#Gotta be a clear night for it! Chilly

[sysig]

Can you please draw Edgar and Johnny stargazing or something like that

Day 8 - Stargazing

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[merakiui]

crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”  

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

“There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle. 

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you. 

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer. 

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

[imababblekat]

Getting You Air

Anon, "Hello! Sorry if this is weird, my first request ever, but can you possibly do something with Bayverse Raph with a s/o who goes nonverbal while overwhelmed please?"

~xXx~

He could tell, from a mile away, Raphael could sense that something was wrong. He knew you all too well to see that, even in the dancing hues of party lights and through the bustling crowd, that you were not okay. It didn't take long for him to make way to you, his large stature made it easy to push through people, them all to aware of the mutant terrapin even if occupied in conversation.

“Hey, you good?”, his voice rang out over all the bustle.

You barely registered him. Your pulse was racing, mind rushing with your heart at the overwhelming of your senses from what was supposed to be a time of celebration for the turtles and NYPD. Through the muffled sounds of varying voices and blaring music, it was a miracle you found the strength to focus in on your red banned friend in front of you. However, that seemed to be the only thing you could muster to do, unable to conjure up the ability to speak and only respond with a barely focused gaze.

Your lack of words and spaced out appearance had Raph feeling even more concerned. Taking the un touched food you held, he was quick to place the paper plate on a near by desk before ever so gently taking hold of your much smaller hand in his.

"Come on, gotta get you some air.", Raph spoke aloud, hoping that his words reached you through your jumbled senses.

You followed with out hesitation, your body subconsciously following Raphael's guide through the crowd with up most trust.

Finally making way to the roof of the NYPD building, the chilly night air was a refreshing welcome to your heated body. A small garden table was set up in the corner, presumably a get away break area for employees that Raph was quick to seat you down in. Pulling a chair he barely fit in himself closer to your side, Raph placed a comforting hand to the space between your shoulder blades and worriedly period down to gauge any change.

"Looked like ya could use some peace from everythin'. Feelin' any better?"

You still spoke no words, just continued to stare ahead at nothing, but at least now taking some breaths to sooth yourself. However, this did little to reassure Raphael. This was the first time he'd ever experienced you such an overwhelmed state. Usually you were so strong, facing danger head on or even being able to withstand the pounding music of Mikey's playlist when you'd visit the layer. Was it the jammed space? The flashing, multi colored lights? The cacophony of conversations flooding in and out of your ears that made it hard to stay clear minded? Whatever it was that had you overstimulated, it'd be a lie if Raphael said it didn't have him mildly freaked out over your wellbeing. He'd just hoped that bringing you out to the roof top would help in some way. Hell, if you needed to go home, for you he'd leave the party in a heart beat to make sure you got back safe and sound. Whatever just to make you feel better.

Just as he was about to offer up the option to take you home, Raphael was surprised to suddenly feel a ginger hand rest upon his knee. You still couldn't find the energy to speak, so instead you offered the burly man a soft, grateful smile as thanks.

The relief in your tired eyes was all the Raphael needed to feel a sense of his own ease wash over him. Of all the things he's done in his life, he was beyond comforted in knowing that he had at least done right by you tonight.

~xXx~

[astrophileous]

For requests, reader convincing Derek to lie-in and have a lazy Saturday? I can see him being a pretty active person who wants to go out and do stuff, especially since most of his free time is taken by work, but reader is like “🥺 please cuddle more?” and he instantly gives in 🤭

Thanks for the request, honey! I hope this is to your liking 💞

Warning(s): gn!reader, established relationship, and that's it. shortest warning I've ever had bcs this is the fluffiest of fluffs 🥺

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

The apartment was always slightly chilly in the morning during this time of year. Derek could only smile at the sight of your figure in the middle of the bed, curled up inside the mess of sheets and blankets as if you were chasing whatever traces of heat you could unearth. His footsteps were discreet as he trudged deeper into the room.

"Morning, gorgeous," Derek murmured, sitting down on the bed before leaving a kiss on your temple. He saw you stir underneath him. "Gotta get going, baby. I'll see you at lunch, yeah?"

His last sentence caused you to open your eyes blearily, frowning in confusion when you took in Derek's attire. "Where are you going?"

"You don't remember? I told you last night." He chuckled. "The guys at Quantico's self-defense class asked me if I wanted to join them this morning. There's gonna be a spar."

Your frown only deepened after Derek's explanation. "You told me about this?"

"Yeah, gorgeous. Last night at dinner, remember?"

"No." You pouted. "Don't go."

Derek raised an amused eyebrow at your stern demand. "Don't go?"

"Stay with me. It's cold this morning. You need to come back to bed and cuddle with me to keep me warm."

"Is that so?"

You nodded your head earnestly, shuffling closer towards Derek until your face was pressed against his abdomen. Derek ran his fingers up and down your bare arm.

"C'mon, baby. I really need to go," Derek urged once more.

You only whined louder in protest before tightening your arms around his waist.

Derek sighed loudly. It was clear that you weren't going to yield any time soon, and frankly, his resolve was crumbling more and more with each second that your soft body spent wrapped around him. Without detangling himself from your arms, Derek reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, texting the other guys that he wouldn't be able to come and join them after all.

Once he tossed the device away, Derek manuevered your body until the two of you were lying side by side on the bed. A clear question mark danced on your face as you stared at him.

"Derek? What are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to cuddle."

Your eyes brightened in the aftermath of Derek's response. "You're not going?"

"Nope," he replied. "Thought about it and realized, why would I deliberately spend my morning getting kicked and punched when I can just spend it here with you?"

Your giddy smile was a breath of fresh air for Derek's lungs. You leaned closer and shoved your face into his chest, securing your arms around him until there was no definitive way to tell where either of you ended and began.

Derek kissed the top of your head, his heart heavy and full as he murmured, "I love you so much, baby."

The only response Derek received were soft snores slipping past your lips. He glanced down to see that you were once again fast asleep in his arms, lovely and peaceful as if you were a literal angel on earth.

Derek smiled.

He knew then, there was no other place in the world he'd rather be.

[starrystevie]

for the incredible lex (@thefreakandthehair) in celebration of her big day! wishing you both all the happiness that this next chapter of your lives can bring you <3

as music and laughter poured out through the open back doors, steve and eddie were standing in the shadows, hands entwined and rings knocking together. there was a breeze whipping through the night air that always came with september, pushing up goosebumps on their skin under their department store suit jackets as it coursed over them.

"getting kind of chilly," eddie muttered, knocking his shoulder into steve's like it would give them the motivation to walk into their reception. he could hear robin in there singing something, no doubt a love song to nancy, and tried to tune it out so he could focus on the palm that was warming his. on the calm before the storm that was the rest of their goddamn lives.

"i kind of like it out here," steve replied with an easy smile, squeezing his hand once and then twice. "it's quiet. we get to just be us for one more second."

eddie shuffled impossibly closer, grin of his own pulling his cheeks up. "we can't hide here forever, sweetheart. gotta go dance so i can show off my new husband."

steve shifted the perfect amount so that he could press his lips to eddie's and wrap his free arm around his waist, pulling their chests together. eddie hummed deep in his throat and brought a hand up to thread into the back of steve's hair.

"you just want to go in to try and convince jonathan to play different music," he murmured against eddie's lips before kissing him once more. eddie pulled back and gave steve a look of mock indignation.

"me? never. you'd think getting married would stop the slanderous lies and accusations but even the holy sanctity of our union isn't enough to-"

steve tipped his head back in a laugh. eddie watched him like he was made of stardust.

"it's not even official in the eyes of the church, you drama queen."

with a tug that wiped the smirk off steve's face, eddie brought their foreheads together, releasing the hand that was tangled with steve's so he could curl it around his waist to bring them flush together. their eyes shut on instinct to be in the moment, to feel the night and feel each other. and just like it had been for the last five years of them being a them, the air that was dancing in their lungs was shared.

"yet," eddie whispered. he felt steve take in a shaking breath, the exhale making the curls around his cheeks flutter. "not official... yet."

steve tilted his head up, knocking their noses together gently, before opening his eyes. his eyelashes lightly brushed against eddie's skin and his fingers were trailing under his suit jacket to press against eddie's back, warmth seeping through his shirt and onto steve's palm.

brown eyes met brown eyes and it sparked through them like an oath in and of itself. they were matched in height, matched in eye color, matched in all the superficial ways that didn't matter. but they were mirrors of each other in the way that soulmates end up with different types of scars patched up by each other, with laughs that mesh together in harmony, with hearts that learned how to beat in time.

"i know, baby. when we..." steve started quietly, his lips still close enough to eddie's that he was tempted to pepper even more kisses onto them. "when it's official, it's not going to change this moment. you are my husband, mine. no slip of paper is changing that, you hear me?"

'husband' rang through the night clear as a bell, the trees blowing in the breeze like a celebratory dance for the two of them. the song inside changed to something softer and as it bled into their backyard, the two started up a dance of their own. it was easy to sway back and forth while looking in each other's eyes, not even picking up their feet like they were afraid of being swept off them if they did.

"i always hear you, stevie," eddie whispered.

eventually they'd go inside. eventually they'd eat the food that joyce made for them all and eventually cut into the cake that steve bought and eventually dance in the living room with the family that they made for themselves. eventually they'd cart the ones who could drive into their cars and eventually sit on the couch with wayne for a blessing of his own and eventually fall into bed like they've done a thousand times but this time with extra gold on their hands.

but right there, in the backyard with the trees dancing alongside them, they got to breathe, celebrating a day meant just for them and their matching heartbeats. they got to be steve and eddie just as they were made to be: for each other.

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Hiii hello there lovely human! Saw your spring prompts and i need to make 2 requests. Tighnari/Reader with a few prompts, basically a day in nature (let's imagine Teyvat has seasons like winter and spring bc we've never actually seen them lol). Prompts: 3, 10 and 18 + 24 after night falls. 1/2

Thank you thank you thank you, this was so much fun to write! I love Tighnari so much, he's everything to me <3 Now I want to write more about Tighnari and the seasons, hehe~

This is actually my first ever drabble, too!

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character/Pairing: Tighnari x Reader

Warnings: Very fluffy, just like his tail!

Prompts: Spring Prompts; Nature Walk, Kisses, Animals, and Chilly!

"Nari, look!" you hiss, one hand catching his wrist while the other stretches out, pointing. His ears perk up as he follows your gesture, his gaze softening when he spots what's caught your attention. An avidya leopard is stretched out on a rock, warming herself in the sunlight, while two half-grown kittens play nearby. As you stand silently and listen, quiet little mews and growls reach your ears as they tussle together. One kitten baps the other on the head with a paw too big for its little legs, and the other kitten hisses indignantly, trying - and failing - to bite the retreating paw.

"They remind me of Kaveh and Alhaitham," Tighnari murmurs, and you stifle a laugh, nodding in agreement. The slightly smaller second kitten launches at its sibling, who easily sidesteps the attack, looking rather pleased with itself for dodging.

You watch on together as the kittens play until they tire themselves out and flop down near their mama for a nap. She affectionately licks the nearest kitten on top of the head, and you're surprised when Tighnari copies her, leaning over and kissing your cheek. He gives you a soft smile when you look at him, a playful look in his eyes. "What? Would you prefer that I licked you?" You give his shoulder a small shove, and he stifles a laugh, both of you careful not to disturb the little family.

"C'mon," he says at last, his gloved hand finding yours. "We should keep moving. It'll be dark soon, and we've gotta get home."

You don't make it home before the sun sets as you'd planned when you set out on the nature walk this afternoon, a fact that is made very clear as the warmth from the sinking sun retreats. It's quickly becoming chilly, and you shiver slightly, wishing you'd brought a jacket.

"Are you cold?" Tighnari asks, attentive as always. You nod, knowing better than to try and hide anything from him - he knows you too well.

"Come here, I'll warm you up," he says, dropping your hand and opening your arms. You gratefully step into his embrace, sighing happily as his arms close around your back, his fluffy tail curling around your legs. He's delightfully warm, and he smells incredible as you nuzzle into his neck. He always smells good, a combination of his natural scent and the various plant-based products he uses. It has a naturally calming effect on you.

Once you're warmer, you pull back slightly, ready to continue on, but Tighnari doesn't let you go yet. One hand cups your cheek as he leans closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Thank you for taking this walk with me. You mean so much to me," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat; that's practically a love confession. Before you can respond, his soft lips press against yours, capturing your mouth in a gentle, yet passionate kiss, showing you just how much he truly cares for you.

Writing Masterlist 🐝 Requests Open!  Tag List 🐝 

[alitheamateur]

Field Day

Two in a row?! Look at me go 💁🏻‍♀️

You thought the division championship would be the highlight of your night? Not if Joe B has anything to say about it…

*filth filth filth. run, little babies.*

@balanceingrace in grace, the KWEEN she is, saved the day with this pic porn ^ AND title ♥️

Another division championship under his belt, and your man was flying high. Joe was a conquerer. He fed on being the defeater in any & every situation, and when he was lucky enough to do so, you reaped the benefits.

Some Family had filtered out, media was finalizing all their comments, & a few of the closest teammates that had lingered around in an easy celebration had started to pack their duffles for home. With a home win like this one, stadium celebrations were a golden luxury. No rush off to the tarmac & having to celebrate over FaceTimes with wives or parents. All the loved ones were at arms length for hugs & champagne spritzes.

You loved to see Joe on top of the world. Exasperated redness in his cheeks, half form a chilly wind blowing into his helmet, the other half a flush from the thrill & liquor.

“Always my lucky charm,” he glided across the room to compliment you with a kiss.

He’d removed his game gear, clad now in his newest ‘champs’ tee and a pair of loose black shorts. A white hat was shifted backwards on his head, sandy curls flipping from beneath it. He was a sight in every positive meaning of the word.

“And always happy to be”, you grinned, receiving his sneaky tongue excitedly into your mouth. He wasn’t one to display such affectionate exchanges in public usually, but these wins made him bold. That masculine boldness that swelled you with the nastiest kind of arousal, the mystery of what he’d do next taunting the gape of your legs.

His parents approached with their goodbyes & congratulatory hugs, yet, you wondered why Joe showed no evidence of packing his belongings to leave.

With only a few cleaning staff members still buried in the mess of a massive celebration had by all, there were some stray coaches left headed to their cars.

“You ready to head out, babe? I’m sure a lot of the traffic has cleared out by now.”

He dropped his head, trying to hide a bitten back smile & wild eyes.

“C’mon. There’s something I’ve gotta do before we get out of here.”

Eerily aware of the cunning cadence behind his words, you took his offered hand & obliged to head back towards the now hauntingly empty stadium.

All the lights had been killed, only the backlight of a scoreboard cast shadows upon you. He slowed at the tunnels exit, appearing to bask momentarily. Rightfully so.

“You trust me?” He grinned with a squeeze to your hand, waiting response behind hooded, buzzed eyes.

“I did before you asked me that…” you chuckled harmlessly.

He steered you farther in the center of the echoing emptiness, the grip around your hand noticeably tightening. There was a faint sound of a humming light lingering, but otherwise it seemed Joey’s heartbeat was thumping over the loud speaker.

He planted his feet, coming to a wobbly stop, and you noticed him fidgeting with the chain of his necklace hidden inside his shirt.

“All of this,” he gestured, “means absolutely nothing without you in the picture. I’d walk away from every fucking bit of it right this moment if you asked me to, as long as you’re holding my hand.”

A quiver fell upon your lip as you noticed a mist fall over his icy eyes. Joe was a sure man, in everything he did. Decisive & steady always. Almost arrogantly outgoing in all his decisions. This Joe, was different.

“You’re the only thing I want to see when my eyes open, and the only thing that makes all this bullshit worth while at the end of the day. All I want, is you.”

You stifled an audible gasp when he fell to a knee, pulling his chain loose into his hand & carefully dropping a ring into his palm. A delicate band held the hearty weight of an oval diamond.

“The only thing to make this day end perfectly, is for you to say yes.” He waited, as if you’d even have to give one minuscule thought to an answer. “Will you marry me?”

With a whooping, resounding ‘yes’, you drug Joe to his feet, pouncing him with smothering kisses and the tightest hugs you could muster.

“I love you, so, so much. SO much!” If a squeal could rupture an eardrum, you were certain poor Joe would be a victim in that moment. Although fully satisfied with the relationship you had with him, truthfully, had this moment never arrived, you weren’t sure it would be much bother.

As you returned his elated kisses, you could almost feel a palatable energy shift in the atmosphere around the two of you. His hands began to roam wildly over your worthy curves, barely breaking your mouths to gasp for fresh air. No question he could feel the impassioned heat igniting inside your jeans, grinding up against his belly where he held you tight.

“Damn it, baby,” he graveled as you sucked a tender spot just below his ear.

“Take me home, fiancé.” You dared, securing a handful of his hardness in the palm of your hand.

“Oh, fuck that. I’m having you right this fucking second.” Joe slung you over his shoulder as if you’d been weightless, & carried you easily to the bench still sprinkled with the leftovers of confetti, massaging you behind unzipped black jeans.

“Wet & ready, just how I like it.” He pointed, pulling your pants loose to lay your bare ass on the cool metal bench.

“So I get a reward now?” You playfully encouraged him, knowing just how to stir him up.

“You better fucking believe it. But first, daddy gets his.” His glorious face slinked to your center, Joe feasting his eyes upon the one thing better than any trophy football had to offer.

The man simply chowed. Engulfed his greedy tongue with your every ounce of flavor, lapping away until you became almost tender to his touch.

Arising from the blissful wreckage he’d left your mound, his lips pink with rash and slick, a sheen of your honey left in the small patch of beard he was trying out these days.

“As much as I’d love to drink you fucking dry, I need to be inside you.”

Agreeing with his wishes, you guided him to sit beneath you before he protested.

“Uh-uh. I’ve got to plow the absolute fuck out of you, beautiful. Lie down.”

Ever the eager beaver, you flattened your back to the rough turf, but changed your mind in a brief instance, and positioned on all fours, peeking over your shoulder with a welcomed glint in your eye.

“Plow away, champ.” The cool air introduced itself to the dampness trickling down your thighs before Joe caught one last treat on his thumb.

“Don’t have to fucking ask me twice.”

With no need to ready himself, Joey worked his thick cock inside of you. Inch by inch by inch. By inch…

You could feel the burn of abrasive turf burning the flesh of your knees as Joe bucked & rutted you ruthlessly back in forth. He tattooed the flesh of your bare bottom with his substantial, callused hand before leaning to find the shell of your ear.

“Wanna bet I can make you say it?”

Your mind, fuck-dazed & foggy delayed a moment in comprehending his proposition.

“Bring. It… Burrow,” you dared between broken moans.

He snaked to find your swollen, soft flower, very well acquainted as every inch of your flesh belonged to him. He tickled your clit, fingers calculated, indulging himself with a pert bit to your ribs, not daring leave a blemish on your milky skin. Your vision turned black but you blinked back the eruption, drawing blood from your tongue to stifle back the very words he was holding you ransom for. But, oh, how the mighty fall, and you burst with admonitions only Joe would ever hear.

“King. Of the fucking. North.” Your orgasm blasted through every cell of your body salaciously.

Knowing there was no willpower left for Joe to muster after finally hearing those damn words fall from your near drooling lips, you pushed your hips back into him, matching his every thrust, insatiable for the friction of his bulge.

“King of the fucking North, baby.” He consented as he emptied himself inside your gripping lips.

He eased you over, assisting in wrapping your hips back into your bottoms, a hellish, sexy smile relentless on display.

“Try not to look so satisfied, you little shit.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sorry. Now, let’s get your fine ass home to celebrate.” Joe cradled you in his broad arms.

“Wait. I thought we just did that?”

“Oh; we did. But, that was for the game. This’ll be a celebration for you agreeing to be my hot shit wife.”

The appetite on this one…

[triplesilverstar]

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Aliases 

Word count: Roughly 1. 5K

A/N: So the second of my Dad!Vash drabbles/blurbs which seem to keep getting bigger and bigger… Gee I wonder why. Anyway enjoy some nice ice skating fluff with some more interactions from the reader this time as they watch Vash and Rei learning how to skate. Or in Vash's case, falling on ice.

Failing limbs and a soft cry and Rei’s skates got caught up in his feet once more as he pitched forward to land on the slippery surface. Only to stop as he found himself in the air, the clear blue ice replaced by a head of dark hair planted against the cold sheet. “Papa!” 

Looking up with his hand around Rei’s middle, Vash smiled trying to hide the wince as his cheeks hurt from the impact. “We gotta be careful, can’t have you getting hurt.” Keeping Rei in the air, Vash pushed himself back up to his knees before placing Rei back down and holding his hands out for the boy to get his balance on the thin blades under his feet. “There we go buddy. Ready to try again?” 

A short little nod from the little blond as Rei’s fingers gripped his fathers long digits tighter through his little mittens and tried to push himself forward again. It had been an afternoon of chilly delights as father and son tried skating for the first time. With Rei quickly learning that while he might not have been very good at pushing himself across the frozen water lining the space, he was better at it then his Papa was.

It was a new concept, one put on by the Earth forces that both you and Vash think is to try and convince the inhabitants of the planet that they’re there to help. Neither of you fully believe it, and you certainly know attempted good will gestures and public relations stunts when you see them. The whole reason they were going around different towns and setting up the skating arena for a few days was to show what they could do to improve the lives of the inhabitants of the planet, if they were the ones in charge of the government and how the natural resources were used. The people of Noman’s Land hadn’t survived this long to hand it over so easily, but when Vash had gotten word that one of the units was coming to the town nearest to your little ranch he had sat you down and pleaded. 

“Mayfly, we both know it’s an attempt to sway the population and I’m still wanted but I don’t want Rei to miss the chance for something so wholesome.” With this best puppy dog face on as he smiled softly with a hand over yours as his thumb brushed your knuckles. 

All you could do as he kept those eyes on you with his adoration and pleading you dragged a hand down your face before setting him with a hard stare. “I’ll think about it.” 

There wasn’t that much thinking on your part as every chance he had Vash was whispering in your ear how amazing an experience it would be for Rei and never voicing how you knew he also wanted to go. Unlike you Vash had never seen ice, sure he’d felt cold like that at night but to see a building with the floor covered in the clear frozen water. 

It also didn't help that Vash had help in his pleading and pestering, with Rei asking just as much as his father even if he didn't fully understand the reasons why you were so hesitant. So while you internally warred with yourself and both males in your life acted like whining puppies left out in the harsh conditions of a sandstorm. 

Eventually you caved. Vash and you sit Rei down and put a series of rules in place to make sure your little family wasn’t found out. Then once Rei was in bed you set down a set of rules for the grinning madman to make sure he didn't reveal anything about your identities either. 

On the day of and the moment you and Vash stepped through the door with Rei held up in his fathers arms, his growing limbs wrapped around his scarfed neck as he looked around you knew it was worth it. Seeing the awe spread on his little chubby cheek as his face was split with a grin and he let out a happy little squeal of delight he was quick to try and hide. The look on Vash’s face had been just as wonderful to your eyes and seeing the slight puff of vapors past his sun chapped lips and the tip of his nose already turning pink. 

You’d taken to walking around the edge of the sheet of the frozen surface as Vash and Rei donned skates and stumbled their way out to the ice like so many of the other townsfolk. It was sweet how many times Rei would fall, or almost fall only to be swept up in his fathers arms before it happened. Vash of course wasn’t so lucky and the evidence of those rescues was starting to become apparent. Covered in bruises and his face red from the ice it kept being wedged against, yet he never gave up trying to help Rei skate along and while he wasn’t getting any better Rei certainly was. His little legs pushed him farther and farther as he grew more comfortable on the thin metal strapped to his feet, calling out for his Papa to catch up to him. 

An afternoon of laughter as Rei started to skate circles around Vash and tried to help his father grow more comfortable. At this point though you were certain Vash would never improve beyond his stumbling and wobbly short glides.

Eventually though from even your place at the edge you could see Rei let out a yawn and his own pale cheeks were starting to turn red from the cold. Making a motion for your husband and son to come towards you and Rei made it about halfway before he fell back on his butt and laughed too far ahead of his father to be caught this time.

Giggling like mad when Vash arrived to help him up and Rei instead pulled his father down beside him. “It's weird to be chilly and warm at the same time Papa.” You could hear from your place at the edge as his voice carried, making you shake your head. 

“Well, I for one am ready to be warm Rei.” Vash answered before scooping him and slowly making his way towards you with a somewhat sleepy looking sprout in his arms. “Did you have fun my little Rei of Sunshine?” A wide smile on your face as you took your little boy from Vash so he could work on taking the blades of his feet as he plopped down beside you. 

“Yes Mama. So much fun.” Letting out a little laugh before yawning and snuggling against your chest as you sat beside Vash and starting undoing Rei’s and slipping his own shoes back on his smaller feet. Once his feet were once more protected from the cold, you turned towards Vash as he pulled his own shoes on, his breath wafting up in little clouds along his black hair. 

“How about you Sunshine?” Holding back the chuckle rising through you at the look he gives you. 

“My face hurts, but this was worth it.” Reaching up to rub at his jaw before his shoulder froze. “For Rei.” Tacking on at the end before pushing his fingers into his bruised flesh, only for you to place your palm over his and rubbing into the chilled flesh before giving it a pat. 

“Come on Eriks” Using the alias since you didn’t know who was around to overhear you speaking. “Let's get you and our baby home to warm up.” Standing up with Rei in your arms as best as you can, the boy getting to be almost to big for you to carry comfortably in your arms as you once had. 

“I'm not a baby Mama.” A broken complaint from the boy in your arms rubbing at his eyes,sending a smile at Vash as he made a motion to take the boy back. 

With a bit of maneuvering you passed Rei back to him and heard a mumble of “tell Mama I'm not a baby Papa.” Followed by a yawn. Taking the skates from Vash you headed back to the little kiosk you had gotten them from near the door before drifting outside to find Vash already atop his tomas with Rei in front of him and the reins for your own mount in hand. 

Climbing into the saddle and a brief thank you to your spouse, the two of you turn towards home and begin the journey back. Taking notice of Vash still rubbing his cheek you let out a short laugh. “Once we get home and get Rei settled I'll kiss all those boo-boos better.” Giving him a wink and you see the red rising on his cheeks for a different reason than when you had been inside the frozen arena. 

“You know, I've been thinking.” He drawled on, his grin growing wider and more lecherous. “I think I want another one.” 

“Not a baby.” Both you and Vash erupt into laughter at his sleepy tone. 

“Not in front of the baby, but we'll talk about it.” You roll your eyes and a smaller voice pipes up.

[jina-juhi]

walk me home?

Pairing : sweet! Jaehyun × female reader

Genre : smut (minors dni)

Ratings : 18+

word count : 5.6k

Warnings : soft ! Jaehyun, orgasm, fingering, oral (f reciving), very minor dom jaehyun, he likes to command okay? use of pet names (not much) protected sex, not so shy!reader, sad!reader, quite!reader, riding, licking. a little corruption kink maybe?

Preview:- In which a stupid game of truth and dare makes you realise how much you want Jaehyun.

A/N : very slight plot:) I've been mia i know,,,

my smuts kinda revolves around the reader, and for some reason the reader is always in a place that is not so happy. So if you're not okay with reading such a concept you're free to not read this.

not proofread,

other works~

Been a difficult day? It's been a difficult year. Speaking out loud and clear, your life is a mess and you're not at all happy with it. If skipping college classes to be able to steal a one hour sleep off the day to only stay awake the whole night taking care of old grannies at the old age home was the original plan you would have considerably switched onto the next option. But what could you have done, night is the only time you could find to take up a part time job because money is important, which you unfortunately don't have enough. You can't totally skip college or they wouldn't let you take the scholarship exam you're currently studying and doing all the hard and extra work for.

The original plan was to get into college and have the best time of your life possible, maybe, not the best life, maybe not the best clothes, the best laptop or the best grades but at least, a little less tension, a little less uncertainty and hopelessness. A little more independence. Maybe some good friends and night outs, and going to carnivals together, and movie date with someone you could call your own.

Was this all too much to ask for when you finally got into college? No. But life isn't fair, and you never complain. Bad things happen, they keep on happening, you just gotta learn how to deal with them. And that is what you are doing, going out, at 10 pm, to a party, alone because your friends didn't really find it necessary to ask you to join, hoping that you got the address right.

It has been pouring and it's chilly out on the streets, you're quite grateful for wearing a cardigan over your cute, not so little tube dress. So many uncertainties driving you mad right now, what if you didn't qualify for the scholarship? who's going to pay for your studies. Loan, not an option. You can't always keep working and sacrifice your sleep and peace of mind, your health is important which hasn't been good lately.

With all these thoughts running through your head you arrive at the party, you walk in without a second thought. Pretty house, pretty lights, pretty people. All so happy. Too happy for you, you think to yourself while finding something to drink, something non alcoholic, and someone. It's not like you don't know anyone here, you know a lot of people, it's just they don't know you.

Grabbing a drink you decide to go over to the sofa, sit and watch people, what you usually do, in the library, coffee shop, classroom. So many different faces, so many different stories. So many different problems everyone must be going through, and yet everyone fails to understand each other. What a tragedy.

You were never like this, sitting alone, not talking. This you is not you, you used to be bubbly, funny, radiant. Once you used to start talking, no one could shut you up, and oh the random shit you would do, you used to be happy. Right now, you don't even know if you're breathing anymore. You're just there, time goes by, the tea gets cold and butterflies get born and you, are still there. Stuck. Thing after thing happens, and it's like they nail you to the ground. You just can't move on.

the truth is, you're too tired to move on. Enough times you've tried, you're tired of trying. So you learnt to live with whatever it is, you learnt to stay quiet and enjoy your own company, not really wanting to get close with people, not really going out and having fun. Just your room, earphones plugged in and a painting brush in your hand whenever time allows. This was your small, but happy little world.

Strangely familiar faces pass you by as you sip on your drink under the dim lights. The music's loud, but it's sexy. You spotted your friends a long time ago in the room somewhere, who don't really seem to have noticed you too, gratefully. Everybody is either dancing, or drunk or both.

and he's watching you.

Your brain has been screaming this one sentence since past how many? 10 minutes you've been sitting there. He's sitting on the kitchen counter across the room with his evergreen group of friends. Loose white tee hugging is frame perfectly. It's not a clear view, people are moving in between and the lights are low, but you are so perfectly able to see him ruffling his already messed up hair, laughing but not paying attention to whatever others are saying, sipping on some liquor you suppose, sweet glimmering eyes dancing from person to person landing on you at the same time your's lands on him, looking somewhere else the moment they meet. Bracelets in both hands, silver chains hanging around his neck. Pretty.

as always.

Why would he even look at you. Out of all the pretty girls in the room, why, would he even bother to look at you, who are you. Does he even know you? He doesn't even need to say a word and it would be a long line of girls waiting with their legs wide open for him, after all its Jaehyun.

and he knows you.

So it happened on a very fine normal working college day, your friend Mark, with whom you share one or two classes, thought it would be nice to have lunch with him, he was being kind as your friends ditched you in front of him. He's a nice guy, decent one, cute, angel-like, and a very caring friend. You thought it would be just you two but his friends were there too, amongst them was Jaehyun too. So yeah he knows you, your name. Not much interaction, you don't really talk, and he doesn't really initiate, just some hi and hellos and smiles in the hallway, and small little conversation when you have lunch with them. that's it.

that's it? the way he always makes sure you get what u need?

and passing you water whenever your glass goes empty.

You decide to get up as the more you sit there the more you notice. The more the urge to go there and be with them, because they seem to have fun there playing some game. You wanna play too. As you get up to find some other spot, Mark calls you over. Something that you have been ignoring, but you don't this time, it would be rude, he has been kinder than anybody, involving you in small little things, texting you making sure you're okay, that you ate, that you got home safely from your work.

Passing the crowd you greet them all and stand beside Mark who side hugs you, "I've been calling you, where were you looking?" Rummaging through the excuse section in your brain you make a confused face, "couldn't hear the phone over the loud music, sorry." you shrug, he mouths a 'its okay' quickly, asking you to play the game of truth or dare with them.

"Who plays truth and dare." You make a bored face expression your disapproval, shaking your head no. You just didn't want to with Jaehyun sitting right in front of you. "We, and you're playing with us. C'mon Markie it's your turn! Pick a chit" Yuta smiles at you first, switching his attention to Mark, offering him a bowl full of chits. So basically it's a bowl of written truths and dares, and you gotta do or answer whatever comes.

You look around at everyone, everybody is saying something, smiling, laughing, having fun, being there. Happy. Effortlessly.

why couldn't you.

Its this overwhelming feeling that overshadows all the good you feel, every fucking time. It's not that you make yourself feel bad, its not kike you make the choice, its there, and you dont know what to do about or how to make it go away, how to deal with them.

The chit reads, "to finish 2 full bottles of liquor by the end of the game" and everybody cheers him up because of course, we all know it's gonna be hard for him given his tolerance level.

"Truth or dare?" You were taken off guard by Haechan, who threw the cap of a bottle he just opened passing it to Mark, and passing you the bowl, everybody taking your name unison, you roll your eyes and pick up a chit. Before you could open it Haechan snatches it away from your hands, opening it himself, smirking.

"I hope she doesn't back off now!"

"What do you mean by back off?"

"Say you'll do it no matter what or I'll not waste a dare on you." as poking as his tone was, no of course you're not going to back off.

"Just tell me the fucking dare"

For some reason Haechan looks over at Jaehyun and laughs, "I'm gonna enjoy it the most" Looking at you now, "You gotta lick something off of someone's chest standing in front of you."

All the hooting and oohs were background noise because all you could hear right now is the excitement your heart was beating with, and the fear of doing something, in front of everyone, with Jaehyun, that you've never done before. Did I mention somewhere that you're one the most sexually frustrated teens round the corner? And did i also mention that Jaehyun right now is the main character of your thoughts and dreams? But isn't it obvious? Like day to night to morning, one thing you use as a distraction is this guy. But he's not a mere distraction. More like, the centre of your attraction.

Little things he does for you are remarkably the sweetest of all. He won't ever mention them though. It's like, he knows something's down with you, and not being very obvious he makes sure you're doing fine whenever he possibly could. Listening to you when you don't even speak. Understanding you just with one single look. That's what you need, what you want, you crave being understood, being known, being heard. You need someone who could tell just by the way you walk that you are not okay. Who doesn't believe you when you say you're fine. Who doesn't walk off when you say you wanna be alone. Who could hold you close and never let go. Whose mere presence could make you feel at home, because home, is a place you've never been to. It's a feeling you've never really known. It is a word you've never really spoken, but oh how every broken piece of you wanna feel like it belongs somewhere, or to someone.

Oh and you're really inexperienced, had a little fling back when you were 18 but it lasted barely a year. So to lick, is something foreign, but exciting,"unless he doesn't have any problem." tilting your head sideways you direct your sentence to Jaehyun, god knows where this confidence is coming from, but hell you love it!

The corners of his lips turn slightly up, the soft angelic eyes turning a bit devil like, swallowing hard he parts his lips to say something, looking right into your eyes, as if studying you, "only if you're fine with it."

Taking a second to register his words, he's asking for consent, personally.

The littlest things he does.

Giving him an assuring nod, you move forwards, "So what do i have to lick?" and everybody gets so fucking loud, as if they've never seen this before happening. To be a disappointment now would be a greater disappointment. Gulping every ounce of courage you could, taking the ice cream from yuta's hands, you stand in front of him, trying to control your shaking hands and beating heart. Moving slightly backwards to give him space as he removes his tee, for you.

You're mind is yelling a million things to you right now, the situation's already intimidating enough, with his eyes on you, watching every move you make, not helping at all.

"You don't have to." he reassures.

"No it's okay, i just have to figure this thing, it's melting"

"What's there to figure, just put it here and lick it off"

lick it off.

And you lick it off. The smell of his perfume filling up your lungs blurring out your senses, adjusting your focus on the licked area, theres some cream still left, you don't hesitate once before licking it all clean. You don't care what's going on in the background it's just you, and his presence.

Before you could even be proud of yourself, a whole bottle of wine? liquor? was emptied on you by a very annoyingly excited Haechan. Everyone went silent all of a sudden, you wanted to speak but nothing really came out of your mouth. He was apologizing non-stop, you just said it was fine and excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

The whole situation was a question mark but Haechan's just crazy, a well known fact, so you tried not to think about this. Finding your way to the bathroom upstairs, everything just got irritating for some reason. You don't quite like going out because things like this happen, and it renders you irritated and exhausted. For no reason at all. These are normal things that happen but you're not used to them, this is what is irritating, you don't know what normalcy is, you've forgotten what it's like to be normal.

Getting in the bathroom, inhaling deep to calm yourself down, you step out of the tight, and now stinky dress leaving it on the floor. Going over the sink, finding a towel and wetting it you wipe yourself clean.

"Shouldn't one lock the door behind?"

You jump out of your skin turning back to look for the source of the voice, your hands instinctively try to cover yourself.

"Oh it's you" It was Jaehyun standing at the bathroom door, your hands moving down because you didn't really feel the need to hide, and for some reason you felt at ease.

"Need help?" he asks stepping in.

"It's really okay, I'll manage, thanks." You turn around, opening your soaked up hair, looking for another towel. He finds it for you.

"I'll help anyways." You don't really say or protest, you just let him be; present. Let him help you. He locks the door behind, stepping closer, he stands behind you, "the smell won't go away easily."

"Courtesy of your friend" you give a plain smile as you feel him detangle your hair from behind, a feeling you never knew could be so soothing? "Ignore him, he can be a lot sometimes." he says gathering your hair in the towel, squeezing them gently.

You nod not really wanting to say something at the moment. "Well, you don't really know how to lick something or someone right?" You open your eyes to the sudden change in topic, "i mean, you were good enough for a newbie but, you could do better."

"Erm? what are you talking about"

"Oh you have every idea of what I'm talking about." Moving your hair aside, fingertips touching your skin, leaving a tickle behind, the contact titillating you both. Licking his lips, he uses the towel to wipe your arm, pressing the cold cloth on your skin, dragging it up in slow sensual motion, he looks you in the eyes through the mirror, "Don't play the innocent card now."

"Jaehyun what-"

"What?"

You pause. Not really knowing what to say next. It's hard to look him in the eye when he's looking directly at you, eye to eye. You shift your focus on the tap, just something but him, his eyes. His goddamn eyes.

The realisation hits you when you struggle to take a breath that you haven't been really breathing for don't know how long, he chuckles.

"I asked you something."

"huh?" was all you could manage, his hands were leaving burning flames on your skin, his breath hitting your neck was making your senses go feral, every second under his hard gaze was making it impossible for you to breathe, given you were with him alone in a locked room, only in your undies, hair soaking wet with liquor and desire evident in every inch of your exposed skin.

Only if you were looking at him you could see how much he was controlling. How much he wanted you bent right now under him, under his mercy, screaming his name, begging him to stop but not really wanting him to, oh how badly he had wanted to make you feel right every time he saw you crying, how badly he had wanted to take your pain away and make you feel okay, and loved and heard. Make you his.

You jump in surprise when u feel his tongue roll on your shoulder, flat against your skin, burning every inch it covers, and up your neck, just baby licks and kisses, "What are you doin?" you speak lowly in a hurry, barely above a whisper,not trusting your voice at the moment.

"Showing you how it's done."

"Why?" Every emotion you ever felt was put into this single word. Unsaid and unheard but deeply felt feelings were expressed in a vivid eye to eye conversation.

"Because you're letting me." An answer beyond your expectations.

It's a different feeling, you've never ever experienced this, i mean all this adrenaline rush through your blood, this gush of heat you feel in your fingertips is all fine but this understandability, this connection, this feeling of someone, this is new, and it's all him, it's all Jaehyun. You don't stop him, you just look at him, silently speaking your heart out. He's looking at you too, understanding everything.

His hands are holding you by your waist, you lean into him and his lips have already found their place in the crook of your neck, kissing and licking lightly which soon was replaced by harsh sucking and biting, tracing invisible lines on your skin, working art with his tongue on you, your head resting on his shoulder, hands creeping up to fiddle with his sweaty hair while his pretty lips are leaving a trail down your neck.

You gulp hard, mouth drying, breathing unevenly, lips parted and eyes closed, lost in this heavenly feeling. He takes this opportunity to capture your lips with his, taking you in for a gentle kiss, he makes you turn around never breaking the kiss, now face to face, tilted at an angle, melting under each other's touch he cups your face, his body pressing into you.

Tongue gliding against each other, his hands roaming your body freely, discovering places you've never been before, eliciting feelings you've never felt before, he deepens the kiss, pressing his body against yours, your hands shakey, no power in your legs to stand straight he holds you up, suckling your lower lip he breaks the kiss letting you breathe, hands never leaving your body.

It felt like you were drunk. Drunk on love. Drunk on him. Being able to feel this intimacy with him got you falling for him head over heels all over again. Being able to feel his hands on you, his lips on your lips got you all dizzy in your head. Intoxicated by him wholly and completely, not being able to resist, you reach for his lips but he moves away.

"Wear your cloths and meet me outside the front gate."

It was quite sudden and processing the information was quite a job as you were still ticklish from his touches. Studying the confusion on your face, "fast."

You nod your head yes as he leaves. You pick up the alcohol drenched dress and wear it in a hurry, collecting your things you leave the bathroom, down the stairs your heart racing at the speed of light in the anticipation of what is to come next. You make your way through the crowd, eyes searching for his figure.

You meet him right where he told you to meet him. You take a breath, walking in his direction he smiles at you which you return, "let's go."

"Where?" You ask cuz genuinely you had no idea where he was gonna take you.

"Home, your home"

"I'll- I'll go by myself you don't have t-"

"I will. Now shall we?" he motions you to walk by him. You follow. Moving beside him, you both leave the house. Too afraid rather too shy to open your mouth and question literally everything that was happening right now you prefer silently walking. But someone had to say something because then it would get really awkward to even look him in the eyes, so you do, "umh so like are we a thing now?"

"A thing?" he looks at you with raised eyebrows, eyes glimmery under the street lights

"No! i mean like, like what are we now that we have, you know now that we have-"

"-kissed, and made out." he completes your sentence knowing your too shy to say the word.

"yea that." you reply not looking at him.

"What do you think are we?" For a moment you went blank. But then you thought. About the both of you. the term Friends is underrated and lovers is overrated.

"I truly don't know, but it's better this way."

"Better that nothing can define what we have?" he says looking at you.

"Better that we don't have any labels attached?" and you're looking at him.

"Better that we don't have to just be that one thing?"

"Better that we can be anything."

"we can be us." This line you both say in unison. Looking at each other you both chuckle, he's cute, he looks cute when he smiles, you both notice every little detail about each other. You dont have to say the I love yous, its natural you know, its in the way he smiles at you, its the way he looks at you that you know he loves you.

Moving in for a kiss, his warmth greets you again in the cold of the night. It was only meant to be a cute little peck but the hunger took over and it turned out to be a full blown make out session in the middle of nowhere.

"Fuck" he groans in between the hot battle of the lips not being able to keep up with you, cupping your face looking at you amazed and in awe, yeah apart from sad you are some greedy needy girl one must know, "yea me, please!" puppy eyes with need written all over your face he couldn't help but get even more excited by each second passing in your presence.

"Don't you think it's too early for that" he asks and an immediate frown drowns on your face. Shaking your head no, you convey your disapproval. Thinking of all the times you've wanted this, all times you've wanted Jaehyun, of all things you wanted him to do, and now that it is happening, you wouldn't say no to this not now not ever.

It's some kind of a different craving you have for him, it's not just love hell you don't even know what love is. This is not entirely a sexual, physical or mental want or need. It's an undescribable yearning for a connection. And it's beautiful.

Within seconds you both were melting into each other's arms, time was a forgotten concept and the world is a non-existent place for the both of you. Lips and hands and touch and kisses are the only reality you both are living in right now, it's crazy falling in love and it's even more crazy falling in love with him. If this is what love is.

With your mind going dizzy and vision blurry, lust taking over your body, knocking you out of your senses, too afraid to let him go and too afraid to hold him close, you let him take control. Under his guidance you reciprocate his every move, complete his every action, repay his every touch. His aroma soothing your pain and his presence giving peace to your heart, he's leading you home, you're home, he's your home.

Breath hitching and muffled moans leaving your mouth, your hands clench the blanket tightly as his tongue spells stars on your throbbing clit, hes been at it forever it seems, driving you too close to the edge but holding you strong enough to not let you fall just yet. The teasing part was the hardest. You didn't even knew when you guys made it to your bedroom, like just now you both were awkwardly talking on the road and then you were kissing in the elevator and tripping on the hallway and now you're lying completely naked with his head in between your legs, drinking your juices, bittersweet and he loves it.

"I thought it was the liquor burning but it's only you." the loss of contact makes you look up, his deselved look incites a tickle in your lower tummy, lips glistening because of your essence and eyes drunk, you reward him with a maon rolling your hips up, shutting your eyes tightly. A hiss leaves your lips when he replaces his tongue by his finger moving in sweet circular motion. His lips found a new spot sucking and biting the tender skin of your inner thighs leaving cherry sweet love bites here and there.

You throw your head back in ecstasy breathing in deep before completely holding your breath as he fastens the torture. Low grunts left his throat watching your core drip honey in full blossom. He lifts himself up, hovering over you, fingers never once stopping their job. Giving your neck an open mouthed kiss, he connects his lips with yours, biting and sucking your plump delicate lips, savouring every moment, tilting his head to be closer to you he inserts his finger into your wet hole, your body spasming to his unfamiliar touch, you arch your back meeting his chest, breathing in synchronisation, his fingers picks up the pace, breaking the kiss, his eyes never leaving yours, his palm grazing against your clit and finger going in and out of you makes you go feral, and he doesn't hold you this time. He lets you come undone under him.

Electricity running through your nerves sends your brain floating high up in 7th heaven. He lets you ride your high, training soft kisses down your neck to the middle of your breasts. Taking your left nipples in his mouth, suckling it sweetly he let his hands from between your legs to cup the other breast. The utter delicacy he does it with, god he's perfect in every way possible, how hes sucking and how hes nipping at it how he lets his tongue taste every corner of your skin, slowly and deliciously hes mind mapping you, learning every sound your making.

Too much, little do you know he's controlling himself too much, he wants to give it to you slow but little does he know you don't want it slow.

"Umh Jaehyun please" half a voice and half a moan you ask him to fuck you right then and there.

He laughs and sits in between your legs. "Impatient much huh?" tilting his cute little head his hair wavering with the motion, you nod with pleading eyes. He chuckles at you for the 9th time tonight. "Might have a condom?" No. You don't. You lay with a blank face. The thought saddened you that you won't be able to do it but, "Aww i do cutey"

"Jaehyun!!" You shout in embarrassment as he gets off of bed laughing hard at you. That's when you realise the whole time he was literally fully dressed, from head to toe. Disappointed in yourself, you get on your knees on the bed, him eyeing your every move, you shift to where he stood frozen looking at you, for a moment it was frightening, but you extend your hands reaching for his shirt, he gets what you want to do. With a smirk planted on his lips permanently, he turns towards you giving you full excess and freedom.

You look at him and divert your gaze, focusing on removing the shirt. One job done. Now as much as you wanna sit and stare at his abs, and ofcourse lick them again, this time properly pants still are needed to be undone.

You gulp hard, opening the button and sliding down the zipper, but before you could slide them down your hands were caught by his, "I know you wanna lick me again."

What the fuck.

Eye contact was a dangerous move in this game.

"Lick it."

And you are, your tongue flat against his hard muscles dragging from the bottom up to his clavicle.

"Good girl, you learn fast."

Planting a small kiss on his jaw you speak in whispers, "now im impatient and i need you to fuxk me real bad like right now."

He huffs. Not even in a second you're pushed back on the bed. "Don't move." is what he says as he removes his pants and boxers at the same time, revealing himself to you for the very first time. He sure is all breathtakingly sexy but all you care about right now is your dripping core and and his hard member inside you.

You let out a harsh noise of annoyance when he gets on the bed gently adjusting you the way he wants. He was gonna say you sure or not but before he could you reassured him that yes you want this as much as he wants it, and that you will never ever regret and and he could hurry up a bit because the need to feel him inside is physically hurting at this point.

Your soul leaves your body when he enters you, slowly at first but then when you insist hes in you in one swift motion. He stays like that for a while letting you adjust to him. He grunts lowly, "Baby don't do that."

"Do what?" your voice is barely audible.

"Let loose, relax yourself" he says, that's when you realise what you were doing. You mutter a small apology and try to relax yourself. You sigh in relief when he finally starts moving. "Feels good hmm?" his muffled voice sending shivers running down to your core, you whine in response not being able to think straight, just feeling him gripping your hips, his head buried in the crook of your neck, listen to his uneven breathing and low grunts is adding to the pleasure his providing you with.

He's aiming for his release, setting a fast pace, sweat dripping from his body, forehead sticking to each other hes holding himself up so he could go deeper and deeper with every thrust. Feeling his tip every time he enters you drives you towards your orgasm faster than before.

He sits himself up dragging you along with him. Positions are reversed now, "Put it in yourself." hesitant at first, with shaky hands you take it into your palm, not quite sure what to do first you give a few strokes which is enough to drive him insane, "Dont know how to?"

You were too busy admiring him in your hands for the first time that you almost forgot he was watching you, his question startled you, looking at him you say, "i do."

"Then do it."

"I am, just giving myself some time."

He imitates you, teasing you knowing your too innocent for him, he could do this all day. Flustered and somehow determined to prove him wrong you position yourself on top of him pointing its tip at your entrance. You slowly sink down on him, both of your eyes closing as a reflex. Holding his shoulders for the support you bottom out on him, making him moan your name loudly, you open your eyes and you are greeted with the most handsome face you've ever watched. Eyes shut closed, head rolled back in pleasure and furrowed forehand, what a view. Setting up a steady pace, you rock your hips back and forth, riding him leisurely.

His hands grip your waist assisting you,"Fuxk baby so sexy, just like that." Jaehyun seemed to have lost all control. Holding you up he thursts up at a hurried pace with all the energy that he can. Not once has he released for the night and now hes reaching hos high and so are you.

Breathy moans getting louder and louder with every thrust, harshly breathing and coming undone in each others arms was a pure bliss, especially when he held you close to him as you both tried to catch your breaths.

Both of your hair are a mess, bodies tired and covered in sweat, panting heavily. He is whispering praises in your ear, rubbing your back telling you you did good. Scratches of your nails formed on his shoulder and neck now turning red, tickling with sweet pain. Your head is on his shoulder, face in the crook of his neck, hands tangling and playing with the small stands of his hair. His arms holding you, making you feel safe. Making you feel loved. Making you feel at home.

"Tired?"

"yes"

"Why are you so cute huh?" you purr at his cheesy comment, Laughing a little, hugging him tighter.

"Jaehyun?"

"hmm?"

"Thanks for walking me home."

_________________________________________________

And thanks to you for reading and putting up with this utter piece of cring. I totally understand if you wanna unfollow and dislike and never read something like this ever.

But if you liked it, THEN PLS LIKE AND SHARE AND FOLLOW AND REBLOG. Because it matters a lot~

my masterlist ✨

[angry-trashcan]

Fireflies and Shooting Stars

Part three of Hair Holds Memories

Warnings: None

2K WC

(First)    (2)

Hateno really was a beautiful village.

Children ran through the streets without a worry or fear, shop keepers stood outside and called you in, women stood in gossip circles. There were small plots of farm land that animals grazed on. It reminded you of all the good aspects of home.

Wild’s arm around you pulled you from your thoughts. “I overheard someone saying there’s gonna be a meteor shower tonight. What do you say we watch it?” He smiled at you, his grin pulling at his left side.

You nodded, “I think that’s a great idea. Let’s make sure the others know!” You began to turn to look in the general direction the other men had walked when his arm pulled you back into him.

“How about we don’t?” His unoccupied hand rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I was thinking it could just be us.”

A blush ran over your face, “Oh! Uh, okay! Yeah!” You scampered over your words. This would be the first time you had actual alone time with Wild since the whole ‘situationship’ had been set up, as you were all lovingly calling it.

Relationship was too heavy of a word.

His smile somehow grew wider, “Okay! As soon as it gets dark, we can head out! I think we should watch it from the field behind the house. It has a nice clear view of the sky. If we are lucky, maybe we can go track one down.”

Confusion and intrigue fell into your eyes, “Track one down?”

“Yeah, a shooting star.” He said it far too calmly.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, love.”

The nickname seemed to catch him off guard a bit as his feet stumbled before he kept talking. “Well, when meteors get close to the ground, they cool off enough and I sometimes go and grab them. They’re not really good for much, but they’re cool to have! You just have to get to it before the sunrise because then they basically disappear.”

You hummed at this, not really knowing how to take in the information. “Hey, since we are going to be out probably all night, would it be okay if I went and took a nap at the house?”

His eyes met yours once more, “Yeah, of course. Everything okay though?”

“Yeah! I just want to make sure I’ll be able to stay awake for the whole meteor shower, you know I’m usually the first to bed.” You laughed lightly.

“I have some energiz-“

“I’m not taking one of your bug juices unless I absolutely have to. Thank you though.”

He laughed at this. “Okay, well let me at least walk you back.” He turned, his arm still around you, back down the path.

“Hey, hey! Wake up!” A whispering Wild shook you awake. The loft was dark aside from a candle on the nightstand.

“What’s wrong?” You sleepily asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, silly. We have to go watch the meteor shower, come on!” He pulled the blanket off of you, exposing you to the chilly room. You remembered the plan from earlier in the day all at once. Excitedly, you pulled on your boots with Wild’s help. Both of your laughter attempting to be muffled as you both tried to tie them. He pulled you from the bed then looked to the window, it was open. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Lets!” You turned towards the stairs when he grabbed your arm. You looked back at him, “What?”

He pointed towards the window, “Everyone’s asleep downstairs. If we go out the front someone is going to wake up and insist on coming with. We are going out the window.”

Your eyes widened. What were you? Some fifteen year old sneaking out to go see their crush? You shook your head. You could see his huff in the narrow light.

“Look we gotta hurry, I’ll help you. And there’s a path right outside so its not even a far drop.”

You climbed on the bed and looked out the window. It was true, it was only about an eight foot drop.

“Fine.”

He giggled as he climbed up onto the bed next to you and practically vaulted out the window. You stuck your head out to see him standing on the ground, arms open for you.

“I’m too heavy for you to just catch, dumby!” You whisper shouted down.

“Oh, just come on! I’ve got you! I wouldn’t let you fall!”

You took a deep breath before slowly sticking your bottom half out the window. You eased yourself down as much as you could, gripping onto the window seal for dear life. As you let go, a soft gasp escaped your lips. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, lowering you to your feet.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you fall.” He whispered into your hair.

You turned to face him, breath catching in your throat to find you face to face with him. His arms still around your waist. The two of you stayed like that for a few long moments, just examining each others features.

“We should go.” You whispered, seeing a firefly spark to life out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re right.” You could feel his breath against your lips as he spoke. You pulled away from the embrace first

“Lead the way.” You wrapped your arm into his left one, your elbows joining together.

A smile enshrouded his features. “Shall we?”

The two of you walked past the stable towards the field. Small flowers were scattered about, brushing against your boots. Small lights came into your view.

“Oh, Wild- You shouldn’t have-“ A small blanket was laying on the ground. Candles on each corner to light up the era. A folded blanket sat on the edge. A small tray of snacks in the middle consisting of cheese, berries, honey and much more sat waiting. You looked to him only to see that he was already looking at you.

“And why not? If we were going to be out here, might as well enjoy ourselves.” He looked back at his creation, bumping his arm that was connected to you as a signal to keep walking.

The blanket was soft as you sat down on it. The candles burning bright around you. He sat next to you, moving the tray of food so it wasn’t in the way.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He turned and pulled something from under the blanket. When he turned back, he presented you with a handful of wildflowers. “I picked them for you when I was out here setting this up. I thought you would like to put them in your hair.”

A chill and warmth somehow ran through you at the same time as you took them from him, thanking him greatly for the thought. A few more fireflies began to float around the era. Illumining his face with every flicker.

“I’m not sure when the meteors are going to start. But once they do, it will probably last for about three hours I would guess.” He looked up at the sky, searching for any hint of life.

“I’m not in any kind of rush.” You placed the flowers gently to the side as you laid down on your back, hands behind your head and looking up to the sky. “I could watch the fireflies all the same.”

He looked down at you, a smile pulling at his lips. “They are beautiful, huh?”

You looked up at him, a firefly lighting as it flew next to his face, showing the blue in his eyes. “You’re beautiful.” You whispered, voice barely audible.

His blush was visible even in the candle light, he turned away from you and looked back up at the sky, his left side clearly shown to you.

“You’re beautifuler” He whispered, before smacking his forehead, “Goddesses that’s not even a fucking word.”

You laughed, blushing at the attempted compliment. “Lay with me?”

The question was more of a statement as he gladly did so, though the distance he kept between you two wasn’t exactly understandable to you.

“Are you scared of getting caught? It’s not like it’s a secret.” You laughed lightly.

His blush grew more. “No! It’s just that- well- we’ve never. Ya know, I don’t know how to-“

You understood enough of what he was trying to get at. You scootched over on the blanket, turning onto your side. You put an arm over his midsection and a leg over his before finally putting your head on his chest. You looked up for a moment. “Is this okay?”

His breath seemed to catch in his throat, “Yeah.” He whispered out. You pressed a light kiss to his chin before starring up at the sky with him.

You laid together for a while. Talking about constellations and the movement of the planets. Mapping out the stars and galaxies with your hands together, laughing because neither of you knew what you were talking about. The moon was high in the sky when the first meteor fell.

A gasp came from his throat as he pointed at it. More fell fairly soon after before a flurry began. Hundreds of meters fell through the sky.

“Don’t forget to make a wish.” He whispered to you, his voice the quietest it had been since the house.

You picked a meteor, watching its way through the sky, and silently made your wish.

It lasted for hours, a dizzying number of lights falling and flashing in the distance. The two of you had sat up, choosing to munch on the forgotten snack tray as the last few meteors fell.

“Can I ask you a question?” Wild asked, seemingly out of the blue.

You paused chewing on the piece of cheese to stare at him, doe eyed, before swallowing it down. “Of course, anything, love.”

The nickname seemed to affect him again, blushing a bit before he bit it back, returning to his serious words. “Why were you so upset by cutting your hair?”

It caught you off guard. How had he noticed that? Did they all notice that? Gods you hoped not. “Um…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I was just wondering. It seemed to take a toll on you.” He reiterated, eyes focused on the sky.

A silence fell between the two of you for a few moments before you spoke.

“Have you ever wished you could forget something?” You began.

“I can’t say I have that exact problem.” He laughed, unhumorlessly.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“No, I get what you mean.”

You glanced over at him before continuing, “I strongly believe that hair holds memories. It holds our story. It shows who we were and where we’ve been as people. What we’ve gone through. It… It’s a constant reminder of our pasts.”

His eyes were still on the sky, though now he had pulled a small part of his long pony tail to the front of him, rolling it between his fingers. “Do you… do you really believe that?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I really do. I wasn’t exactly upset, more so… conflicted. Because, I wanted to forget. I didn’t want those things waying me down anymore. But at the same time, those things made me who I am. The braids hold my story. The flowers carry the nature of the places I’ve traveled and loved. But the hair itself? Others have touched it. Varnished it. So, it was okay in the end that it went. Because I still have braids in my hair. And I have new flowers to put in it.”

He finally looked away from the sky, looking to you. “Will you teach me to braid my hair?”

A gentle smile fell on your face, “Of course I will.”

You both were laying down on the blanket with head full of messy braids and flowers, the extra blanket thrown over your intertwined bodies to keep away the incoming chill of the morning hours.

“You never told me what you wished for.” Wild mumbled against your head.

“It’s bad luck to tell.”

Happiness. That’s all I ever wish for.

Next

Wild with messy long hair because he doesn’t want to forget anything anymore my beloved.

[misshoneyimhome]

🍁「AUTUMN VARIATIONS」🍁

We were lost within a stormy ocean I William Nylander Imagine

・✶ ｡ﾟ

We were lost within a stormy ocean Nobody knew what we were goin' through We talk about it as we dip our toes in Take a breath and brace for the waves with you

Amid the dark and chilly Toronto night, you suddenly found yourselves in the midst of an argument that had pushed your relationship to its breaking point. The details of how the fight had ignited were hazy, lost in the fog of frustration and misunderstanding. The only thing you remembered clearly was William's hurtful words about how your relationship was exposed to the unforgiving public eye, met with your defiant retort, "Sod what everyone thinks - why can't you just give 'em the finger and move on?"

"You don't understand!"

"Then help me understand!"

But you were met with silence.

With a thunderous slam of the door, you stormed out of your condo, leaving William standing alone in the midst of the emotional wreckage. The night was dark, frost almost graced the lakes, and only the dimmed streetlights provided a path for you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, only stopping when they nearly froze. Each step felt heavy, but fueled by the residual anger from your fight, you pressed on.

However, it wasn't long before he caught up to you as you aimlessly wandered through a nearby park. His apologies fell on deaf ears, and when he tried to reach out and stop you from moving away, an unfortunate stumble sent both of you tumbling into a frigid pond. 

And with just a few deep breaths and quick glances at each other, laughter suddenly bubbled up from both of you as the icy water drenched your clothes and cooled your heated tempers.

Realisation dawned upon you, and it was clear just how foolish the argument had been. So you decided it was time to head back to the warmth of your home, where a soothing bath awaited to thaw your shivering bodies. And the embrace of warm water worked wonders, before you found yourselves nestled on the sofa, tand he crackling fireplace casting a soft glow over the room.

William, known for his impeccable street fashion, had received a gift from you during your first year of dating - a retro record player. Named "Dusty" because it rarely saw any action, but nontheless, this quirky device was a symbol of your affection. And as you lay together on the sofa, discussing the problems that had driven a wedge between you, you made a request. "Willy," you said, “Drop the needle on Dusty."

He obliged, and gently placing the needle on the vinyl record. The soft music filled the room, adding a touch of nostalgia and tranquility to the atmosphere, and it was as if the crackling of the old record, with its warm melodies, had the power to mend not only the strained notes of the vinyl but also the bonds of your relationship.

And drop the needle on Dusty Frost on the leaves like a lake The moment came out of nothin' A beautiful smile on your face Yesterday was a long night But I got a feeling that the future is so bright All of the pressure washed away in the low tide We gotta wait 'til our clothes are bone dry So I'll drop the needle on Dusty

[ofstarsandvibranium]

going to one of the corroded coffin’s shows and eddie goes “this next song is dedicated to the love of my life!” and he points to someone else in the crowd 😚

(Why must you hurt me this way?)

You and Eddie were best friends. Have been for three years. Recently, things have been a little different. Eddie’s been talking to you about him liking someone and, from the description he gave you, you thought he was talking about you. You just thought he was too scared to admit it to you since you were best friends.

Tonight, you’re at one of his gigs for Corroded Coffin. The crowd was bigger than him and his band mates were used to. They were on fire. People were digging them and you could see how ecstatic Eddie was about it.

Sweaty, and panting, Eddie holds the mic to his face, “Alright guys. You guys have been fucking awesome tonight. This last song is dedicated to the person I hold most dear to my heart. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here today. This one goes out to the love of my life, Julie!” He points to the left of the stage where a young, beautiful woman waves and shouts. Eddie smiles and your heart sinks.

Julie? Who the hell is Julie?

Corroded Coffin ends the song and the crowd cheers. You immediately push your way out of the small venue and into the alley. It’s a chilly night and you find comfort in the cool air washing over you.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to process what just happened. The door to the alley swung open and out comes Eddie with Julie right behind him giggling. Now seeing them beside each other, it makes sense that they’re together. They fit.

You clear your throat and give your best friend a smile, “Hey. You killed it out there!” You give him a hug.

“Thanks, Faerie.” He then clears his throat, “Julie, this is my best friend, Faerie. Faerie, this is Julie, the love of my life.”

Julie playfully rolls her eyes, “So dramatic, but hi! It’s so nice to meet you! Eddie talks a lot about you!”

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you too!” You politely shake her hand but then step back, “So, um, Eds, I gotta head out.”

“What? You can’t stay a little longer?” He looks at you with a pout.

You shook your head, “No, um, I just realized that I have an early morning shift at the diner, so gotta head to bed.”

“Faerie, you work too much. Just live a little, please? “

“Sorry,” you shake your head, “Another time.” You turn to Julie, “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Yeah. Of course. Drive safe!”

“Thanks,” you murmur and wave to Eddie and headed to your car. As soon as the door closes, you let out a sob.

Eddie Munson had broken your heart and he didn’t even know it.

Part 2

[theladybarnes]

DON’T YOU WANT ME, BABY? : CHAPTER EIGHT

“It's just a game. It's a game.”

▸ summary: the party is back together while everyone enters the waiting game ▸ characters: steve harrington, the party, ft. jancy ▸ word count: 5k       ▸ warnings: angst, SLOW BURN, im a little hurt by myself for this one,  ▸ series masterlist

The chilly night air did not help with your current mood. Among the aching pain in your arm, the weather's temperature was dropping drastically low. Making the long walk down the train tracks feel even longer as you follow behind the group. Max is the only one sticking close by, still in silent disbelief over what happened in the junkyard.

 A glance over at your watch and you notice that the day has completely gone by. But more so, the fact that Max has been with you guys for hours now. Something that wouldn’t be bad for any of the others, but for Max? She had things different back home. A fact you were painfully aware of. 

 “Max?” you called out, getting the girl to turn back and look at you. “Does anyone at home know where you are tonight?”

 “What?” she frowned, shifting on her feet.

 “Did you leave a note for your mom? Anyone?”

 Her bright eyes looked down at the ground as she looked away from you. The answer was clear but she still gave a good shake of her head. Not wanting her to worry about what dealing with that was going to be like, you simply sighed and patted her shoulder. 

 “Let’s hurry things up, then.”

 There’s a lightness in your head and you wonder if it’s the sudden lack of adrenaline that’s made you feel so weak. But you don’t want to voice that out just yet, there’s bigger things to worry about. Ahead of you, the kids have suddenly jumped back into their discussion about Dart. 

 “You’re positive that was Dart?” 

 “Yes. He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.” Dustin sighed, growing irritated.

 Max, who was still slightly confused by the attack, chimed into their conversation. “Look, he was tiny two days ago.”

  “Well, he’s molted three times already.”

 “Malted?” Steve asked, speaking up for the first time since you guys left the bus. The confusion made you snort a bit before Steve cast you a disapproved look. Dustin stepped to clear it up for him.

 “Molted. Shed his skin to make room for growth like hornworms.”

 “When’s he gonna molt again?” Max followed up.

 “It’s gotta be soon. When he does, he’ll be fully grown, or close to it. And so will his friends.”

 The idea of the demodogs growing any bigger rippled a chill up your back. Steve and you were lucky back there and it’s not like you were actually any help. What would the small town of Hawkins have to defend themselves from attacks like that? 

 “Yeah, and he’s gonna eat a lot more than just cats.” 

 You nod your head in agreement, mindlessly walking around the kids. Failing to notice that Lucas has suddenly become upset at Steve’s words. 

 “Wait, cat?”

 The two of you and Max stop walking when you notice the guys in the back haven’t moved. Glancing at Steve, you wonder what it is he said exactly that was so wrong. He seemed to feel the same as he returned an equally confused look. 

 “Dart ate a cat?”

 “No, what? No!”

 “What are you talking about?” Steve spoke up. “He ate mews.”

 “Mews? Who’s Mews?” Max asked softly. 

 You can see how Lucas is coming visibly more upset and reach out to tug at Steve’s sleeve. Silently trying to tell him to shut up. But he continued anyway.  “It’s Dustin’s cat.”

 “Steve!”

 Lucas pushed against Dustin’s shoulder. “I knew it! You kept him!” Immediately, Dustin’s face slowly turned into a panic state. It’s a face you’ve become quite familiar with whenever you two had your fights at home.

 “No!..NO.” he yelled before stuttering over his words. “No, I– No, I– He missed me. He wanted to come home.”

 “Bullshit!”

 “I didn’t know he was a demogorgon, okay?!”

 “Oh so now you admit it?”

 Max, trying to keep the two on track of things, stepped in. “Guys, who cares? We have to go.”

 “I care!” Lucas griped. “You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!”

 “SO DID YOU!”

 “What?!”

 “You told a stranger the truth!” Dustin countered, flashing his bright light into Max’s face. At this point, you knew the three of them were going to go at it. So slowly, you stepped back, watching as Steve did the same thing.

 “Nice night, right?” you asked him, casting him a sardonic smile. The moon shined over the woods enough that you’re able to see him laugh at that. The sight of it making your stomach flip wildly.

 “Hell of a night. Perfect for us to take a stro–”

 Something in the distance caused Steve to cut his words off and stalk off the slope of the gravel to get a better listen. Hesitantly, you followed after him, careful with your steps as you gave in to your curiosity about what he heard.

 “Hey guys?” Steve called. The two were still going at it, raising their voices over each other enough to make Steve frustrated. “GUYS!”

 Capturing their attention, all of you are able to hear the screeching this time. Your stomach flips again but for a worse reason. There’s a chance the pack of demodogs could be near. But you try and not think about it as you follow Steve toward the source of the noise. 

 Eventually the sound leads the group over towards a hillside looking over the rest of the forest. No matter how hard you try and look there’s nothing that shows even a bit of where it could be coming from. 

 “I don’t see him.” Dustin said finally.

 “You can’t see anything in this fog.” you grumbled back, feeling suddenly more exhausted after that walk. Lucas to your left pulled out a pair of binoculars, looking through hopefully most of the fog and darkness to see something in his line of vision.

 “It’s the lab...” he said after a minute. “They were going back home.”

  The group managed to make their way down the side of the hill, heading towards the labs. There’s no real plan from there, but all you guys know is that’s where help will be needed next. By now, the pain in your arm is back and you’re worried about what the wound really looked like. With nothing but a piece of kitchen cloth wrapped around it, there’s no telling how it’s gonna heal.

 “Hey, HEY!” 

 You blink quickly, turning around to find that Dustin was right behind you. “What?” 

 “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes. Are you okay?”

 His eyes looked over to your arm before he shined the light. There’s blood specs peeking through the cotton. Having soaked through both the sweater and material. “Shit.” he hissed. “Ste–”

 You placed a hand over his mouth, cutting off his voice before letting him go slowly. “Don’t. He’s probably already pissed off that I went to go help him out there. He doesn’t need to know about my arm.”

 “Are you kidding? What if it’s really bad?”

 “It’s not. We’ll deal with it later, okay? I’m just tired.”

 He frowned at that answer but nodded his head anyway. Urging him to go forward, you barely catch the way Steve had been watching the two of you before turning back to leading the kids towards the lab again.

 Hopefully with a word in with their security, the rest of you could have better back up. Otherwise, you weren’t sure what would happen next. 

 The group had just about stepped onto the clearing when someone from afar began to yell. Causing you to pause in movements. Oddly, it didn’t sound like a demodog this time, but more so like a familiar voice. 

 “Hello? Who’s there? Who’s there?!”

 Steve cast the flashlight over to the source of the noise, giving you all sight of a very confused Nancy and Jonathan. They both immediately catch sight of Steve, yelling out his name in perfect unison. 

 “Nancy?” he replied back. 

 Jonathan’s eyes make their way over to you, going wide at the sight of you and you’re quick to frown at him. This was the oddest reunion ever.

 The groups began to walk towards each other, cutting in the distance between. You can’t help but steal a glance at Steve’s reaction to seeing the two together. This was the worst confirmation he could get about today’s rumors. But instead of anger, his face is a mixture of hurt and concern. Something that twists your stomach the closer you guys get.

 “What are you doing here?” Nancy asked angrily. 

 “What are you doing here?” Steve followed, just as perplexed.

 “We’re looking for Mike and Will.”

 “They’re not in there, are they?” Dustin asked. 

 You move over to place a hand on his shoulder, hearing the falter in his tone. Things are really going to be shit if those two happened to be in there. But with how this night was going, you knew it was more than likely they were inside the lab.

 “We’re not sure.” she replied slowly, hesitant over Dustin’s slightly worried voice.

 Jonathan spoke up next, glancing between you and Dustin. “Why?”

 No answer can be given. The moment the question is asked, the screeching sounds of the demodogs cut in. You can’t help but place a hand over your arm.  Something wasn’t right.

  The rest of the group formed into a circle immediately, going off in detail about what they’ve seen in the past few days as well as what they haven’t. Jonathan, whom you still need to yell at for ditching you properly, is trying to find out as much as he can about his brother.

 And unfortunately for Nancy, her questions are being answered just the same.

 You watched quietly as they all talked over each other until Nancy cut through to look over at the labs again. “The power’s back.” she pointed out. All of you make a move towards the security box by the car. Jonathan reached for the control panel and immediately began to press all the buttons. 

 “You sure doing that won’t break the thing?” you asked, watching the gate with every new click. 

 Dustin seemed to be on the same page as you as he forced his way into the box. “Let me try.” he urged, pushing his way between Jonathan and the buttons. “Let me try, Jonathan!” He pushed the older boy away, and immediately began to do the same thing.

 “Guys, the power might not have reached here yet.”

 Jonathan looked over at you with pursed lips before he held his hand out for you. “Do you wanna give this a go then, Henderson?” The curt question made your jaw drop slightly before you scowled at your friend. 

 “Watch the tone, Byers. I’m being nice right now. Besides..” glancing back to Dustin, you both watch as he’s practically slapping against the buttons now. “One of us trying is good enough.” 

 With that, you back away from the two, moving to lean against the car. The lights on the lab are on, but you’re pretty sure whoever is turning the power back on, is doing so sparingly.

 The creaking sound of the gate pulling open causes emotions all around to change. “Holy shit, the bastard got it open.” you gaped, looking back at the security box. Dustin, who is grinning ear to ear now, poked his head out. 

 “I did it!” he chucked, sounding relieved. You can’t help but give him a thumbs up and a small smile. 

 Jonathan immediately moved to the car stepping into the driver’s seat while Nancy wordlessly joined him in the driver’s seat. You help push the kids away from the entrance, allowing them to drive in quickly. The sounds of the screeches are only louder at this point and all you can do is hope that if there is anyone in need of help, they’re ready to get the hell out of dodge. 

 It’s a waiting game after that, and you’ve taken to pacing in a straight line while waiting for Jonathan’s headlights to come shining back in this direction. There’s practically no sound coming from the lab. Not a good sign.

 “I’ve never seen you this nervous before.” 

 Stopping, you looked over at Steve. He was strangely calm right now. Casually flipping his flashlight over in his hands while his eyes stayed on you. 

 “Who says I’m nervous?”

 “Well, the hole in the ground your feet are making is a start.” he shrugged with another flip. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face and you can’t help but scoff. “There’s also the fact that you’ve been frowning since they took off.”

 Huffing a bit, you think over what he said before nodding your head. It’s not like he was wrong, you were nervous. Two of your friends have just gone off towards the lab in hopes to find their brothers, but barely have anything to defend themselves. But you can’t exactly voice that out and not freak anyone out. 

 Moving past Steve, you lean against the glass of the security box. Giving him a feigned smile. “There.” you huffed. “No more pacing and no more frowning. Better?” He merely chuckled, looking at you in a way that had your smile slowly turning real.

 “Much better.”

 “Guys.” Max called out. Everyone ceased their distractions to look over at Max. Her gaze was focused down the road and you all slowly moved in to join her. Down the pathway there were headlights coming in and it’s only a quick second that you guys had the chance to jump out of the way. 

 The first car, which you recognized to be Jonathan’s zoomed by. The second pulled up behind in an abrupt stop. “Let’s go!” Jim Hopper called out. It’s the first you’ve seen of him in months and you’re not gonna keep this man waiting. Urging the kids with Steve, you help each into the back of the van before hopping inside yourself. 

 Steve slapped a hand against the side of a van once he was the last inside, urging the Chief to drive. The last thing you hear from the van is the echoing sound of the monsters screeching.

  It’s another excruciating wait after the group moved to the Byers’ home. The small group of kids are forced into the kitchen after Jonathan laid Will out on the family couch. The sight of the poor kid is enough to squeeze a tear out from you. There was no telling what the visual would do to his friends.

 Will was always so kind to you and he’s only ever been faced with problems since last year. It wasn’t fair for him to be under like this. 

 Hopper had angrily stalked off after his phone call. The very idea of backup from the government felt impossible now. And with Joyce locked up in her bedroom to have a moment of grieving, you feel tonight was going to go a lot longer now.

 After a bit, Mike had done his best to tell everyone what he saw earlier today. The signs of WIll being under some sort of control, the attacks that happened inside the lab, and even the glimpse of Bob’s attack. 

 Despite meeting him only a couple of times, Bob was always a kind man. Brought a smile to Joyce’s face and attempted to be someone in the lives of your friends. And in the end he helped save everyone. He unfortunately would be another casualty in this fight with the upside down.

 You were beside Jonathan now, well, beside Jonathan and Nancy. The girl hasn’t been able to leave his side since they all came into the house. You’d be more upset about her tactlessness with Steve in the room if she didn’t genuinely look so worried over both boys. Instead of saying anything you gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Thankful she was able to bring some comfort to your friend.

 “Hey, if you’re done beating yourself up now, I think it’s my turn.” you murmured, bending down to kneel beside him. His hand held onto Will’s tightly and until you spoke up, he’s only been apologizing to his unconscious brother.

 He sniffled a bit, tearing his eyes off Will to look back at you. A small smile peaked through before he reached to place a hand over yours. Gripping it tightly as he stuttered out another apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t check in with anyone. Nancy and I were just–”

 “Creep,” you sighed, leaning to rest your head against his shoulder. The affection has him leaning his head on top of yours while you wrap your good arm around him. “I’m kidding. I’m not gonna be mad with you guys for trying to help.” 

 Nancy placed her hand on your shoulder, making you turn your head up. She had a sincere smile on her face. For a second she looked like she had something to say before her eyes turned wide. “When did you get hurt?” she asked, pulling you up from the floor.

 “She’s hurt?” Jonathan asked, torn between letting go of his brother’s hand and wanting to get up from his spot on the floor. You held a hand up for him to stay put, suddenly nervous to have the focus on your injury.

 “Funny story.” Licking your lips, you pulled your arm carefully out of Nancy’s grasp. Covering up the bloody patch with your other hand. “It turns out that demodogs, as Dustin named them, can scratch through sheet metal..Learned that the hard way.”

 “God, that looks bad.” Nancy murmured, peeking at it again. “Let me help you clean it up.”

 “Oh no, it’s okay!”

 “No please, I insist!”

 A throat cleared up behind you guys and all three turned to see Steve standing by the kitchen entrance with his arms at his hips. He looked slightly more in pain than you were feeling and you wondered if it’s because of Nancy.

 “I can uh, help her.” he said after a minute of the three of you staring. 

 Jonathan turned to look at you, giving you a shocked expression. Which you couldn’t help but shrug to. You’re gonna have to clue him in later on about this weird development with Steve in the past twenty-four hours. “You okay with that?” he asked softly, ready to step in like always.

 “Uh yeah,” you coughed. Using your thumb to point down the hall, you looked over at your friend once more. “Still got that kit in the bathroom?”

 “Yeah, there should be stuff there you can use.”

 Motioning for Steve to follow, you lead the way down the hall towards the bathroom. Reaching in the cabinet by the sink for the red and white first aid kit that Joyce had stocked up from last time. There’s unfortunately nowhere for you to sit at a good angle so you’re forced to lean against the sink.

 “Let me know if I hurt you.” Steve mumbled softly, reaching for the knot. He’s strangely careful with untying and you’re doing your best to focus on breathing normally. Whether it be from the slight stinging or the fact that Steve’s face is close to yours has you nearly going into a panic. But he doesn’t have to know that. 

 “Okay, I got this undone but I need to help clean it properly. You gotta get rid of the jacket.”

 Pouting, you undo the zipper in front of you, feeling upset that you’re gonna have to throw away the whole thing probably. Steve helps you peel the material off before chucking the jacket into the trash bin by the floor. Earning a muted gasp from you. 

 You look away from the wound, worried about how mutilated the whole limb might look from the scratch. The sound of running water helped you keep focus as Steve cleaned up the wound. He’s gently pressing the cleaning pad over your skin while his other hand is holding onto your arm. There’s a small careful but soothing brush of his thumb against your skin that feels nice.

 “Be honest,” you said softly, looking at Steve’s face. “Is it bad? Will I have to wear sweaters for the rest of my life?”

 He laughed a bit, making you pout again before he angled the arm up better for you to see. The three lined cut is pretty big but not deep enough for the amount of blood that had come out and ruined your jacket. 

 “It’s so bad.” Slapping your palm over your face, you can’t help but feel so completely foolish for getting so panicked at what the cut looked like.

 “It’s disgusting.” he snorted, giving you a small smirk. “They’ll have to chop it off for sure.” That line drew out a laugh from you. It’s the first time in days you’ve genuinely had something amuse you so much and you’re thankful for the distraction. 

 After a second Steve joined in too, giving you a shake of his head while he finished up the rest of the cleaning process. This time you’re brave enough to watch him and steal the chance to see the concentration on Steve’s face. His brows furrowed together, obviously due to the focus, and you can’t help but reach out and brush them away softly. 

 The light touch made him close his eyes, and he stopped moving for a second to relax. But he allowed himself only a moment before he gently reached up for your hand and placed it to rest against arm instead.

 Everything is done with such a kind, mindful, grace. All you’ve done in the past week is yell, push, and give Steve grief. In return, he’s continuously tried to reach out to you, and fix things. Even now.  He could easily be a jerk, call you the worst, and leave you to help yourself.

But he doesn’t. And it confuses you so much. Why would he waste being nice to someone who’s treated him so harshly?

 It makes you wonder what could have gone through Nancy’s mind to call him bullshit. Whether it be her own guilt getting the best of her or some other reservation she had about him. Even then. If this was even a percent of what it was like to have Steve Harrington care for you, then you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have him love you?..

 “I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “About what happened back there. I know it was stupid of me and you’re probably mad about it.” 

 He didn’t say anything as he looked at you. His hand is still rubbing gently at the back of your arm. Distracting you with the tingle it kept leaving. You reached out to take into yours, lacing the fingers together.

 “You were just trying to keep us safe..but something about you out there alone. It didn’t sit right with me.”

 “I would have been fine.” He said softly, giving you a knowing look.

 It has you suddenly turning shy, ducking your head down from his gaze. He was right of course. Steve was fast. He’d know how to get out of trouble quickly. But how can you tell him that his safety being on the line upset you without it sounding like a big deal?

 “Maybe I didn’t want to take that chance.” There’s a shuffle between both of your steps and it moves you both around until you’re properly facing each other. Closer than before that you’re able to feel the shudder your words brought to his breath. 

 “..You wouldn’t have felt that way two days ago.”

 Nodding your head, you smile a bit. He was right again. Two days ago you would have stubbornly pushed him away. Remind him that you two weren’t friends and that you hated him. But if he were brave enough to ask, and you to answer, you’d say how hate was the last word that you’d use to describe how you feel about him.

 “Feelings change.”

 “Yeah? Just like that?” his brow raised up while he let go of your hand to cradle the back of your neck. The touch pulled the two of you dangerously closer together. Making it your turn to shudder as Steve angled his head lower to yours. The tips of his long hair tickled against your forehead and you noticed he’s glancing down to your mouth. Making you instinctively bite your lip. 

 The conversation you two had at the junkyard earlier that day came into mind. What feelings could be like when love struck.

 “It can happen for someone as quick as a day.” you repeated back to him.

 The two of you have a small stare off. It’s your turn now to look over at his lips. They’re right there, parted slightly and so pink. If you leaned just an inch closer you’d get another taste of Steve and maybe even-

 “Dustin, get your feet off the chair, I wanna sit down!”

 “Alright geez, calm down!”

 The voices of your cousin and his friends make the two of you jump away from each other. You can’t help but feel a heat of embarrassment flush over your face. Steve on the other hand looked torn. Like he was ashamed. Did you over step in your conversation? Were you too close and put him in an uncomfortable place? 

 You try not to dwell on the moment when you notice Steve is looking away from you. It’s simple, if he wanted to kiss you then he would have. 

 Smiling sadly, you settled for leaning in to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. “Thanks for the patch up.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything as you enter back into the hall. The room felt suddenly hotter despite losing your jacket and you ignored some peering eyes from the living room as you joined the kids at the table. You needed to relax and focus back on the problem at hand. Definitely not about how you feel about Steve. 

 Moving to stand behind Dustin, you stared down at the cap on his head to help stop yourself from looking at Steve when he came back to the kitchen. He’s still so close beside you, leaning against the counter. It’s a strange electric force reminding you he’s there. Thankfully Mike comes through with a new distraction. 

 “Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?”

 “Really? Lucas asked.

 “He petitioned the school to start it and everything. Then he had a fundraiser for equipment. Mr. Clarke learned everything from him.” He came over to the table, a small blue box in his hands. “Pretty awesome, right?”

 Mike is visibly upset over the loss of Bob and you feel a little worried now about what he might have seen that night. But if he’s anything like his sister, you knew he’d make use of the anger he felt inside.

 “We can’t let him die in vain.”

 “What do you want to do, Mike?” Dustin replied, a hopelessness in his tone. “The Chief’s right on this. We can’t stop the Demodogs on our own.”

 “Demodogs?” Max scoffed, slightly confused. 

 “Demogorgon dogs.” you explained with a shrug. “Dustin calls them that. Pretty accurate in my opinion.”

 “Right. Demo-dogs. It’s like a compound. It’s like a play on words.” he sounds so unbelievably tired that you hide the slight amusement his impatience brings you. He continued on past the tangent. 

 “I mean, when it was just Dart, maybe..”

 “But there’s an army now.” Lucas added. 

 “Precisely.”

 “His army.” Mike chimed in. Looking like an idea just came to him. 

 “What do you mean?” Steve asked.

 “His army!” Mike said again. Making you join in on the same confusion that Steve had. “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army too.” 

 “Who’s he?” you asked. But Mike doesnt answer. Instead, he dashed down the hall towards the bedrooms. Making all of you scramble to trail after him into Will’s room.

 Inside, he instantly dashed over to where Will kept a stack of his drawing. Pulling out the one laid on top. It was a picture of some large menacing creature that was drawn almost in haste. Each person takes a turn peeking over each other's shoulders to see it. Dustin held it up for you to see, pointing over it.

 “The shadow monster.” he gaped.

 Mike nodded his head, glad to see his friends begin to catch on. “It got Will that day on the field. The doctor said it was like a virus. It infected him.” 

 “And so this virus, it’s connecting him to the tunnels?” Max piped up. Trying her best to piece things together with the boys. Leaving you and Steve a little behind on the clues. The day they said Will went home with his mom, you figured he had gotten sick. Now something got to him?

 “To the tunnels, monsters, the Upside Down, everything.” Mike explained.

 “Whoa, slow down, slow down.” stuttered, looking down at the picture. You stand beside him, trying to follow Mike's explanation but it’s almost too vague without knowing what went down at the labs these past few days.

 “Okay, so, the shadow monster’s inside of everything. And if the vines feel something like pain then so does Will.”

 “So if the shadow thingy is in Will like you said, then it’d sense things like if he’s in danger, right?” you asked. “Then other monsters like Dart would be able to sense when to leave to help.”

 “Exactly, like with Dart.” Lucas nodded. 

 “Yeah! Like what Mr. Clarke taught us. The hive mind.”

 “Hive mind?” Steve asked, a familiar frown on his face. 

 “A collective consciousness. It’s a super-organism.” Dustin clarified. You tap Steve, getting him to look at you.

 “Bugs like Ants and Bees usually use it. They work as one kinda thing.”

 “Right..hive.” he muttered back.

 Mike brings back the focus, taking the paper again. “This is the thing that controls everything. It’s the brain.” He continued looking around everyone. Dustin’s eyes go wide at a sudden realization.

 “Like the mind flayer!

 A snap from Lucas and suddenly you’re back to being confused at everything. But thankfully, Steve and Max seem to be on the same page. Voicing out the same question on your mind. 

 “The what?”

A/N:  I promise that these next two chapters will be a good wrap up on our slow burn. I just need to edge these two one more time. Also sorry for another part one kinda thing. I added one more chapter to help wrap up the season. Hope you guys enjoy!

tag requests:

@hollandweather​ - so sorry i added your tag late. Will be sure to add you next time. 💖

[rotworld]

3: Eye For An Eye

(previous)

the law of prismville is reciprocity.

->sexually explicit. contains gore, body horror, decapitation, size difference.

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She sits on the metal guardrail with a cigarette dangling between her fingers, watching the fog dance. Her hair is auburn and halfway down her back. “Chilly out here,” she murmurs. She nudges an acorn around with the toe of her shoe. Sometimes she leans over your shoulder, watching your pencil move. You mark New Ridgeway with an X inside a circle. Don’t come back here, it means. “Man. You do this all the time, huh? Drive around out here like it’s nothing. What do you do if you get lost? Or stuck in a shift?”

You shrug. “I figure it out.” 

She exhales, stretches her arms above her head. Rolls her shoulders until they pop. “Couriers are just built different, huh? Fair enough. I’m not cut out for this shit.” She purses her lips around the filter and closes her eyes. Eventually, the tremors in her hands die down and she holds one out to shake. “Meryl Underhill. Associate Professor, Department of Verisimilibiology. Mimic studies, basically.” 

“The University sent you out here?” you ask.

“Cleanup assignment. We do pest control, you know. Not really anybody else qualified.” 

“Pest control? With a sledgehammer?” 

“I know. Should’ve brought a shotgun. We got a letter last shift from New Ridgeway about some glass mimics nesting in a sawmill, could somebody give it a look, clean ‘em out, et cetera. I think the fucking mimics wrote that letter.”

Elisile said he knew somebody in the Stillwoods. You wonder if that was true. You wonder if any of it was true. “What do you think happened back there?” 

Meryl shrugs, blowing out a line of smoke. “Mass exodus. That’s the only thing that makes sense with mirror hoarding like that.” 

“They up and left?” you say, incredulous. “The whole town? Why?”

“No clue. I just got into town last night and it was already empty. Must’ve happened during the shift.” She looks at your map again, sparse as it is. Henley Creek in the center; New Ridgeway, no man’s land; the little starburst of Prismville, all in a line. Highway squiggles snake out of Verlinda in five directions and go nowhere, vanishing into the vast unknown. The whole thing might be obsolete in a day or two, or a week. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Meryl says. “What kind of apocalypse works that way. It’s gotta take years and god knows how much money to import all those mirrors, sneak ‘em past border inspection. What kinda thing goes so slow you can wait that long to run from it, but when you leave, you gotta go to a whole other fucking dimension?” 

You sit in silence, watching the road for a while. The sun’s setting, somewhere beyond the fog and the clouds, a shadowy gloom settling over the Drift. A harsh wind rattles the trees. Something yips and screeches far away. Meryl shivers. “We should get moving,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat. “Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Damn, I shoulda brought better shit to trade. Honestly I’d give my kidney for a bed right about now.” 

“They barter in Prismville?” you ask.

She chuckles as she limps back to her car. “You’ll see.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: LUNA (MOON OF CLAIMING) BY CEMETERIES]

Night strips the roads of detail. Everything beyond the gaze of your headlights is shadow play, mere shape and silhouette. The path slithers, jagged sidewinder, down corridors of evergreen. The underbrush goes thin and patchy beyond the guardrail, tufts of hardy wildflowers swaying in your wake. You crest a hill and below, nestled in a crater-shaped valley, city lights glitter like grounded stars.

The Prismville welcome sign is suspended on a highway overpass, blocky lettering affixed to a metal scaffold. It’s not neon but it glows like it in your headlights, sanded gemstones scattering slivers of rainbow. Ahead is the busiest, most bustling city you’ve ever seen. There’s traffic—real traffic like you’ve only heard of it, bumper to bumper, crawling snail’s pace through intersections. The roads are glassy and glittering, geode avenues shimmering with bands of indigo, cyan and pale shades of rose. Highrises of gigantic quartz cut a jagged, angular skyline and the streetlights are capped with prismatic crystalline shades like painted glass.

It’s dark, you realize. Bright enough to see, but dimmer than you expect a city this size. They keep the lights low where they have them, strangled and split through thick gemstone panes. It’s a full moon tonight but the clouds seem thicker here, slow-moving. They form wispy, dangling funnels and hide the stars.

The first hotel you spot has a holographic courier sticker on the automatic doors. Meryl parks beside you, off to grab a luggage cart before you can stop her. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. You don’t have much to deliver but the crate’s unwieldy and you don’t want to risk dropping anything. The lobby is opulent, black marble veined with gold. What you mistake for potted plants by the door is carved stone, thin stalks of obsidian topped with emerald leaves and pale chalcedony blossoms. An artificial waterfall trickles softly behind the front desk. Someone, somewhere, is playing the piano.

“Thanks for the escort. And, y’know. Saving my ass,” Meryl says, the closest you’ve seen her to sheepish. “I owe you one. If I ever make it back to the University and you’re ever in the neighborhood, ask around for me.” She drags herself to the front desk as soon as one of the receptionists are free and you find a quiet place to sit, settling on a leather sofa. Shrugging off your backpack, you check your map again, widening the boundaries of Prismville. You stretch your legs and watch people come and go.

You’re far from the only late night traveler. Guests, new arrivals, and the hopelessly lost trickle in and out. Two women in cocktail dresses link arms on their way to the elevators. A man in a suit keeps checking his watch, watching the circle drive outside the front doors. A child sits unattended on the couch across from you. She might be nine or ten. Long, unruly hair hangs in her face but you feel her staring intently. Strangest of all is the table of miners still in mud-covered boots and uniforms, playing cards around a table. One of them is covered head to toe, features obscured by a hard hat and respirator mask with the long tube hooked to a canister at their hip. They hiss something that makes the others laugh uproariously. 

“You’ll have to tell the front desk.” 

You flinch, startled. Someone walked right up behind you, a hand resting on the couch beside your shoulder. He’s wearing gloves. The leather crinkles when he shifts slightly, noticing your discomfort. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says. He’s average height, tall but not too tall. His hair is neither particularly long nor short. He wears a white button up and black slacks. Unremarkable, except for the gloves. There’s some kind of glittering dust on the palms. “This is a big city. They’ve got more than one courier spot. If you tell the front desk, they’ll call the other locations, get everything organized. Very efficient.”

“Thanks,” you say. 

He smiles, waves. Walks away. The man checking his watch looks up and the two of them leave together. You’ve already forgotten what he looked like.

But he was right. The front desk handles everything. A few phone calls later and grateful strangers arrive. The specimen jars go to a petite woman in a University sweatshirt. “They didn’t make any noise, did they?” she asks. 

“I don’t think so,” you say. She looks relieved and hands you a hefty hardbound tome. There is no text on either cover. The edges of the pages are gilded. “Where do you want me to take this?” 

“Oh! No, it’s for you,” she says kindly, shaking her head when you offer it back. She leaves before you can stop her. That’s strange, you think. Maybe it’s a local custom to pay couriers. 

The letter is for an older man in a wool coat. He rips open the seal and reads it in front of you, sighing deeply. He shoves a bottle of wine at you and turns to leave without a word.

“Atticus Gosse, where do you think you’re going?” 

The man freezes. The lobby is utterly still and silent. The miner in a mask stands from the table, and only now, as the dangling, teardrop diamonds of the crystal chandelier scrape their helmet, do you realize just how enormous they are. They saunter closer, their footsteps sounding like grinding stone. Their voice is a brittle rasp, wheezing and muffled through the filter of their mask. They speak slowly with small, slight hand gestures. Their gloves, like the rest of their clothes, settle strangely on their body, saggy and shapeless in places, clinging tightly to hard lumps and ridges in others.

Atticus frowns tightly. “Do I know you?” he says tersely.

“Gosse,” the miner sighs. “You’re making me look bad. What’s the law in Prismville, hm?”

“I paid them.” 

“A bottle of wine, for news like that?” The miner takes another crunching step forward, beside you now. The rough material of their glove settles on your shoulder. It feels more like reassurance than a threat, but you’re still intimidated by their shadow falling over you. You have to crane your neck to peer into the darkened portholes of their mask. Something glints inside. “You got the cheap stuff, too. Not that it matters what it cost, but you wouldn’t even drink this swill yourself. That,” they point to the letter crumpling in his fist, “is near priceless to you. Isn’t it? Are you seeing the problem here? You’re a tourist but you know better, I know you do. What’s the law?”

Atticus tries to speak but all that comes out is a sharp, wispy sound; chalk squealing softly on a blackboard. He touches his throat with a shaky hand, eyes wide, disbelieving. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. You don’t know what’s happening but you feel like it’s your fault. “He really did pay me,” you insist. “And he didn’t have to. Nobody usually—” 

The miner squeezes your shoulder, hard. A warning. “The law of Prismville is reciprocity,” they say. Atticus sinks to his knees convulsing, nails raking desperately over his own neck. He scratches and claws at himself until his fingers are wet and red, until he’s torn through his skin and sunk his fingers into the glistening meat underneath. There’s something there, protruding between muscle and tendon. Thorny starbursts. Hard mineral growths. Gemstones, you realize, veiny and bloodsoaked. He tries to pull them out but his fingers are slick and trembling. He makes a strangled sound and something rattles in his chest. The blood he vomits on the floor is gritty like sand.

“What’s that even mean to you, Gosse? You spit in the waiter’s face when they bring the check?” The miner lets you go and lumbers forward. Atticus is bleeding from the eyes and ears now, thick and sludgy like lava down a volcanic slope. He coughs up a chunk of tourmaline with grimy bits of esophagus clinging to its jagged edges. One massive gloved hand seizes his head just as he starts to droop. The miner lifts him off the ground without even a grunt of exertion and carnelians scatter from the yawning wound in his throat. Their other hand grasps his shoulder. You watch in horror as they start to pull. 

Atticus comes apart like a ragdoll with its seams snipped. Skin stretches taut, splits, unravels, and finally snaps apart with another gush of slow-moving blood. It oozes onto the floor in a long, igneous clot. Small, colorful stones skitter across the marble floor. His head leaves behind a gaping, ruby neck wound studded with turquoise and zircon, harder and sharper than bone. The body slumps and the miner, soaked in quickly drying, hardening garnet blood, looks at you. 

“Take what you’re owed, courier,” they say. You don’t move. You see yourself reflected in the black portholes of the mask, shrinking back. “But it’s all yours. As much as you want.” They hold out the head by the hair as though you might find it enticing. You shake your head. 

“No. No thanks,” you say quickly. 

“The law of Prismville is reciprocity. You did a service. Now you get paid.” 

“I don’t want…that.” You’re acutely aware of the silence now that it’s crept back in the absence of someone struggling and trying to scream. “If you really want to pay me, then—if you have any eggs…” 

“Eggs?” the miner repeats. You can’t tell if they’re angry or just incredulous.

“Please,” you add. 

They chuckle, dropping the head atop the body. “You poor thing. Of course. Let’s get you some eggs.”

Just like that, gentle ambience washes over the lobby again. Chatter, laughter, the tinkling notes of the piano, back like they were never gone. Someone in a staff uniform begins collecting the gruesome gemstones. Someone else wheels in a cart of cleaning supplies. You flinch when the miner approaches you. They bend slightly, plucking your last delivery from the luggage cart; the crate. It should take a crowbar to pry off the lid but they snap it open with barely a flick of their fingers, peering at the contents. “Perfect, thank you. Now I owe you, too.” 

“Just eggs,” you insist fearfully.

“You’ve never been here before, have you? I’m sorry, I really must’ve scared you with all this.” They nod towards the elevators. “Come upstairs. Rest a while. You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” You stammer an excuse as they reach up, lifting off their helmet and setting it in your lap. They have no hair but strange, swirling stone in the shape of it. The straps of their mask are pulled taut over twisting rock formations, white and gold-speckled granite forming frozen waves and nautilus curls. When they unlatch the clasps and pull off their masks, your breath catches in your throat. 

She’s pale like limestone but prettier, a colorful sheen across her skin like the inside of an abalone. The striated stone of her hair forms delicate, framing curls around her face. Her lashes are glossy onyx and and her eyes banded agate. Full, nacre lips curl into a smile and the sound of her facial movement is the scrape of stone. “Do I still scare you?” she asks, her voice the same breathless rasp even without the mask muffling it. You’re too stunned to answer. She chuckles and nods towards the elevator again. “Come on, courier. Let me do something for you.” 

She takes up most of the elevator, ducking slightly to fit inside. You squeeze against the wall but it’s impossible not to brush against her. The texture of her body is distinct even through a bulky layer of clothing. You feel curves; dips and grooves; some sharp, prodding things. “Call me Iridesce,” she says. “Welcome to Prismville. I’m a supervisor at the chameleite mines.” She studies you, smile widening at your confused expression. “You’ve seen chameleite before. They call it other things, depending on its tinge. It’s used for construction in some places. Computer parts. Proofing mirrors. Jewelry, of course. It’s extremely malleable. I could show you how we treat it sometime, if you’d like it.” 

The numbers tick higher as the elevator rises. You’re headed to the sixteenth floor, the very top. PENTHOUSE, the label reads beside the button. “What are the laws here, exactly?” you ask. “You said reciprocity. I just want to make sure I don’t, uh…”

“Earlier? Ah.” She tucks the crate one of her arms. Her other hand settles on your back, gently rubbing. Her fingers are unusually long; you can feel them through the glove. She digs them into your muscles, easing tension you didn’t realize was there. “It’s simple. Reciprocity. If you receive, then you give something back. The value must be equal. Not monetarily, of course. Sentiment. Meaning. Intention matters most.” 

“I’m not sure I understand. Who decides what something is worth?” 

She just smiles. The elevator stops, doors sliding open. Iridesce leads you through a winding labyrinth, black walls inset with swirling crystal panels. The penthouse is at the very end of a hallway and just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Iridesce sets the crate aside and sheds clothing across the floor as she walks deeper inside. A thorny patch of amethyst and rose quartz grows from one of her moonstone shoulders. Her stone skin is open in places. Honeycomb indentations litter her chest and torso, little mouths of geode full of glittering crystal, but she is smooth between her legs.

She perches on the edge of a canopied bed, parting the velvet curtain with one large, long-fingered hand. A ridge of aquamarine glitters in her wrist.

“Courier,” she says, beckoning you with one curling finger and half-lidded eyes. “Come here, precious. The road’s eaten into you. Let me soothe those aches.” 

“You don’t need to,” you say, but you go to her. Her fingers aren’t as cold as you expect, the warmth faint, buried somehow. They’re perfectly smooth as they trace your jaw and lure you closer. She’s close enough to kiss and then she dances away. Your palms sink into the mattress as you crawl forward, beneath the shadow of the canopy. The bed is enormous, easily able to accommodate both of you, but she pulls you into her lap. Her thighs are thick and veined with swirls of sapphire like porcelain. 

“But it’s my pleasure,” she murmurs, massaging your shoulders. “Repayment doesn’t have to be a chore. And you’re so lovely.”  Her lips are softer than you expect. The kisses are chaste at first, fleeting. She eases off your jacket and slips her hands under your shirt, teasing you, flicking her thumbs over your nipples. “Do you want what I’m offering, courier?” You nod and she chuckles, cupping your chin. “Don’t be shy, my sweet. Have as much as you like.” 

The next kiss is hungrier. She coaxes your mouth open and her tongue is warm and wet, licking into you. One hand stays on your chest but the other slides down, clutching your waist. You’re reminded of just how much larger she is; the spread of her palm alone wraps around your body, her spidery fingers clutching nearly halfway around you. She guides you into a languid grind. The grooves and bumps on her thigh create pleasant friction. She hisses when you move your core against them. 

“Does that hurt?” you ask. She makes a pleased sound, a hum of laughter, her breath fanning across your lips.

“Mm. Just the opposite,” she says. She reaches down and lightly scratches the end of her finger against one of the rounded gems embedded in her skin. Her eyes fall shut and her hips jump beneath you. “Why don’t you keep rubbing yourself on them, hm?” 

You lose your shirt next. Iridesce strokes the newly-exposed skin, sliding her hands up and down your sides. Your hands settle on her chest, cupping the heavy spill of her breasts. They’re firm, the first part of her that looks as stiff as it feels. But when you drag the pad of your thumb over the rose quartz embedded along her collarbones, she grips you tightly. You keep stroking them as she draws you in for another kiss, gaping softly into your mouth.

It stops too soon, too suddenly. Iridesce pulls away and stops you from following, pressing her finger to your lips. “Everything off, my dear,” she whispers. The concentric mineral rings in her eyes have widened like a dilated pupil. “Let’s see if I can fit inside you.” 

You watch her as you strip off your pants. She knows where you look and lets her legs fall apart. There’s nothing there. Smooth stone, not even adorned with little gemstones like her hips. You wonder if she’ll use her hands—they’re smooth and long, surely satisfying, large enough that just a finger or two could fill you—but then she twists to reach into the bedside drawer. You hear the click of plastic. She drizzles cool, clear lube into one of her hands. 

“Come back to me, lovely. In my lap like before, but facing away.” The textures of her body rub into your skin. It’s not unpleasant, nothing too hard or sharp unless you dip your fingers into the jagged geode openings. You settle atop one of her thigh crystals and it’s warm, startlingly so. She spreads your legs wider. One hand holds your hip and the other reaches down, feeling for your entrance. She traces her finger all around the opening, teasing. Her breath warms your ear as she eases just the tip inside. You lean your head back against her shoulder. “That’s it,” she whispers. “Relax. Oh, you’re so tight. Are the roads lonely?” 

“Ahh—sometimes,” you stammer. 

“You won’t be lonely tonight.” She stretches you slowly, murmuring praise against your ear. She’s up to two fingers before long, slow, deep strokes that reach just the right spot inside you to make your breath hitch. “Should we stop here?” she asks. Her tone is airy and teasing. She doesn’t mean it, but you still whine when her hand stops moving. “You’re such a small thing next to me, and you’re already squeezing so tight. It doesn’t seem like you can take much more.” 

“Please.” You’re begging before you’ve really thought about it. You stroke her thigh, thumbing those raised spots that make her moan. She presses her lips to the nape of your neck and curls her fingers inside you, pressing against that same spot until you whine. You’re not happy when she withdraws her fingers but then she reaches over again, grabbing something from the drawer again. 

Impossibly long and as thick as your arm, it’s the same shimmery color as her body. The head is a tapered mushroom shape and there are bulging veins carved along the shaft. The underside bulges slightly, studded with small bumps the same size as her thigh crystals. Iridesce grips it by the base, laying the entire length between your legs so you can feel its strange, pulsating heat against your skin. You give it a light, testing squeeze, cupping the throbbing bulge along the bottom, and Iridesce inhales sharply. She rocks her hips against your back. 

“Here, courier. Take what you’re owed,” she murmurs. She urges your legs apart again, spreading you over her lap. The toy—if that’s what it is—slides in easily until you reach the thick flare at the base of the head. Iridesce gives you short, shallow thrusts but you can feel it’s not enough. Her movements are shaky, the hand on your hip squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. There’s a pause, a shared grunt when she pulls it out. Then she’s pushing you down on the bed and rolling you over onto your back.

You’re struck again by her size, how completely she takes up your vision looming over you. “Legs up, darling,” she says, her voice ragged. You struggle to hold them yourself so your knees go over her shoulders. The spongy tip of the dildo pushes back inside you, and then it goes deeper. The first small, bumpy ridge drags just the right away against your inner walls. You think you’re full by the second but there’s still so much more. Iridesce starts a rhythm she can’t maintain, slow, steady thrusts becoming faster and harder.

“You’re—oh, you’re perfect!” she moans. You didn’t realize how gentle she was being before, but now she’s pounding you with the full length and you can barely breathe. You’re full now, you’re sure of it. You’re stretched as far as you can go and twisting your hands in the sheets, the bed shaking and your thighs trembling over her shoulders. Beneath her, seeing her lashes flutter against her cheek and her lips part in a soft moan, hips moving, you can’t tell whether the thick cock inside you is in her hand or between her legs. “Cum for me, precious,” Iridesce whispers, thrusting harder, fucking you into the mattress. “I want to feel you fall apart.” 

She kisses you, trails her lips from your cheek to your neck and sinks her teeth into your skin. The length inside you drills fast and deep and throbs, the bulge rippling, every little bump massaging your inner walls, and it’s all you can take. You cum with a cry and arch into those last frantic thrusts. Iridesce swallows your moans and buries the tip of the dildo as deep as she can. It twitches, little sharp movements like a dry orgasm, before it gradually softens inside you. 

Awareness becomes foggy and distant. Your thighs ache. There’s something hissing—water running. You’re lifted, carried into another room. Hot water engulfs you and you sigh, leaning into the pleasant pressure of Iridesce’s hands on your scalp. “I should order us some room service,” she muses, kissing your shoulder. “Maybe after we luxuriate for a bit, hm?” 

You nod in agreement, relaxing against her chest. She rests a hand on your thigh and you feel the striations of the stone like muscle fibers. It occurs to you suddenly that she is what the man downstairs was becoming. “Have you…?” You hesitate, unsure of what to ask or if you even should. She hums encouragingly. “Have you ever…not repaid someone the way you should’ve?”

“A long time ago,” she tells you. “A long, long time ago. Prismville was hardly a town then. I stole little things here and there, just to make him mad. Well…not just for that.” 

“Who?” 

Iridesce laughs and strokes your hair. She never answers you.

(next)

[scarfacemarston]

same anon from the john asks- sorry I didn't specify!! Could I please get F,J, and L?? If u don't mind ^^ sorryyy!!

Prompt here: Hey, no worries at all! I'm happy to do it. : ) Fighting: Oh boy, we've seen this.  

However, John doesn't like to fight, but he feels like he has to; it's all he's ever known. He tries to be calm because he knows where his temper can lead him. In the past, he always wondered if there would be a round two. But once you're together? He's far more at ease. However, he'll want some time to cool off after an argument to chop wood, work with the horses, etc. However, he doesn't believe in going to bed angry. Not anymore. He's lost too many people in his life. 

Jealous: John absolutely has a jealous streak, whether it's family or friends. But you? Yes, for sure, because you're his chance to start over. He tries to act like it doesn't bother him. He might get a little angsty or make a remark here or there, but overall? I don't see anything extreme like getting into a fight with someone. He's surprisingly mature, but I think that's because he has been rejected in the past. As soon as you figure out how he's feeling, see if he wants some alone time. Otherwise, hug him around the waist, rub his back, and assure him just how much you love him. Bonus points if you say what you love about him. You can tell things are ok when you feel him melt against you. 

Love confession: John has never been the type for big gestures or the type to give a speech. I can see him trying to give hints about how he's feeling, thinking of several different plans before deciding just to be direct. Here's how I think it could go:

He waited until a clear night, at a time when most of the camp had settled. The fire glowed but still emitted warmth on the chilly night; clearly, a ploy to have you close to him. He called you over to sit next to him while he whittled. The fire illuminated your faces in a soft orange glow. He was quiet as the sound of his knife carving the wood became almost hypnotic. "Been trying to tell ya something, been tryin' a long time, but I ain't good at gestures. Ain't good with hints - giving or understanding." He chuckled sheepishly. "Ain't good with words, neither. You know that, so I guess I gotta keep it simple" He paused. " I've fallen for you. Hard. Didn't expect that to happen, 'specially after all the chaos 'round here. But you make me feel something; you make me feel seen. You don't gotta feel the same, but I just knew I had to try to tell you anyway." John continued, his voice trailing off. You couldn't help the sweet smile that appeared on your face, growing as you played his confession in your mind. "John Marston, you are something else. I knew there was something sweet about you under that rough exterior." you whispered in his ear. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. He bit his lip. "Fine, C'mere and let me show you how sweet I can be," His rough voice rumbled as a roughed hand cusped your chin gently to pull you into the lightest of kisses before deepening the kiss, his arm wrapping around your waist to draw you closer. Somehow, you've ended up on his lap, but you're not complaining. You broke away breathless, a smile larger than you've ever seen on John's scarred face.

"Sweet enough for you, darling, ?" He said with a mischievous smile.