rejection. “I thought…”

“You thought wrong,” he bit out. “I can’t accept the food, not right now. Not until the throne is mine.”

So that was the problem? Becoming High Lord? You couldn’t quite believe that.

Eris saw the uncertainty and doubt in your eyes. Despite all his instincts were screaming at him to calm you down, he didn't do any of that. His cool demeanour usually wouldn't have fooled you so easily, but you were too taken aback to see the truth masked beneath his actions.

It was better this way.

Quite voices reached both of you. You turned to see Lucien and Elain approaching from the nearly forest, talking quietly. Eris, though, didn’t stop watching you.

He saw the flickering of longing as you watched his half-brother with your sister. That look almost crushed his usually so composed self control. So, with a single thought, he winnowed away, leaving behind the wind of autumn that always called out for you.

“Was Eris here?” Lucien asked, meeting your eyes. Elain approached you, already sensing something was off.

You were far too quick to put on a mask of your own, offering them a hint of smile. “Why would he? He’s too busy planning his head out to his next move to pass by.”

The bitterness in your tone was unmistakable.

“Want to train your power?” Lucien offered, thankfully changing subject.

You looked at you hands with a scowl then looked back at him. The thought of your power was unwelcome in your mind, especially after what happened.

“Another time,” without another word, you walked away, not giving them a second glance.

Lucien and Elain gave each other a knowing look, but didn’t press further. You heard their soft whispering, and even if envy was’t an emotion you ever allowed yourself to feel, with the sting of your mate’s rejection still clear in your soul, you couldn’t help but long for what they had.

With all of that being said, would anyone be interested in it? Should I continue??

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thatonefanficwriternooneknows · 18 hours ago

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FoxQuin Week Day 1 - Shovel Talk

Good Afternoon/Morning/Evening/Night!

Here for your reading pleasure is day 1 of FoxQuin Week! I decided to be extra (and hate myself) and work in both the quote prompt and the writing prompt because why not :D

So this one is Fox's Batch Giving Quinlan the Shovel Talk and "What do you mean you're married?" (@foxquinweek )

It is a little over 1k so enjoy :D

Quinlan is having a rather odd day.

It started with Commander Wolffe trying to corner him in the halls of the Temple, it continued with Commander Ponds staring at him during the council meeting he was asked to, and it kept up with Commander Cody trying to get his attention in the mess hall.

Now, when Quinlan was trying to spend some quality time with his padawan, that may or may not include some recreational murder, Commander Bly kept swerving the conversation around to Fox.

That’s when the dots started to connect.

“Why exactly do you keep bringing Commander Fox up, Bly? Is there something you want to know?”

Aayla’s head perked up, looking at Quinlan and Bly with her wide eyes, smelling gossip no doubt. Bly stuttered through some word vomit before caving and muttering “never mind”.

They didn’t get to their recreational murder, but Quinlan had a great time making Bly uncomfortable with random mentions of what Fox and him get up to in their spare time. Without specifically saying Fox’s name.

It was quite fun.

Odd, but fun.

As the day passed, the Commanders tried more and more interesting ways to corner him. It didn’t work because, one, Quinlan grew up here and knew every hiding place, and two, he was a kriffing Shadow. If they wanted to corner him they’d have to get up to Fox’s level.

But, all good things had to come to an end, and it ended with Quinlan sitting at the Jedi Commissary with Captain Rex sitting across from him…cleaning his blaster while pointedly staring at Quinlan.

Not subtle, this lot.

Quinlan smirked at the blond captain and kept eating his food like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Which he didn’t, because Fox’s batch’s approval meant nothing to him.

Fox’s opinion was the only opinion when it came to their relationship.

Soon enough, every single Commander that tried to corner him today was on Rex’s side of the table, staring Quinlan down, their Jedi were sitting on Quinlan’s side radiating concern.

Considering the only beings that knew about him and Fox were Tholme and Aayla that was fair.

“So…Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.” Wolffe started and Quinlan chuckled at the concerned sounds coming from Plo.

“So, Commander Wolffe.” Quinlan was nothing if not an asshole.

The one eyed commander glared at him with his one good eye, likely hoping Quinlan would spontaneously burst into flame if he glared hard enough.

Jokes on him, though, Quinlan has been glared at harsher by worse.

“Let’s just cut the chase, what are your intentions with our kih’vod, Vos?” Cody cut in on the staring contest.

Quinlan chuckled at several Jedi Councilors choking on their food.

He leaned back in his chair, smirking happily at the group of angry vode glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you mean.” Quinlan shrugged and kept eating, moving his attention to his wrist comm and the message from Fox on it.

The Hot (definitely) One: please ignore my batchers

Thorn told them

he’s being properly punished

The Smart (allegedly) One: lol

no worries, babe

this is kriffing hilarious

The Hot (definitely) One: you have an odd sense of humor

are you in the Temple?

The Smart (allegedly) One: commissary

The Hot (definitely) One: be right there

Quinlan smiled and returned to his food, smiling at Wolffe who was ignoring his food in favor of stabbing it menacingly.

Hex definitely did it better.

(Fox’s batchers attempting a compactor talk was infinitely amusing. More so when one considers the fact that no one could possibly be scarier than the CMO of the Guard, and Hex had cornered Quinlan seconds after he convinced Fox to give them a chance.

That man was terrifying.

Quinlan was convinced the war would be over if they just set the Guard CMO on the Separatist Senate.)

“We know you know who Fox is, General.” Ponds finally piped up. Good for him.

“Oh I definitely know Fox. What does that have to do with your kih’vod?” Quinlan was definitely being a shit right now. He was entitled.

Wolffe slammed his fists onto the table top, rattling the dishes and startling everyone not involved in this conflict.

“Stop being obtuse, Vos. What are your intentions with Fox?” Wolffe hissed out, Bly placing a placating hand on his shoulder and muttering under his breath about tempers.

Quinlan rested his cheek on his fist and hummed.

“My intentions are between Fox and I, Commander.” He couldn’t help but purr out, tempted to see how worked up he could get the batch before they caved and started threatening him outright.

Wolffe let out a strangled scream and made to launch across the table at Quinlan, only to be held back by Bly and Cody and slammed back into his seat.

“Fox is a grown vod, he can make his own decisions. But Vos, if you hurt him…well…” Rex trailed off and started putting his blaster together with emphasized movements.

Quinlan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your compactor talk is so cute, Commanders, Captain. But CMO Hex already beat you to it. And ARC Captain Lex, Lieutenant Tina, Commander Thorn, Stone and Thire, even Sargent Apex. His was the funniest honestly.” Quinlan chuckled, remembering the scarred Sargent nonchalantly assembling a bomb while telling Quinlan all the things Fox has done for him and his batch.

It was almost the opposite of a compactor talk, actually.

The Commanders blinked in unison before their brows furrowed and their lips pursed.

Not his fault Fox’s batch weren’t up to date with the Guard personnel.

“Who is Fox?” Obi-wan was looking at Quinlan with his kicked tooka eyes and he vaguely felt bad for not telling his best friend about Fox, but also…things have been happening pretty fast.

He opened his mouth to answer, honestly for once, but a gloved hand slid around his neck and lightly tilted his chin up and Quinlan smiled as Fox pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Fox’s answering smile was stunning.

“Me’vaar ti gar, riduur?” Fox asked against his lips, pulling back just far enough for Quinlan to have space to answer.

“Naas, ner riduur.” Quinlan responded before snaking his hand into Fox’s lovely locks to pull him in for another kiss.

Idly he heard the clattering of glassware and a strangled scream.

Quinlan looked over at their audience, smirking when Fox brushed his lips against his cheek while burying his face into Quinlan’s shoulders.

Everyone seemed to speak or shout at once and it echoed into the commissary, Fox’s shoulders shaking as his laugh echoed Quinlan’s.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

#foxquinweek #quinlan x fox #foxquinweek 2025 #FoxQuin Week 2025 #screamhoney things #star wars #commander fox #coruscant guard #quinfox #<3 #foxquinweek2025

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sillycowboys · 17 hours ago

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Tech’s Happy Ending

Tech deserved to be more than just a soldier. He could’ve been so much more. He had so much potential for a good life, all that was taken from him—and far too early. He probably would’ve ended up settling down on Pabu….with his brothers, sister, and Phee. Maybe they’d have a child and Omega would get to be an aunt. Tech would’ve been scared about being a dad, afraid that he’d have too much trouble with emotional aspect of parenting. But Omega would comfort him, reminding him of their conversation in the cave all those years ago. He’d be a great father, just as he was a great brother to Omega. He’d probably get a job somewhere where his talents could reach their full potential. He could use his intelligence for something other than war or survival. Over time he would learn to let go, floating in the sea and lying on the sand. He would teach the kids on the island all about algorithms, flying starships, and speaking other languages. Maybe he’d even open up a school on Pabu, dedicating his days to raising a generation smart enough to survive on their own and use their knowledge for good. He’d spend his nights sipping wine with Phee and reminiscing on their old days as cadets with his brothers. One day Omega, or maybe his child, would ask him about the war. He’d tighten up at first, telling them about the old strategies they used. But eventually, he’d think back to the cave and he’d breathe a bit. He’d tell them how hard it was to feel like you’re always on the edge of death, especially while his brain was constantly calculating the odds of their survival. When things got tough he’d look to his brothers, thinking that nothing else really mattered as long as they were together. Somehow, they always got through it—but never alone. He remembered when Omega first joined them he couldn’t really understand why. What were the logistical advantages to bringing along a child as they run from the empire? But he soon realized that Omega was special, different like them. And protecting her was worth all the negative odds he could calculate. He was thankful for her presence when they lost Crosshair, but he always wished they could all be together again. He wanted to see Crosshair teach her how to shoot, like he himself taught her how to pilot. He didn’t agree with Crosshair when he stayed with the empire, but he just couldn’t rack his brain for any logistical advantage to making him his enemy. He knew, without a doubt in the world, that the Bad Batch worked best all together. He thought Echo was the final piece to complete their little puzzle, but once Omega came along he realized it was her that made them complete. When they finally got Crosshair back, he felt like he could rest. He loved having all his family in one place. The odds were much better that way.

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bleedingichorhearts · 15 hours ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This is just a Prologue/Test. If this gets more, I'll add more to it.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // None.

Guilliman was never one to take much part into the... electronics like some of his brothers have. He was more focused on trying to get the paperwork done rather than playing with such a thing that only helps him when his work needs to be organized when he can’t do so at the time. So, he's mildly grateful for it, but in other times when it fails him when he's trying to do his work, and it completely shuts off on him? Leaving his progress unchecked? Not so much. There has been a point where he wanted to launch the stupid machine into the chaos of the warp. Though, that wouldn’t be a great idea considering that would be giving the chaos free information. That is if they like going through files with just numbers in them.

However, something about one of the delicacies of having some tech peaked his interest a bit. Not because it could possibly be organized better, and most likely couldn't with how old this little, tiny... "phone" looked. It looked like a relic of the ancient past, but the small thing still worked. It… shocked him in a way, all it needed was a simple charge and it was at 100% in seconds, but that still wasn't what interested him.

It was how the tiny thing still had this "service." That it still had... people communicating through it. He's read some of the... vox? Messages? It seems like the have gotten the wrong number? Other times whoever was on the other end was persistent and kept the phone dinging at him at the worst times saying something about a woman giving this random male the wrong number, but also proceeded to try the number out again and again. He wonders if the woman had completely rejected the man at that point with how many foul words they have typed out and even “voicemailed.” The man was definitely not a noble, but it's possible with how much supposed currency they have. He was honestly tempted to answer back...

Though, one of these "group chats" has interested him the most as this group chat included his "phone number" with them. Many people at once, greeting and saying hello. It was… surprising, but a great change of event’s between a simple, unyielding command or a demand. Not only that, but the pictures of their world? It almost reminds him of Terra or at least what it could have been before he was even created, and the people? Thriving: Happy. They looked happy.

You looked happy.

He… also finds an interest in you. You are a rare find of the universe. You pull him in even when he doesn’t even know you. You’re always kind enough to fill him in when he attempts to join in and gather information, or when he’s still figuring out the mini controls of the old tech. He should really transfer the data, but he knows what lies in the dark of his world. So he just hides the phone in his quarters, and when he gets the time? He goes through it. Seeing what this other world has been up to, what you have been up to. He’s glad the whole group chat of 4 (including you and him) didn’t even bat an eye when they figured out they hadn’t recognised his number on the device. They simply… accepted him; trusted him. Even without knowing him too. It was almost bizarre. To be accepted quickly as if he wasn’t the most important being on Terra. You- They have treated him like an equal. Not many dare to do that, and he wonders if this is how the twins felt like sometimes?

He shakes his head, dismissing his thought as he places the tiny phone down in the middle of his chest while he rests on top of his comforter, his eyes looking up to the ceiling above him. He honestly believes your planet is one of true paradise. Not worn with war and hive cities. Your world actually has luscious trees; forests adorning your roads and places you walk upon, something Lion might like. You had gardens where the whole city would come to take brakes in, unfearing of what may lay beyond the atmosphere. You didn’t have high tech like his world, but that didn’t matter to him. It didn’t compare to the beauty that the world held. What you held.

He shifts slightly when he feels the phone vibrate on his chest and he moves a bit quickly to hold up the phone again. His eyes searching for the notifications that appeared on it. A message from you calling for him in the group chat.

“Lord Robute, are you still there?”

A small smile grows on his lips, before it's quickly taken away with fluency, his fingers chicken typing on the frustratingly small phone. He knows when you call him “Lord” it means you were either in a good mood, you’re in a playful mood or you just used it to address him as the whole group chat mentioned his name was like a royal name. Therefore, they have started to use different titles to address him in a… friendly manner.

“I am.”

“I have a picture of the Black Templars I think you would like, here.”

He almost freaks out at your words, but remains composed; staring at the phone, waiting for you to send the attachment, and when it sends. He’s interested. These Black Templars looked nothing like the Templars his world has. Well, besides the colors and the logo, but the armor is way different. He likes when you send him the history of your world, it pleases him in a way to see the weird similarities.

“Thank you.”

Is all he says, and he gets comments from the group chat about his simple responses. Talking like a “dadbod.” Whatever that means, but he’s pleased to have found these communications with the group and you. He’s… He’s going to keep this little device a little while longer, and hopes the imperium doesn’t find your world. He hopes the Emperor doesn’t find it, and definitely a couple of his brothers too. He doesn’t wish to see you besides where you already stand, and that thought saddens him a little. The thought of you not being close…

He must do what is right, even for you, but for how long?

#truthful presentism au #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #prologue #third person pov #roboute guilliman x reader #robute guilliman #primarch #x reader #the primarchs

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edward-munson · 18 hours ago

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i'm right here - E.M. * Chapter Four

Warning: slight mentions of blood, mentions of the Upside Down, fluff

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem! Harrington reader

Word count: 3.6k

⋆˚✿˖°

After that day, Eddie decided he wouldn't doubt you anymore, or even confront you the way he did. And then, there were days he would sit during the breaks with you and tell you silly jokes just to make you laugh. He would always compliment you and sometimes, when he would feel less nervous, he would also touch your cheekbones with gentleness.

And he also decided trying to ask you out for dinner, or to watch a movie with him. He wanted to be closer to you, feel you surrounding him. He wanted you to be his date whenever he would want to go out. For dinner, Eddie would probably avoid the usual fancy restaurants and take you somewhere quieter, like a diner with a jukebox in the corner, or a local pizza place with a wall full of band posters. Which totally matches his vibes.

He'd slip into the booth across from you, offering you the most random recommendations on the menu,while joking about how he says he’s the “food critic”. You'd get to share greasy fries and a stack of burgers, laughing at his antics. He'd talk about his band, the Hellfire Club adventures, and the books he likes to read.

When it's time for the movies, he would want something that matches his vibe too, maybe a horror one or a classic action movie. He'd sneak you into the theater or make sure you get the best seats, perhaps even bringing along a bag of his own “special” snacks, like candy from a store he swears no one else knows about. He’d keep constantly commenting throughout the film, making you laugh and cringe with his sarcastic remarks and random trivia.

After the movie, he might take you on a little trip through the town, showing you places that are special to him, showing you the hidden spots where he plays his guitar or cool alleyways with graffiti murals. And then, when you think the night couldn’t get any better, Eddie invites you to join his Dungeons & Dragons campaign. You'd sit with him and his friends, surrounded by dice, snacks, and a bunch of exotic characters. As the Dungeon Master, he would lead you through an epic fantasy world, offering you a chance to create your own character and help him with his quests.

He'd get so into his role that you’d find yourself admired with excitement, laughing at his exaggerated voices for the game or his dramatic descriptions of monster encounters. Between turns, Eddie would glance at you, his eyes sparkling, making sure you’re having a good time, assuring that you’re having a good time with him. And then, he would give you a ride and drop you off your porch, trying to swipe off the feeling of wanting to kiss you like that other day.

The thing is, he was still pretty reluctant, because he still didn’t want to bring you into the mess that was his life. Even though you assured him it wasn’t a problem for you. The inside of the van smells like him, as always. You’ve grown accustomed to his smell and you kinda love it. Eddie's been joking around, you’re both still talking about the campaign you played for the first time and how you actually enjoyed being a part of it, but then, without warning, Eddie pauses mid-sentence.

You look over him, concerned. His hand flies to his nose, his expression shifting from playful to surprised.

“Eddie? What’s wrong?” You ask with concern in your voice. His hand is shaking as he wipes at his nose.

His eyes widen as he pulls his hand away, revealing a stain of blood spread across his fingers.

“Shit” Eddie mutters under his breath, leaning his head back against the seat and blinking in surprise. “It’s nothing. Just a little nosebleed. Happens sometimes”

You’re not convinced, seeing how pale his face became, the way his breath sounds a little heavier. It’s the second time it has happened, ever since he came back from fighting off Vecna. But it’s something he has never shared with anyone, not even to Gareth and Jeff.

“Eddie…” You lean forward, holding his wrist carefully “Let me help you.”

His grin falters as he nods, clearly not wanting to make a big deal of it. You reach over, grabbing a bandana from the glove compartment and gently pressing it against his nose. It might be one of his favorites, but there aren't any options left. Eddie winces at the touch but doesn’t protest. His eyes flicker to you, grateful you're beside him.

“We should probably head inside, okay? I’m not gonna let you sit out here like this” You sound pretty confident, but the worry in your eyes is impossible to miss.

He gives a half-hearted nod, murmuring something about how it's "nothing serious," but he doesn’t argue. You both step out of the van, and you help him toward your house with his arm around your shpulder for balance. His steps are slow, a little unsteady, but you’re there to guide him.

You lead him to the couch, easing him down carefully. He plops down with a sigh with the bandana still pressed against his nose, the bloox soaking it. You kneel in front of him, gently moving it aside to get a better look. You're caught off guard when you notice he lacks confidence.

“You sure you’re okay, Eddie?” You ask again, looking around for a small piece of cloth.

He nods weakly but doesn’t speak, his eyes lowered. Honestly, he's not really quiet, so it bothers you too see him look vulnerable.

“Just… bad day, I guess,” He finally says and shrugs. “It’s just… Stress. Things are fine, but sometimes, they’re not”

You sit down next to him, your concern not just for the nosebleed but for him in general. He’s always been the tough, devil-may-care guy, but you can tell things have been bothering him, which is something deeper than just blood and bruises.

You take his hand gently in yours, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to hide it from me, Eddie. I’m here. Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone”

Eddie looks at you, his lips turning into a half smile, but his eyes are tired. He doesn't want to look embarrassed in front of you “Yeah. Just don’t tell the guys, okay? They’d never let me hear the end of it”

You grin, offering him a reassuring glance. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You take care of him quietly, watching over him until the bleeding finally stops, cleaning him up with care. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push you away. It’s like the whole world slows down for a moment, and it’s just you and him, sharing something that goes beyond words or jokes.

After a few minutes, Eddie takes a deep breath, looking up at you. His eyes are still soft, still a little dazed, but there's a flicker of gratitude there.

“Thanks for… you know. For not making me feel like a total mess” He says with a tired smile, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. You’ve said it before, he should’ve looked for help, but he thought he could’ve handled it by himself.

You sit down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “There’s no need to thank me. You’d do the same for me.”

He nods, his hand finding yours again as he leans back, looking at you with a quiet appreciation. He notices the small spark in your eyes, the way they flicker to look at him from a better angle. And it hits him. His stomach churns and he suddenly feels like the floor opened a giant hole right under him. His shoulders are tense, too, like he’s bracing for something.

“Eddie?” You ask softly, noticing how stiff he’s become. He doesn’t respond immediately, his focus still locked on a blank space. You see him tapping the armrest incessantly.

“Hey, you good?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, and you know immediately that something’s wrong. He inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling, and his voice comes out almost too quiet when he finally speaks.

“I... I don’t know. I think... I think I’m seeing him again.”

Your stomach drops. It’s the Upside Down again. The stories he’s shared with you, the trauma that still lingers in his eyes even though he tries to brush it off. He’d never say it out loud, but you know Vecna haunts him in ways words can’t describe it.

“Eddie…” You murmur, your hand moving to his shoulder. “You’re safe here. You’re with me. It’s just us.”

But Eddie shakes his head, his eyes wide with fear. His breath is becoming shallow, quicker. He tugs at his hair, his fingers trembling as if he’s trying to pull himself out of something. “No, no, I… I can see him. I can feel him. He’s watching me again.”

His gaze shifts through the room, and you can see it now, the terror that’s taking a hold of him, the panic tightening his chest. You’re no longer looking at the Eddie you know, the confident, rebellious metalhead. Instead, you’re seeing someone deeply vulnerable, consumed by the horrors that still play in his mind.

“Eddie. Look at me. Look at me, okay?” Your lips quiver as you talk to him.

He finally meets your eyes, but it’s not the same Eddie you’re used to seeing. His pupils are dilated, his face pale, his breath is quick and uneven. His lips tremble, and his hands shake uncontrollably in his lap. The panic is consuming him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel like he’s alone in this. You’re not going to let him spiral.

“You’re safe. You’re not in the Upside Down” You nervously say, trying to pull him back to reality. “This is my house. This is real. You’re here with me.”

Eddie’s hand grips yours tightly, like he’s desperately holding onto something solid in a world that feels like it’s slipping away. “I can hear him, though. His voice… his voice, it’s in my head. It’s everywhere”

His breath quickens again, and he seems to shrink in on himself, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, like he can't escape the weight of Vecna’s presence. You can feel the panic in the air now. It’s heavy, suffocating, and you know you need to do something, anything, to help him find his way back from the brink of it. You lean in closer, your voice soft but unwavering.

“Eddie” You say gently, taking his face in both of your hands. His skin is damp, his pulse hammering beneath your fingers. “You’re not alone in this. I’m with you. I’m right here. We’re going to get through this together.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the fear, but it’s still there, gnawing at him. You keep your hands on his face, trying to guide him to breathe with you. You repeat the cycle, keeping your eyes locked on his, your voice calm.

“Breathe in with me. In for four, hold for four, and out for four.”

It takes a moment before he follows, his breath coming in a little slower. His hands are still shaking, but his eyes have softened just slightly, as if he’s focusing on your words, trying to steady himself in the rhythm of your breathing. You guide him through it, over and over again, not rushing, not pushing, just staying present with him.

It’s not immediate, but gradually his breathing begins to even. You see him relaxing his shoulder as his hands loosen their tight grip. The panic that was so suffocating is starting to leave his traces, replaced by the presence of your voice and the safety of your touch. You can see it in his eyes, he’s starting to come back to you, back to reality.

When his breathing finally slows down, Eddie exhales shakily and leans his head back against the couch. His eyes flicker to you, and there’s a mix of relief and fear in them. He’s still trembling, his hands fidgeting restlessly, but he’s no longer trapped in the vision of Vecna.

“You’re okay” You say quietly, your hand resting gently on his arm. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Eddie nods slowly, his voice rough as he whispers, “I don’t know how you do it. How you… how you stay so calm when I’m freaking out like this.”

You give him a small smile, your thumb rubbing gentle circles over his wrist. “Me neither. But I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

For a moment, Eddie just sits there, his eyes searching yours, like he’s trying to escape the overwhelming feeling he was having minutes ago. Finally, he exhales a quiet, shaky laugh escaping him.

“Guess I’m lucky you’re here”

You squeeze his hand gently. “Yeah. You are”

You stay beside him, holding him and making sure he’s okay. You don’t intend to leave him alone tonight, even if he denies the invitation. Even if he tells you he doesn’t need to sleep there, you still want him to, because you know he’s still vulnerable and scared. And it’s not like he can’t fight it off, it’s too hard to forget something like that anyway.

As you watched him slouched on your couch, looking up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but hover your finger at the scars near his arm, near his neck.

You do it for the first time since he had told you about everything. Because that’s the evidence of him fighting for his life out there. It’s not the only one, but it’s the most important one. He looked up at you, his eyes glancing between your hand and your face. There was no protest, no hesitation from him, watching as he slowly exhaled and let you do whatever you wanted to.

One of them was spread through his wrist, and you felt the texture of it, rugged skin underneath your fingertips. Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed at your touch, his breath hitching for a moment. His hand, which had been resting on his knee, relaxed. And then he let his fingers graze yours. It was subtle. He let you touch him.

You didn’t stop. Your touch was slow, gentle, as if you were treating him like something fragile, something precious. Your fingers moved across his skin, tracing its edges, until you reached his neck. He didn’t speak, but his gaze softened. There was something in the quiet between you two, something that made the whole world outside feel small.

He didn’t need to explain, didn’t need to tell you how hard it had been. The scars said it all. But in that moment, you wanted him to know that you saw him. Not the Eddie that everyone laughed at or feared, but the one who had lived through things no one else could even begin to imagine. You let your fingers slide over his neck carefully, feeling the way it pulled tight against his skin.

You felt how he shivered under your your fingertips, but in a good way. He felt himself in a moment of pure bliss, having you like that. Something he had never felt with Chrissy, surprisingly. On the other hand she never went out of her way to actually care about his vulnerability. Because she never intended to anyway.

It was impossible to ignore the weight of it, the weight of everything he had survived. The scars were not just reminders of the Upside Down, but of the battle within himself, the fight to come back, to survive, and to still be here, sitting beside you. Eddie didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch at the touch. Instead, he closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a shallow breath.

For a moment, he was just sitting still, his hand resting on his knee but his fingers moving just enough to touch yours in return. It was a silent understanding between you two, something that needed no words.

Your hand lingered, brushing the scars with tenderness, wishing you could take away the pain that remained buried in them. But all you could offer was this moment. Your touch. Your silence. Your understanding. Eddie’s fingers wrapped lightly around your wrist, not to pull away, but to hold on. It wasn’t a desperate grip, but one of quiet trust, as though he was telling you that he didn’t have to carry it all alone for once.

Eddie thought he was gonna be restless again, that he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes and sleep. You both lied in your bed in your bedroom. You could hear his quiet breathing, the gentle rhythm of it. It wasn’t like the nights when he would wake up in a cold sweat, trapped in nightmares that left him gasping for air. Tonight, he seemed immune from that darkness, as if the weight of the Upside Down had momentarily loosened its grip on him.

His body relaxed against yours, the warmth of him a comforting presence. His head rested against the pillow, his hair was messy and you couldn't help to reach out instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing. He didn’t stir, didn’t wake, but the subtle shift in his breathing told you everything you really needed to know. That he was finally at peace. His face, usually so full of worry or guarded, was softened in his sleep.

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly, as if he was dreaming of something good, something that wasn’t twisted by fear or sorrow. You could almost imagine that. Eddie was dreaming of something simple, something light. The kind of dreams he deserved but had been denied for so long. For hours, Eddie slept soundly, his body fully relaxed, his face free of the tension that usually weighed him. His breath, steady and slow, was the only sound in the room.

No nightmares. No lingering thoughts of the Upside Down. Just sleep, deep, restful, uninterrupted sleep. You woke up in the morning to find him still beside you, his face soft and content, a quiet smile playing on his lips. He had slept through the night without waking up, without the usual battles of his mind pulling him back into the darkness. For the first time as long as he could remember, Eddie had slept like he was meant to, without fear, without the ghosts of the past.

You woke up again a couple of hours later, feeling the other side of the bed empty. It was cold to the touch and you immediately opened your eyes in desperation. You were scared he left you after what happened the other night, even though he seemed to be having a good night of sleep for the first time in a long time.

As you sat up in a rush, you could smell the coffee. It could be Steve, or it could really be Eddie. You really wished it was Eddie. You slowly walked out of the bed towards your bathroom, doing your morning routine. As you were making your way downstairs, you could see his boots sitting on the living room floor. It's definitely him.

Eddie poured the coffee into two mugs, one of them being his favorite. A Star Wars one with the chipped rim. The one he gave you back when you moved out, even though you'd bought it for him. Turns out it broke during the way to Hawkins, and when he saw it for the first time, he couldn't believe you were still using it.

"Hey, coffee's ready" Eddie called softly as he set the mugs on the table.

Your hair was still a bit messy, and your face was still smushed from sleelping too much. A few strands falling over your face, and you wore one of his old band t-shirts. As you reached for the mug, your fingers brushed against his.

He didn't know if his heart was racing because of the moment, or if it was because of what happened the night before. Tracing the edge of the mug with his thumb, he hesitated for a moment, biting his lower lip casually. He had never been good with words, especially when it came to expressing his feelings. But he needed to tell you how much last night had meant to him.

"You know" Eddie cleared his throat lightly "I- I just wanted to thank you. For… well, for last night. You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did. And I don’t think I could’ve made it through without you."

You glanced up at him softly, extending your arm so you could reach out to his hand and grab it. "You don’t need to thank me, Eddie. I’m just glad I could be there."

As if he was feeling urgent, he shook his head and rubbed circles on your skin with his thumb "No, I do need to thank you. You were calm. You knew exactly what to do when I was completely losing it. It means more to me than I can even explain"

"You don’t have to explain anything. I just… I care about you, Eddie. I always want to be there for you, like no one ever could" You felt your heart thumping against your ribcage and your skin was on fire.

You watched as he lowered his head and chuckled lightly, a gentle smugness washing over his face. Eddie took a long sip of his coffee, feeling the warmth spread through him, both from the drink and the feeling he couldn't quite place yet. It was obviously more than a friendship, it was more than just something casual, this is love with more meanings than he can ever explain.

⋆˚✿˖°

@thegirlthatsfalling @strangemaximoff @readergf @sheneedsrocknroll92

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