#but it was strangely so much more heartfelt than that

[madamescarlette]

💐

[undiscovered-horizon]

4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

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It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

[usedtobecooler]

this must be the place

eddie munson x steve harrington x afab!reader | 8.6k words

summary: the summer of 1985 is only just beginning when a trip to scoops ahoy! unlocks some deeply hidden feelings you have swirling in your stomach for steve harrington. eddie munson won't let you live it down, and maybe that’s due to his own feelings too, but a chance encounter on a hot night at lovers lake sends you all down a rabbit hole you could never of prepared for.

content warnings: 18+ only minors dni, sexual content (threesome, piv sex, oral sex male receiving, dirty talk, van sex), porn with plot, eddie and reader are fwbs with feelings, gentle bullying and banter, eddie is canonically queer, mentions of past king!steve, brief homophobia mentions, a heartfelt conversation. feelings are felt on all three sides, if you don't like it look away <3 reader isn't explicitly described as alt/goth but it's implied.

Steve Harrington is staring at you. 

In his silly little sailor uniform, eyeing you up whilst you silently pick at your banana sundae. It’s strange, truly, because Steve Harrington was a certified ladykiller, and had been for as long as you’d known him. You’d seen him lay on the signature moves one too many times during previous encounters, always making the girls blush and ogle at him dreamily as he told them exactly what they wanted to hear. 

So, why was he looking at you like a classified moron? Like a little creep who had no idea how to interact with women?

He was unfairly attractive, even when he was watching you like a dumbass. Dark lashes fanning his cheeks when he blinked — freckled, tan skin and juicy, almost glossy looking lips. He was so pretty it was kind of hard to look at him. Nobody was immune to the Harrington charm, not even you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself he didn’t have an affect on you. 

You take longer than you care to admit to before you catch yourself staring back behind hooded lids, and Steve notices, gives you a small smile. You duck your head back down, a heat spreading over your cheeks – why were you acting like a schoolgirl?!

“Don’t turn around, but—“ you barely even get the sentence out before Eddie’s whipping his head around like an idiot, facing exactly where Steve is standing, the poor guy frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, a dark flush spreading on his shocked face before he’s turning away. He hastily retreats through the barn doors to the back room, and you’re almost positive you see a cartoonish puff of air that his disappearing act leaves in his wake. 

“What the hell was that, Munson? I fucking said not to turn around,” you hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward to smack Eddie’s bare arm with your sundae spoon. Eddie feigns a little hurt noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the red patch of skin where you’d spanked him with the silverware. 

“Hey! No hitting,” Eddie whines, leaning forward and stealing the glazed cherry from your sundae, popping it in his mouth with a delighted grin. You go to make a noise of protest, and he’s already butting in, “Nuh-uh, I think not, brat. That’s payment for the tyranny of abuse I have to deal with.” 

You roll your eyes, digging your spoon into the melting ice cream, grimacing — you never liked the texture of ice cream once it began to heat, “Stop being such a big crybaby,” it comes out as a grumble, no menace behind it, as you pay even more unneeded attention to the dripping cream that spills from the lip of the spoon, “I swear Steve was like… staring at me.” 

Eddie snorts, swiping the glass from your side of the table. You let him, too — you didn’t want it anymore, and Eddie was a creep who liked melted ice cream, especially when all the flavours swirled together and created an almost grey-like colour, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’ve got a giant zit on your forehead — I’ve been staring, too.” 

“Oh, real cute, Eddie.” You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up to your face, fingertips gently running over your smooth skin to make sure there were in fact no pimples. Eddie chortles at that, too, knowing he’d got you concerned about the possibility of there being an actual zit that Steve Harrington was indeed staring at. The thought alone was mortifying.

You watch in disgusted wonderment as he tucks into the ice cream like a man starved. He always ate like he hadn’t had a meal in months, it bordered on gross. You grimace a little when ice cream dribbles out the corner of his mouth, though you catch yourself fighting not to lean over and swipe it away like the main character in a John Hughes movie. 

“Remind me again why I suck face with you for fun?” You ponder, mostly to yourself, but Eddie’s looking at you with his stupid, big doe eyes and this goofy grin on his face, so you don’t even need him to tell you the answer. 

You know why. 

“Saw Harrington checking you out today,” Eddie says, almost conversationally, and you scoff — you’re literally riding his dick, what sort of fucking thing to say during sex is that? 

“What?” You ask, bewilderment etched on your features as you stop your rhythm, planting your ass firmly on Eddie’s thighs and he groans, the tight heat of your pussy completely enveloping his length making him shudder. 

“Shit, why’d you stop?” He whines, head landing with a small thump against your soft pillows, his big brown orbs rolling into the back of his skull. He grips onto your hips tightly, rucking up into you for emphasis, and you gasp.

“Why are you thinking about Steve Harrington when your dick is in me?” You counter, rolling your hips until your clit catches on the thatch of dark hair nestled on Eddie’s pubic bone, a shudder vibrating through your whole body from the sensation. 

“I wasn’t,” Eddie argues, but it’s half-assed. He grows impatient quickly, slides an arm around your back and flips you over in one motion — it’s pretty smooth, especially for Eddie, who was mostly gangly and not in control of his own limbs at any given time. You keen into it, a shocked little moan escaping you when he bottoms out once more, ruddy head of his cock sliding against your front wall, “Jus’ think he wants to fuck you, is all.” 

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing on the corners of your lips, “Why do you sound jealous?” You cackle, sighing softly when Eddie ruts into you deeper, staking his claim without a single word, “You’re the one fucking me right now, not him. You worried he’s gonna steal me away? That maybe he’d be better? Bigger?” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow at that, any sweetness in his glassy eyes vanishing when you speak. You’re in for it, truly. You’ve touched a nerve, and he’s wound up. You can’t help the way your chest tightens, a heat blooming in you that’s a mix of want and pride. It was so easy to rile him up.

“You’re gonna regret that, brat,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, gripping at the underside of your thighs, bruisingly tight, hauling your knees up to your ears. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock bruising into your cervix, “There you go, sweetheart. Cry for my cock. Beg for it.”

You can’t get Steve Harrington out of your mind. It’s not that you deliberately think of him, it’s just hard not to when he’s suddenly everywhere.

You watch from your bedroom window with a furrowed brow as said Steve Harrington climbs out of his ridiculously flashy Bimmer, dressed in too-tight faded jeans, a grey shell jacket and a plain white tee underneath. He’s so fucking tan, like he’s been out bathing in the heat of Indiana’s summer all day and not working under the harsh fluorescent lights in Scoops. 

You bite at your glossy lip, wondering if there’s any tan lines there or if he’s truly that tanned all over. Wondering if his moles and beauty marks dip below the collar of his jacket, desperately wanting to trace them with your tongue and make him squirm.

Linda Curtis bounces out of her front door, adjacent to your own, permed blonde hair pulled back in a claw clip, dressed in the ugliest pink shirt you've ever seen. Linda was an ex drama club nerd, had vaguely run in the same circle as Steve used to during Senior year, once she got her braces off and Tommy considered her hot. Billy Hargrove drove her to school one goddamn time and that was it, she was hot shit everybody wanted. What Steve saw in her, you would never know, but it took all sorts. Or whatever Eddie said.

You watch curiously as the Harrington charm works it’s magic right in front of your very eyes, Steve steps in close to Linda, brushes a loose curl back out of her eyes — Jesus Christ, why was that doing something for you — and says something you can’t make out, but it’s enough to have Linda blushing and pulling nervously on the hem of her denim shorts.

Why were you jealous?

The telltale noise of an obnoxiously loud horn honking lets you — and probably the entire neighbourhood — know Eddie had arrived to pick you up, snapping you completely out of your daydream. Your lips curl up into a smirk when both Linda and Steve jump ten feet at the sound, Steve rolling his eyes and scoffing.

What a bitch.

Eddie catches you looking from your window and lets out an obnoxious laugh, grinning up at you with his annoyingly perfect teeth. You wanted to punch him, maybe, but Friday nights were for one thing and one thing only, and that was getting high at Lovers Lake in the flatbed of the van. 

So it’d have to wait until you didn’t need him for the weed or the ride.

Summer meant the pretty sunset as a backdrop whilst you smoked the day's events away — it somehow made everything that little bit more relaxing, watching the swirls of orange, pink and purple melt together as your brain fogged with the drugs, a nice settling in your tummy as your high took over. 

It was second only to the heavy September rain that you loved so much, you found yourself yearning for it all year around. The loud patter of the large droplets clinking on the tin roof of Eddie’s van, buried under a nest of blankets to keep the cool chill off your arms and legs. Eddie’s hot breath fanning over your neck as he kissed it, chest heavy against your back. Warm, solid and comforting.

Maybe you were in love with him, or maybe you weren’t. You didn’t want to think too much about that.

You glide out of the house as quietly as you can muster, not wanting to arouse suspicion about where you were going. Even in your twenties, your parents would still have a few choice words for you in regards to Eddie Munson, and you were in no mood for the lecture. You’d heard it too many times in the years you’d known him, since fifth grade when he pushed you in the playground and you pulled his hair in retaliation. 

From that moment on you were inseparable, to the dismay of your parents.

You’re aware of two other sets of eyes watching you from across the street as you bounce down the driveway, all smiles as excitement thrums through your entire body. Eddie’s maybe looking at you like you hung the fucking moon or something, but that’s probably to do with the fact you’re wearing his shirt and looking the epitome of hot.

Okay, maybe you had a complex.

“So that’s where my shirt went,” Eddie hums, giving you an appreciative once-over as you wrench the passenger door open with a horrific sounding crunch of metal, “looks better on you, I’ve gotta say.”

You clamber into the van with a huff, laughter spilling into it, “Yeah, yeah. You don’t need to woo me, Munson. We’re gonna fuck anyway, don’t worry.”

Eddie laughs loud and so fucking obnoxious, as if for somebody else’s entertainment, and it does catch the attention of the lovebirds on the other side of the road. You look over just as Steve catches your eyes, and suddenly your chest feels kind of heavy as he stares at you with a kind of intensity that you can’t put a finger on.

“Take a fuckin’ picture, Harrington,” Eddie cackles, head basically out the fucking window and he’s grinning at them both, snapping you completely out of it, “that’s as close as you’re getting to her, count your lucky stars.”

Linda turns her nose up, like she’s disgusted at the fact that Eddie even so much as looked in her direction, however Steve flusters. His cheeks flush with something akin to embarrassment, and he turns his head to hide from you both, instead busying himself with grappling for Linda’s hands once more. 

Eddie laughs almost maniacally as you take off, tyres squealing and kicking up loose stone chips in your wake, “Little Stevie didn’t know what to do with himself!”

“He looked mortified.” You agree quietly, sinking into your seat with a little grin. Something about Eddie having that effect on Steve from such a simple little sentence was almost entertaining, considering how things once were. 

Eddie and Steve weren’t friends. In fact quite the opposite. Steve and Tommy were miserable assholes for years, made Eddie’s life hell at any given turn unless they needed him for drugs. 

You think back, and truthfully the turning point was during Junior year. Steve had tripped Eddie in the hall, called him ‘queer’. Eddie didn’t stand for that, sucker punched Steve right in the jaw, hard enough that his skull hit the locker adjacent to him.

“That shit might hurt you when your daddy calls you it, but you’ve gotta do a lot worse than call me exactly what I am as an insult, Harrington.” Eddie had grinned, vicious and seething, as he watched Steve clutch desperately at his bruised jaw, wide eyed and hair askew from the force.

Steve never bothered Eddie again after that.

In fact, not long after, Steve never bothered anybody again. Maybe the knock to the head had quite literally knocked some sense into him, or something.

“You good?” Eddie’s voice, his large hand gripping your thigh knocks you back into reality, out of the daydream, and the grounding is enough to have your entire body melting into the simple touch.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do if the band doesn’t work out?” You ask quietly, shoulders aching from where they dig into the bulky metal on the backs of Eddie’s front seats. The ringing in your ears drowns out the cricket chirps now, eyes hazy and no doubt bloodshot to hell, two joints deep and all that. 

You can feel Eddie’s gaze on the side of your face, like he’s trying to bore a hole into your skull and rummage around in your brain, those wide dark chocolate eyes staring you down with a serious amount of intensity. You wriggle slightly under it, suddenly uncomfortable — wrong question.

“Honestly, no,” Eddie answers honestly, tearing his eyes away from you in an instant, letting you breathe again momentarily. His curls curtain his profile, the bulbous tip of his nose the only feature now visible, he picks nervously at a loose thread on his jeans, “I’ll probably go work with Wayne at the plant, they’re always lookin’ for workers. Still sell on the side too, I doubt Rick will let me out of this deal, I bring in the most revenue.”

“Can come work at Sam Goody with me,” you sing-song, resting your head on his shoulder. You pretend not to notice the way he instantly melts at the press on his side, seemingly grounding him just as he’s beginning to panic about things like the future, “it’s a pretty good gig, and we get discounts on cassettes!” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pulling a drag from the joint that briefly laid forgotten at his side, ash falling onto the scratchy blanket you both laid on top of, burning holes into the material, “That code for ‘and we get to watch Harrington’s juicy ass in those shorts!’?” 

You cackle, all seriousness from the conversation vanishing in an instant as Eddie turns on his usual class clown persona, mocking you with his silly tone and grinning like an idiot, “Scoops is literally across the landing! I can’t see that far.” 

“I can’t believe he got to you,” Eddie’s teasing tone continues, he shuffles on his bony ass and accidentally shoulders you in the temple in the process, causing you to whine quietly, “sorry, shit, sorry, sweetheart. I guess I just — didn’t ticket you as being the type to like what he had going on.” 

“I could say the same for you,” your voice is barely a mumble as you drag your heavy head from his shoulder, looking at him properly.

Eddie hisses a sharp draw of breath in between his clenched teeth, passes you the joint that you take happily, sucking in a drag like a desperate woman. The silence sits heavy between you both for a long moment, weighs on you like a fucking shackle to your ankles, pulling you down into shark infested waters.

“He was always everything I wasn’t and I hated that shit,” Eddie mutters, fidgets — can’t look you in the fucking eye, “to begin with I was jealous and angry, he had it so fucking easy and people just fell at his feet, worshipped the asshole no matter how much of a prick he could be.”

You nod, extend your hand to pass the joint back to him — Eddie shudders when your cold fingers connect with his, and you allow them to linger for only a split second before you pull them back once again. 

“Remember when I punched him in the hall, once? Think it was junior year or something,” Eddie recalls, and you have to pretend like you’re not two halves of the same whole for just a moment, like you weren’t just reminiscing on the exact scenario hours earlier, “he called me queer. And at that point I didn’t really know what I was, but him saying it just — fucking solidified it, or something. I said something mean, but I confirmed to him and myself what I sorta knew all along.”

“I remember,” you breathe, chest tightening, “I think you hit close to home, when you said his dad called him the same thing.”

Eddie laughs, mirthless, canines sharp as he smiles so wide, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes — he looks manic, “Yeah, well. I’d heard shit, and I used it to my advantage at that moment. Was wrong, I know. He had it fuckin’ coming, but after that I realised… I didn’t hate him. I thought I was jealous of how easy he had it with chicks and how they fell for it, but then I guess I realised I maybe wanted to be his conquest of the week.” 

It tugs at your chest, and you’re caught between feeling relief and feeling utterly devastated that Eddie spent all this time pining and having to hide it from the world, when you could openly ogle and gawk at Steve without so much as a second glance from passersby. 

You’re too high to truly comprehend it, and maybe you just chose to ignore the signs, but now it makes sense as to why Eddie would bring Steve up and use him to mock you, how his eyes would be ablaze with something that wasn’t jealousy, but wanting. He wanted you to bring him up, wanted you to tell him your sordid fantasies. Maybe even wanted to be a part of them, and yeah. That makes your tummy flip.

Your head thumps against the backing of the passenger headrest, a loud breath escaping you that you didn’t even realise you were holding, “God, we really are too fucking alike, Wayne was right maybe we were separated at birth.” 

“Birds of a feather, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, means it this time. He crowds into your space, plants firm hands on your bare thighs and leaves a chaste kiss on your chin, “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll always be my number one.” 

You had wondered if Steve’s date had gone poorly when your designated smoke break on that following Monday had been infiltrated by Robin Buckley – the poor girl sighing frustratedly, claiming she just ‘needed a breather from Harrington’s excessive whining’, to which you’d both shared a cackle. You had offered her your cigarette that she declined with a wave of her hand and a small smile, ‘trumpet player and all’ she’d grinned.

You saw Steve on Tuesday, on his lunch break as he wandered into Sam Goody to pick up an order that Dustin Henderson had put in before he went off to Summer camp for six weeks. A Wham! album from late 1984 that had you raising an eyebrow.

“Kid kinda wants to be like me,” Steve had shrugged, cocky as he rolled his eyes, leaned his arm on your counter. Flashed you the goddamn Harrington smile that momentarily had you forgetting that his taste in music was vile, “the chicks love George Michael.” 

“You’re setting the poor guy up to fail by recommending he listens to this shit,” you quipped, handing the plastic bag holding the cassette over to Steve, heat prickling up your spine when your fingers brushed over the handles, “I promise you it’s not George Michael that ‘the chicks’ are interested in.” 

“And what exactly are they interested in?” Steve asked, quirking a brow and smirking at you, giving you a once over with those wandering hazel eyes. 

The little shit was flirting.

“I think you and I both know what they’re interested in, Harrington.” You flirted back, your glossy lips smacking together, catching his eye immediately.

“Are you?” Steve breathed, focused solely on your lips, and you could almost see the second his upstairs brain shut off and his downstairs one took over for him, “Interested, I mean.”

“Oh, honey. I think you know the answer to that.” 

Eddie had appeared on Wednesday, conned you into using your staff discount for the Armed & Dangerous EP — you didn’t even like Anthrax, and Eddie didn’t have a damn record player, yet you still got it for him. 

Steve had been wandering past, hands stuffed deep in his shorts pockets as Eddie left with his bag of goodies and the most ridiculous grin on his face. So engrossed in pulling out a rolly that he slammed right into Steve’s side, sending the poor guy straight to the floor, unable to pull his hands from his pockets in time to stop himself.

You’d watched anxiously from your perch on the stool behind the counter as Eddie crouched into a squat to help Steve up, extending an arm that Steve took with a flush of colour on his cheeks and an embarrassed smile. You couldn’t see Eddie or the expression on his face, but you already knew he was saying something stupid, maybe even cracking a joke, because Steve laughed. Head thrown back and hearty enough that you could hear it faintly, their hands still clasped together even though he was already back on his feet.

Your heart fluttered, beating overtime as you watched the interaction with curious eyes, a nervous wave of butterflies in your tummy. They parted ways, and if Eddie asked, you pretended that you didn’t see him looking over his shoulder once Steve turned away, half buried behind the waves of his hair as he blushed red, his doe eyes soft and fond.

And if by some sort of confusing act of God, Steve was ever to ask you that same question, you never saw him do the exact same thing, just seconds later.

You were screwed.

Steve doesn’t arrive at the Curtis family home on Friday evening, and you can’t even pretend that you don’t let out a sigh of relief. Just as you had suspected, Robin had indeed been talking about the date during your short conversation, and Steve’s latest conquest was no more.

It’s raining lightly, thunder and lightning cracking in the distance, amplified in amongst the trees as you and Eddie pass a blunt back and forth between your bodies. You’re laid top-to-toe, his head basically hanging upside down out of the back door of the van, you in the resumed position up against the rock hard front seats. 

“There’s somebody out swimming in the lake,” Eddie says, breaking the peaceful silence with his dulcet tones, words deep and heavy from the cotton mouth. His hand halts its movements on your bare calf, “did you see another car here?”

Your eyes narrow, catching a head bobbing in and out of the water at a far distance, way too far away for you to recognise who it was, though swimmers in the lake weren’t uncommon especially during the Summer months, “No, I didn’t. Could’ve walked here, I guess.” 

Eddie’s head whips up at that, and he gets up on his elbows as if it’s going to give him a better look at you, “We’re about ten miles away from civilization, dummy. Nobody's walking out here unless they have a death wish. Maybe they parked in the trees.” 

“Why do you sound so nervous? You think Hopper or his knucklehead deputies are out here taking a dip in the lake whilst undercover trying to catch a couple of shitheads smoking a joint on a Friday night?” You cackle, and Eddie rolls his eyes, lets out an annoyed huff and plucks the joint from your relaxed fingers.

“I’m on my final strike, asshole.” Eddie grunts, sitting up properly and craning his neck to get a better look as the person swims closer and closer to you both, the ripples of water as they glide along the only giveaway, as they keep their head underwater the entire duration.

You find yourself drifting off, hazy and blissed out, the noises and visuals a cacophony of brain scratching senses. Your eyelids go heavy, drooping, and before you know it Eddie’s fingers are brushing your skin and helping along, adding to the sanctity of your mind. You doze peacefully, sighing contentedly. 

Footsteps closing in knock you out of your unconscious state, your brain alerting you to another person who certainly wasn’t Eddie approaching — panic creeps in momentarily, until the figure appears at the open door of the van, knocking the breath from your lungs in a mixture of relief and desperation.

Steve Harrington is in front of you. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a fucking cropped vest, exposing his toned stomach, his happy trail glistening as droplets of water clinging to the dark hair that disappears into the low waistband of his pants.

It’s. Sobering, to say the least. You’re suddenly conscious of how you’re sitting, legs spread wide in your own shorts, slumped down like an absolute slob. Eyes bloodshot from the weed, your shirt askew. 

Okay, cool. Steve’s going to take one look at you and decide you’re in fact a completely disgusting creature that he absolutely does not find attractive. Great, just great.

Eddie breaks the silence, his voice knocking you out of your trance so quickly you startle yourself, jumping in your seat, “Steve Harrington, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Eddie smirks, shuffling back into the bed of the van until he’s propped up against the side, kicking his legs out flat right across the bottoms of your feet. 

“Just thought I’d come say hi, thought it was your van from back there,” Steve’s nonchalant, shrugging, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet, trying and failing to not watch Eddie’s every move as his gangly limbs manoeuvre, “you got anymore?”

Drugs, he means drugs. Could probably smell them a mile off, could tell you were both high just by looking at you, remembered Eddie was a dealer and wanted his own.

You try to hide your disappointment, though your face always had a way of talking for you, and you feel your nose scrunching in distaste before you can stop it. Steve fails to notice, dumbstruck bambi eyes watching Eddie like he wants to — you don’t even know, but it’s almost like he wants to ask something else.

“You want in?” Eddie asks tentatively, seemingly asking the question for Steve like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, holding a fresh rolly up in between his thumb and forefinger like an offering, “We were just about to spark this one up, and I’m sure you could do with the… relaxation after that show you just put on.”

He’s mocking, grinning like the Cheshire cat as Steve flounders, flushes a deep shade of red across his cheeks, but climbs into the van like he’s meant to fucking be there or something, sliding down right next to Eddie close enough that their thighs are touching roughly, the rivulets of water on Steve’s leg clinging to the material of Eddie’s jeans and soaking them in the process.

Eddie’s eyes widen like saucers, like he expected Steve to tell him to fuck off, yet there he was pressed against Eddie like it was the most normal thing in the world. Steve produces a lighter from the pocket of his shorts, plucks the joint from Eddie’s hand like it’s nothing, and presses it between his cherry red, plump lips. Sparks it up and inhales deeply, eyelids fluttering shut, thick eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

Your thighs clench as you watch Steve’s adams apple bob up and down, the vast expanse of his tan neck stretching as his head thumps back, whole body slumping as the sudden nicotine hit relaxes his body. You connect the moles and freckles with your eyes, fingers itching in your lap, resisting the urge to lunge forward and mark him up, connect the beauty marks with your mouth, suck bruises into his skin until he’s whining and begging. 

The air lies heavy between you all, nobody saying a word as you pass the blunt back and forth, your high settling in once more, enough to have you light headed and itching to touch more and more and more. Ten minutes or maybe an hour go past, you’re not too sure which. 

You can tell Eddie is starting to feel the same, from the way his thigh begins jiggling up and down — usually by this point he had a lapful of you, grinding against him and gasping for release as your drug-addled brains melted with the need to touch and to kiss and to fuck.

Steve wiggles in his place next to Eddie, his large palm coming out to slap Eddie’s thigh and keep his leg still, like he’s annoyed by the constant jerking movement, yet his flushed skin and agape mouth tell you otherwise. Somebody whines, needy, and you’re not too sure which one of you it is, but the sound goes straight to your core, has your cunt fluttering. 

Eddie breaks first, pulling you into his lap unceremoniously, your arms instinctively wrapping around his pale shoulders to ground yourself as you’re flung like a ragdoll, his hands digging into the fat of your ass, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly, yet you keen into it, desperate for more.

Your bare calf touches Steve’s thigh, and he’s looking at you like a deer caught in headlights — pretty hazel eyes staring up at you in awe, watching as your body rocks against Eddie’s own, though you don’t dare settle down on his crotch properly, waiting for Steve’s confirmation that he’s good with this.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, just to be sure, making it clear that you’re not adding two plus two and getting five, needing to know for certain this is what he wants, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Steve.” 

Eddie’s own gaze lands on Steve now, soft and gentle, no teasing on his features anymore, pure sincerity. Steve looks back and forth between you both, bites that fucking lip of his as he ponders.

“I think-” Steve starts, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, “that I just… really wanna kiss one of you right now.” 

If Eddie’s surprised, drawn back or even nervous, he doesn’t let on, as he leans into Steve’s space with parted lips, a stupid lazy smirk tugging at the corners, enough to make your core ache for him. 

You watch with hazy eyes as they share breath back and forth, two pairs of deep set brown eyes locking and conversing without words as you heave desperately, rutting gently against Eddie’s thigh. His rings bite into the soft skin of your waist, grounding you, letting you know he’s still aware of your presence. 

Steve closes the gap first, slots their lips together and startling a desperate whine from the back of Eddie’s throat — a noise you weren’t even aware he could make. Steve’s large hand runs up along Eddie’s rosy red cheek, fingers splaying and nails raking into Eddie’s scalp as their mouths move together like ripples of water.

It’s beautiful to watch, you can’t look away (as if you even fucking wanted to), your hands bunching into the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt to help you sway your hips back and forth. Eddie’s sharp tongue peaks out to swipe along Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve surges forward to deepen the kiss, their tongues dancing together as they pant breathily and moan quietly. 

You’re not sure when it happens, but Eddie’s rough hand on your waist begins to guide you against the starchy material of his jeans, like he’s paying just as much attention to you as he is to Steve. 

You take your opportunity, leaning forward to latch your mouth onto Eddie’s exposed collarbone, biting and suckling like a woman starved as you finally, fucking finally let yourself rock against Eddie properly – grinding against his half-hard cock until he’s whining breathily into the kiss, clinging onto your waist. 

Maybe you’re feeling ballsy because of the drugs, or maybe it’s because you’ve just waited forever to get your hands on Steve Harrington, but soon enough your hand is ghosting up his inner thigh, pressing hot and heavy against the sizable bulge in his ridiculously short shorts.

“Y’r both gonna fucking kill me,” Steve groans against Eddie’s lips, breaking the kiss momentarily only for Eddie to surge forward once more and reattach their mouths, and your pussy flutters – hearing Steve so fucked out from the simplest of touches sends a hot, prickly flush up your body, settles in your core. 

Your hand presses more firmly onto Steve’s cock, hips rutting against Eddie’s and they both roll their hips at the same fucking time, pressing into your hand and cunt respectively. Your brain short circuits, lips detaching from Eddie’s collarbone so you can moan, wet and panting against his damp skin.

“You wanna fuck her, Harrington?” Eddie asks, bites at Steve’s bottom lip and Steve keens into it, grunts and fucks his hips up into your hand again. Eddie releases his lip, trails kisses down Steve’s chin and to his jaw, rough and sucking, sure to leave a mark, “She wants you to, I know she does. Fantasises about you wrecking her, think you’re up to the task?” 

Steve nods, feverish and almost pathetic, and you have to question if he’s always like this during sex or if Eddie really just has that effect on him, has Steve reduced to nothing more than a mess as you both finally lock eyes once again, “Please, nggh, please. Wanna fuck you so bad, baby, please? Will you let me?” 

The begging does something to your insides you never would’ve expected, and you’re throwing yourself into Steve’s lap. His hands grab onto your waist, replacing Eddie’s and it’s noticeable, he’s gentle, almost unsure of how to take you – he looks up at you, leans up to press your lips together and you’re unravelling in his arms.

He kisses like a fucking boyfriend, lips gliding against your own just roughly enough to have you melting into it, tongue swiping your bottom lip the same way Eddie did to him just minutes earlier, licking into your mouth and gliding his tongue against your own in this perfect rhythm that has you rutting down into his lap. The thick length of his now fully hard cock nestles perfectly in the cave of your pussy, only covered by three thin layers of clothing. 

You’re delirious with it, hands on his cheeks, fingers buried into his hair as you suck face like you might die if you stop. You can feel Eddie’s intense gaze on you both, his hand slipping in between Steve and your own torsos to tug gently at your loose shirt, pushing it up your chest to expose your tits to the cool air. 

His fingers are everywhere, rubbing and pulling at your nipples, hardening them and sending shockwaves of want and desire down your entire body. Steve disconnects your lips with a string of spit, his eyes hazy and darkened with lust as he bends down to latch onto your tit, sucking and licking it into his mouth like a desperate thing. 

You’re so turned on you might fucking die, rutting against Steve’s clothed erection fast and hard, desperate to feel that catch and drag rough against your clit. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, breath hot against the side of your face, mouthing at the sensitive skin below your ear, “Harrington as talented with his mouth as you hoped?” 

“I know now why the ladies love him,” you squeak, unable to contain it when Eddie’s fingers finally leave the swollen bud of your nipple and dip down below, hand hot and heavy as he pushes the offending material of your shorts away so he can press against your cunt, swiping over your clit with two fingers, the back of his palm digging into Steve’s cock in the process.

“Oh my fucking god,” Steve grunts pathetically, bites down on your nipple and punches his hips up into Eddie’s hand, rocks against him for a moment before settling back down again. He pulls off of you with a wet pop, chooses instead to trail kisses up your chest and to your neck that have you moaning unabashedly, “you sound s’fucking pretty, can’t believe it.” 

You can hardly focus on a single thing, ears ringing as pleasure takes over your body. Eddie knows you inside and out, pushes with a perfect pressure on your clit, swiping over it in fast circles as he mutters sweet nothings, coaxing moans and gasps from you with every touch. Steve’s attacking your neck, biting and kissing, leaving a mark in a way that you’d practically wished for for too fucking long.

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice raising a little knocks you out of it, his fingers slipping through the wetness of your folds and off of your clit like he was caught off guard, “like it a little rough or somethin’?” 

Your half lidded eyes watch as Steve’s hand grips at Eddie’s thigh, ghosting closer and closer to the inside seam until Eddie breaks, uses his free hand to pop the button on his jeans and shuck them down his thighs, finally allowing his cock the damn release from those tight pants.

Eddie resumes his motions on your clit properly once he’s done shuffling, “Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises, swirling the tips of his fingers over the bundle of nerves fast enough to have you seeing stars, “Know you well enough to know it won’t take you long, anyway.”

He’s right. The slick noises of your pussy being worked over invade your ears, the deep blooming in your core rising quickly as Eddie sets an almost brutal rhythm, desperate to get you there. You cling onto Steve’s biceps as he sucks another bruise just below your jaw, hot mouth leaving your skin finally, letting up so that you can breathe, if only a little.

You’re not sure why it shocks you when Steve spits into his palm like it’s nothing, wraps a firm hand around the length of Eddie’s cock like he’s done it a million times before but it does, and suddenly you’re flushing hot all over, the visual of Eddie’s eyes shutting and mouth falling open in a grunt the last thing you see before your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasm wracking your body with such force that you slump into Steve’s front — head on his shoulder, hips stuttering as Eddie works you through it.

“That’s it, honey, oh shit,” Steve’s voice sounds strained as he watches you stain the front of his shorts with your release, his hand heavy on your waist as you ride Eddie’s hand, his wrist glistening in the light, “you’re both so hot, fuck me.” 

You flush at Steve’s words, whining in the back of your throat, “Sensitive, Eds,” you squeal, hips jerking back and away from Eddie’s hand – you get why he’s slow to move, when you see how Steve’s jerking his cock, how Eddie’s hips are fucking up into it, the dark red head leaking down his shaft and coating Steve’s fingers. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie’s apologetic as his hand moves, though he’s so breathy and fucked out that you can tell he’s hardly paying enough attention to care, “get your fucking dick out, Steve.” 

Your trembling hands do it for him, and Steve willingly lifts his hips up to let you pull the offending material down. His cock springs out and — oh, oh fuck.

He’s so fucking big it makes your mouth water, so heavy under it’s own weight that it sits flush against Steve’s toned, heaving belly as he sucks in sharp breaths, slightly curved to the side and cut, the head almost purple with need, soaking wet with his own precum.

“Of course you’ve got a monster cock,” Eddie grunts, rolling his eyes, no heat to his words when Steve squeezes him tighter, jerks the head, flicks his thumb over the slit, “would’ve sworn you’d touched a hundred dicks with how good you are at it, fuuuck.” 

“You’re gonna give me a goddamn complex,” Steve moans, stripping Eddie’s cock faster until the other man is literally shaking in his spot, hips vibrating, and you’ve seen this a million times — Eddie is close.

“Stop— mmph, stop, gotta stop,” Eddie pants, scrambling to halt Steve’s motions on his dick, which Steve does without a second thought, though his hand still lays loosely on the base as it pulses, slit weeping, “I’m gonna blow my fucking load if you keep doing that shit.” 

There’s a heavy silence between you all for a moment, exchanged looks that say more than words probably could in such a highly charged situation — it’s like Steve was always here, the way he slots in and understands exactly what’s going on like he’d been with you both before in this way. It makes your heart clench, makes your tummy do flips.

You climb from Steve’s lap, rid yourself of your shorts and soiled panties whilst Steve and Eddie shuffle themselves around – Steve lying down, head propped up on the two sad looking pillows Eddie always kept around, and Eddie on his knees at Steve’s side. 

It’d be truly ridiculous to look at from an outsider's perspective, like a bad porno movie, but you’re all so turned on that you can’t see past the want to care enough, as you climb back into Steve’s lap and resume your position.

“Want you to fuck me now,” you murmur, doe eyed and desperate as you cling to Steve’s shirt, rocking down onto his dick again, spreading your wetness over his shaft, “please, Steve?” 

Steve whines pathetically, grabs a hold of his dick by the base, hazards a guess at where your opening is and fails miserably, unable to see anything at this angle. You try to help, wiggling your hips until the fat head catches on your clit — you both groan, a slight tinge of laughter in yours from the absurdity of it all.

“Damn Steve, can’t even find her pussy when it’s right in front of you,” Eddie huffs impatiently, yet his words are full of arousal you swear you’ve never heard, licking his wet, plump lips as he leans over to grab the base of Steve’s cock, slides the head against your wet cunt until you’re both whining and gasping for it, “sit on him then, sweetheart. Take his big cock like the good girl you are, yeah?” 

Steve grips onto the meat of your thighs as you sink down, gasping at the sheer stretch — Steve really was bigger than Eddie and nothing could’ve prepared you for the intrusion. Your cunt leaks down his shaft, down Eddie’s hand until he’s removing it so you can sink down completely, adjusting to the stretch by wiggling your hips. 

You can tell Steve is trying to keep his composure and failing miserably, if the way he’s grunting through his clenched teeth is anything to go by. You seize the opportunity, clamp your walls down around his length deliberately until he’s sputtering, grappling onto your skin even tighter, “D-don’t, can’t do that — I’ll come so fucking quick,” he gasps, staring up at you with wild eyes. 

Eddie barks out a laugh from the side of you, and you can tell it’s from the sheer satisfaction – knowing that even though Steve’s cock is bigger there’s no way he’s going to be as good at fucking you as Eddie. Of course that’ll feed his ego, the town freak being better at fucking than Hawkins’ own certified slut.

“Go on, sweetheart. Show him what your pretty little cunt can do,” Eddie’s encouraging you, one hand loosely holding the base of his own cock, the other now placed on the small of your back, a grounding movement that keeps you from losing it all together.

You grip onto Steve’s broad shoulders, nails biting into the skin as you use your knees for leverage, take the first aching drag up the length of his cock. You feel like you’re being split apart from the inside, the dull hurting so fucking good that you’re sick with it.

“Oh fuck, that’s it, baby,” Steve’s eyebrows marry together as he watches you take him in fucking awe or something, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re sinking up and down on him. 

It’s torturously slow whilst you adjust to him, a tentative bounce and rock motion until your pussy is soaked from the constant press on your gspot. 

You speed up your movements and Steve is all but wailing and begging beneath you, Eddie looming over the top of him and tugging lazily at his own cock, almost like he’s not entirely sure what he wants to do — or what he’s allowed to do.

Steve looks up at him, ripping his eyes away from your pussy sucking him in, leaving behind creamy rings of release on his shaft. He’s wide eyed and almost manic, watching as Eddie fucks his fist, “Put it– put it in my mouth, I wanna. Wanna suck you off.”

Eddie chokes on his own tongue momentarily, eyes bugging out of his head at Steve’s request, “You – I, what?” He laughs incredulously, though he’s already shuffling up next to Steve’s head, and Steve moves with him, craning his neck to the side and opening his mouth wide, tongue lolling out. Eddie fists a handful of Steve’s hair, sliding his cock into Steve’s mouth with an obscene fluidity, “You really are a fuckin’ slut, huh?” 

Steve moans around his mouthful, nods what little he can manage as Eddie begins to rock in and out, building a slow rhythm, the loud slurping noises of Steve’s saliva adding to the noise of your soaked pussy fucking down onto him. You’re so turned on it hurts, the sight of them both together has you closing in on your second orgasm quickly, with a lightning speed.

The sound of wet skin, from sweat and ungodly amounts of body fluid is so loud you’re sure anybody within a five mile radius could hear you all, and that does something to your insides that you don’t think you could admit to out loud. Steve’s large hands move your hips, help you along as you bounce quicker on his cock, chasing your high, and you have to hand it to him that he’s a seriously good multitasker. 

“You’re fucking — God, can’t believe you’re sucking me like this,” Eddie cries, ever the one to be so fucking vocal, and it’s clear as day he’s close to the edge already, “so fucking talented with that mouth — oh fuck, keep doing that. Yeah, yeah, oh fuck.” 

“I hate you both so fucking much,” you gasp, arching your back and crying out as you bounce up and down on Steve’s cock in short, snappy motions. Steve grunts, fingernails biting into your hip, a clear sign that he wants you to keep doing that, and you do, “I’m-I’m, shit m’gonna cum –!” 

It hits you like a goddamn freight train, your thighs trembling, hands gripping and nails biting at Steve’s abs as you come, gushing wet and walls fluttering as the feeling settles deep in your stomach. Your legs give up on you, body turning to jello within seconds.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you with such intensity that you feel his eyes basically burning holes into your head. You’re sure he doesn’t even blink as you rock through it, tits bouncing and mouth agape in the most delicious moans. 

Steve’s patience wears thin, his hips fucking up into you from below, hands moving you on and off of his cock as if you’re a fucking ragdoll, but he’s not even really paying attention to you — he’s focused on Eddie, mouthing heavily at the other mans dick, taking and taking it as Eddie feeds it to him with nothing more than a few moans and grunts.

“Need to cum, let me cum on your face,” Eddie begs, tears his eyes from you finally to ask Steve the damn question, rutting into his mouth jerkily, practically sobbing as he reaches the end, “wanna ruin you so bad, fuck, please?” 

Steve’s so far gone, nestled so tight in your pussy and drunk on it that he’d agree to anything, nods what little he can and Eddie takes barely a second to slip from Steve’s mouth. Tightens his fist around his own cock as he jerks it messily above Steve’s face.

“Your pussy is like heaven, fuck,” Steve grunts, voice worn and fucked out from being stuffed full for so long, and you’re so overstimulated you barely register what he’s doing, brain fuzzy. His fingers dig into your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars, “cumming, I’m fucking cumming.” 

Steve forces you down so hard on his cock that you wail, clinging onto him for dear life as he pulses deep inside of you, coating your insides with his release. You swear you’ve fucking died and gone to heaven or something, with how good it feels.

Eddie grunts from his place in front of you, “so fucking hot, shit, shit, oh fuck,” blurting from his mouth as he comes, his load shooting so far it kind of misses Steve’s face all together and instead spurts down his neck and chest. 

A long wave of silence washes over you all as you all come down, a mess of sweaty limbs, coated in each others sex. You know the van had ought to fucking reek of it, the sheets below you all soaked and soiled. None of you find it in you to care as you pant heavily, hands all over each other as some weird form of aftercare, stroking and touching.  

“Steve, where’s your car, man?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence yet again from where he’d finally slumped back on his ass next to Steve’s head.

Steve looks at Eddie like he’s stupid, furrowing his brows, “My car? Dude, I ran here. It’s only, like, six miles or something from my house, it’s not exactly far.” 

You cackle loudly from your place in between Steve’s legs, “And you called me stupid for insinuating somebody walked out here!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, flips you both the bird, though there’s a little quirk on the corners of his lips.

You’re not sure what’ll happen from here, if anything at all, but the comforting aura you feel is enough to have you guessing that maybe it’s far from the final time.

to anybody who read this and took a chance on it, thank you all so much! this has been a little labour of love and i actually started on it before christmas, it was meant to be nothing more than a quick little smut fic but i felt it needed more. thank you all in advance for any likes, reblogs and sweet comments you leave, it means the absolute world.

[rainyinautumn]

Scar does not lay down and die. He’s fought too hard to go out like that.

It’s a strange feeling, to know that he’s in full control of when he dies. No one chasing him down, no ticking clock, no curses. Sure, he doesn’t have regen, but he has a full row of hearts—a whole life ahead of him that he can spend in Sunflower Valley.

He doesn’t remember until he arrives that there’s nothing for him there. It’s about fifty percent craters. Some of them are blackened by the wither, and others by gunpowder. Despite it all, though, there are still sunflowers. Not many, but they’re facing his way when arrives, as if trying to be the welcoming party he never had. Scar sits down at the edge of one of the craters and swings his feet back and forth over the drop. It’s not deep enough to kill him, hardly even deep enough to take a heart off of him. The ash settled at the bottom is picked up by the wind, blowing into Scar’s boots and hair. He doesn’t wipe it out. It’s his only reminder that he wasn’t always alone in this world.

Across the crater, the air shimmers purple. Before Scar can figure out what it is, the color coalesces into a ghostly figure with a faint halo that shines just like the sun. Grian smiles at him wanly and holds out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs.

“You’ve won, Scar,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

“But I’m not ready yet,” he objects.

“He didn’t get me any flowers,” Scott mutters as he sits down beside him, transparent and crowned with a dozen tiny stars. “Trust me, you’re ready. You’ve won. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I never had much anyway,” Scar says coolly. “Can’t say this feels too different.”

“I know.” Pearl’s voice comes from his other side along with the soft glow of the moon, and his heart aches, unwilling to turn toward her. “I know, but the game’s over, Scar. You did well.”

He wants to tell her sorry, but that would be disingenuous. He wouldn’t change a thing about that fight—the only thing he regrets is that it had to be her.

“More than well, I’d say.” Martyn takes shape in the center of the crater, his coral crown glittering the angry red of Mars. “I’m loving the trend of villainous winners we’ve got going here. Who do you think’s gonna be next? Joel? Gem?”

“Maybe we’re due for a more heartfelt finale,” Scott says, sending a sidelong glance Scar’s way. “No offense.”

“Didn’t you win through a battle royale?” he retorts.

“Didn’t we all?” Grian sighs. “It’s just the way of the game. Killing people. It’s a bit hard to get a heroic winner out of that.”

Scar stares at his feet. “I thought I’d feel more relieved,” he admits. “Like I’d- like I’d, y’know, won something. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, it’s all just kinda…”

“Empty?” Grian fills in for him.

“Disappointing?” Scott suggests.

“Sad?” Pearl says.

Martyn kicks a rock. “Fleeting?”

“One of those things,” Scar sighs. “So… now what?”

“I already told you,” Grian huffs, tired but good-natured. “It’s time to go.”

“Die, you mean,” Scar says. “It’s time for me to die.”

Martyn draws an axe that looks far more corporeal than the rest of him. “It’s my turn to take you out,” he tells him. “I was planning on a nice quick beheading, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scar stammers, scrambling backward. “I don’t get to choose how I go?”

“Well, sort of,” Grian explains. “You’ve won. The only thing that can take you out now is another winner.”

“Pearl zapped me when my time was up,” Martyn says. “Didn’t hurt for more than a second.”

“And what if I don’t let you?” Scar asks.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, but it goes right through. “There’s no way around this, Scar.”

“Martyn has to kill you,” Pearl reiterates. “It’s not up to him, or us, or you. No one can move on until you’re gone.”

“Says who?”

Grian gestures broadly at the horizon. “Who do you think?”

The Secretkeeper looms in the distance, a dark sky overhead. It’s watching him. Scar knows it is. It’s waiting, impatient as ever, for its final task to be completed.

Martyn hefts his axe over his shoulder. The move should be threatening, but there’s no malice in it. His hand sits firmly on the handle, white-knuckled and duty-bound, but the rest of him is relaxed. He doesn’t want this to be a fight.

“I guess everyone’s waiting on me, huh?” Scar says. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks up to Martyn and kneels, removing his hood to expose the back of his neck. He feels the cold edge of the axe blade placed against it and screws his eyes shut.

“Any last words?” Martyn asks.

“I’m taking away all your reputation points for this.”

He laughs, genuine and nostalgic. “Fair enough.”

The axe lifts, and a breeze ruffles Scar’s hair as it comes back down on his neck.

There’s a searing flash of pain, and then nothing. His eyes stay closed, staring at the darkness.

“Scar,” Grian says, his voice closer than before. “Scar, it’s done.”

He blinks warily, taking a moment to process the view he sees. The rest of the world now has the shimmering transparency of the ghosts, while the other winners are now solid and real in front of him. Grian is still holding the bouquet—when he extends it to Scar, it changes shape, twisting into a flower crown.

“Wait,” Pearl says. “One last thing.” She waves her hand and two glowing sunflowers wrap themselves into the wreath, blooming side by side. “There.”

Grian steps forward, right in front of Scar, who’s still kneeling in the center of the crater. “Congratulations, Scar,” he says. “You won.”

The crown is a perfect fit.

[oneshlut]

Could you possibly do some hcs for Jax with a s/o that's a tsundere at times and he finds their reactions to his teasing amusing? (If you don't know what that is defined as a term used to describe a person or character who swings between emotionally hot and cold, in particular when dealing with a love interest. Especially used to describe someone who is usually cold or cranky but occasionally shows a soft, kind, mushy side.)

A/N: yesyes! i know how much you folks love flirty/teasing jax, and i am here to feed you all. eat up my little weirdos😋

Lovingly Hated (Jax x Tsundere!Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

Summary: Headcanons of a flirty Jax with a tsundere S/O, how Reader reacts to his teasing

Oh, when I say he makes fun of you, he makes fun of you. Nothing amuses him more than making you mad, irritated, or just generally pushing buttons. I feel like we've gone over this many times before, but yes, he's a total asshole. Never too mean to you, though.

When he eventually gets with you, (how that happened is another story), he realizes you get irritated not just by him being a dick. Rather, being the opposite. Seems like you get flustered by just the slightest bit of flirting. And he teases you relentlessly.

Jax is always up for good comedy. Why not make his own? To him, you're his own personal amusement. Yes, he still views you as a person, with feelings and all that jazz. But he's not just about to pass up this opportunity. After all, you just looked so cute, getting all flushed and defensive.. he couldn't help himself!

So, despite your many protests, he continued to tease you. Even if you stated how much you hated him, and even told him to his face how huge of an asswipe he was, the slightest glint of a dorky grin gave it all away. Jax could see through you like glass.

On this subject, he never gets hurt at your remarks or denying of feelings. Again, he can see right through you, so putting up a facade in front of him is a bad idea unless you want to be joked about it to your grave. Honestly, Jax finds himself enlightened at the scowling look on your face, because he knows--even as much as you try to refuse it--you love him. And here returns the strange feeling in his digital stomach.

Will call you cute little nicknames just to see your reaction. Some examples being: Sweetheart, Cutie, Sugar, Love/Lovely, Sunshine or Sunflower, Angel, all that jazz. And yet, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Though, one that Jax notices that you favor, is Darling. He makes sure to use that one more than the others. His personal favorite, though, is sweetheart. It always seems to make you stumble.

If nothing else, you were one of Jax's favorite people. That thought made you lightweight. But, god, if you ever admitted you enjoyed his company, you wouldn't hear the end of it. You hardly ever showed him your mushy-gushy side, since you had hated getting so open and vulnerable. Normally, when you did eventually get soft, he had teased you about it. But he knows when and when not to joke about things with you.

Sometimes? He's completely incapable to joke. If you're irritated and tough part of you managed to slip away, and you had told him how you genuinely loved him in a heartfelt way.. Jax would crash.

Jax is more of someone to give affection rather than take it, so if you hugged him, held his hand, or, you know.. kissed him, he wouldn't be able to handle it and would just freeze up on the spot. But, of course, Jax still teased you about it afterwards.

Days will go by where you just fight back and forth like children. You'd deny your feelings for him, and he'd tease you about it. Over and over and over again. Kind of like a 'nuh-uh', 'yeah-huh' situation.

Jax himself doesn't like to get sentimental. If he's gonna show you in any way that he likes you, he's gonna do it by flirting playfully until you get sick of it and just say you like him. He'll say something like: 'Don't worry, I like ya too', then walk away, leaving you slightly befuddled and warm.

He may tease and flirt all the time, but know that Jax genuinely loves you. He loves the way you fight and tease back, he loves your reactions, he loves everywhere that you go. Not like he'd admit it or anything.

But, if there's anyone you're gonna get with, I'd be surprised if you choose Jax. Because believe me, around here, Valentines Day is treated like another April Fools.

[anantaru]

𝐃𝐎𝐍‘𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋

after you were trying your hardest, over and over again, to make your relationship work yet still failing in the end, you ultimately decided it‘d be better to end it with scaramouche.

୨୧ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

୨୧ WARNINGS: angst, gn! reader, mention of past intimacy between each other, break up, slight yan ?? a sprinkle, scara‘s overwhelmed and doesn‘t know how to be normal.

love.

love is kind, patient. As calm as a rural sea on a silent night.

love takes delight in the truth, in mutual understanding and trust. It never takes offense, it is not resentful.

additionally, love is able to forgive, to hope and to endure so why, why did your love fly away, with no strings and a pair of attached, imaginary wings on their back?

how often did you try to see the once shining radiant light in midst the insufferable darkness you called your relationship with scaramouche.

being guided by nothing but sorrow, you remembered that it wasn‘t always like that, was it?

as a strong believer in the saying of ”whatever you held onto about yourself will eventually come true“, you had manipulated yourself into thinking just that, which had later on caused a swell of deep hope to cover the majority of your burning heart.

you manifested for your relationship to take a sharp turn after barely overstepping each hard coming without escaping unscattered.

committing to a relationship was first and foremost, to accept each trait your significant other had, it truly didn't matter if it was good or bad as long as you were well equipped enough to be there for them.

but when does that not apply anymore?

exactly when it seemed as if you were forgetting about your own well being.

you see, you can twist and turn the narrative but in the end it was obvious that scaramouche had to work through more than 'just' a few hardships.

maybe it would be better for his own health to be alone for a while, to find his true nature and gather a newfound feeling of love towards himself before being able to hold love towards another person.

with an aching, deep throb in your heart, you opened the door to the bedroom you once shared as you spotted your boyfriend, well, soon to be ex boyfriend right away, sitting on the edge of the bed, his sight lowered towards the cold floor.

"you‘re here."

with the burn of pain those words caused alone, the idea of holding yourself back was in vein, scaramouche had you already figured out from the start so hiding the blatant truth would only feed into each negative aspect of the conversation that was developing right now.

"you told me to come, why shouldn't i be here?"

it was strange, truly, the immediate change in his usual tone was apparent, scaramouche sounded distant, as if he already knew what was coming next.

breaking away from your frozen stance, you proceeded to close the bedroom door, each small step well thought out until you were as close as necessary, proceeding.

"can you look at me?"

no matter how much you wanted to get this heartfelt decision over with, you still desired to end it properly, without leaving unanswered questions hidden which would sooner or later poke your mind, more so eat you from the inside out until nothing was left to be devoured.

for a short amount of time, he did not speak, his arms were resting on his thighs as he kept his eyes pierced towards the cold wooden floor, never daring to break away.

you gave him the time, as much as he sought after. At the back of your mind ominous darkened thoughts found refuge in, a cold spider like sensation was swarming up and down the entirety of your spine, deepening the restraint in your voice.

you watched in silence, thousands of questions prowling through your cloudy mind as he, in a trice, decided to speak up, "how ungraciously backward you can be, to force me through this."

the inner voice inside you churned through your body, desperately warning you, a dazed look of bewilderment crossing the irritated state your face was trapped in.

"what do you mean by that?"

with an attempt to keep your trembling lip under control, you gathered the soft flesh in between your teeth, only a tiny bit until the self restraint of your body returned to you.

"i mean it exactly how i said it." on a heavy sigh, he continued with a demeaning voice, the epitome of gradient turmoil blistering your heart, you absolutely despised it whenever he got to talk to you in that precise manner.

"you know my past and yet you still persist." at his final word, he at last, lifted his head to meet your glowing eyes, glowing for the wrong reasons that is as they were welling up with warm tears.

"what do you expect me to do kuni?"

scaramouche flinched at the name you decided to use, after all, it was long forgotten yet whenever you said it, whenever you referred to him with it, it sounded all the more familiar and intimate.

"nothing.. nothing."

swarmed with the view of him, your throat seized. Indigo eyes, crystallized mind, his attention on you was heavy as you decided to move forward, cautiously taking a seat next to him.

the mattress shifted of your added weight, there was no point in arguing but for some unexplained, fucked up reason, it always proceeded to end up like this.

"i never intended to hurt you, but i'm at my limit." the tears in you made your eyes glimmer, the previous confidence that was utterly dominant upon approaching the bedroom before, was long gone with your head hung low, but you still desired to finish what you had started.

"it's always the same, it will always end the same."

much to your surprise, scaramouche for once decided to listen to you. You were wary of the sudden change in mannerism but didn't complain, it gave off a pleasant way to articulate what you wanted to say to him.

"and we need to break up in order to get better."

another hesitation in your voice, he immediately noticed, his throat loosening with an approaching laugh, "oh, so that's how it is."

with a tumble forward, he got off the bed to stand tall, his shoulders tugged back in a confident stance, turning around yet again.

"you just want to cast me aside too, don't you?"

this wasn't fair, how could this possibly be fair in any other occasion?

all the preparation to this conversation, thrown aside, the burning, heartbreaking feeling was tearing you apart, as if trapped in a maze, one you couldn't escape, one that got smaller within each minute, one that would squeeze you to death by the very end.

"you don't see my point, can you at least try to understand?" the past was continuously invading the present, it was devastating.

"can i try, what?" he draws one touch on you, only one, forcefully grabbing your chin in between his fingers to make you look at him, but still keeping the contact with your skin light, as to not hurt you.

your throat grew tighter as a natural response to the once cold air becoming thicker as you spoke, each sentence alluring the feature.

silent anger, like true liquid fire but it didn't spill, he kept it to himself while only showing short nuances of the burning ache eating away his blazing core.

mindlessly sitting on the edge of terror, you bristled on the faint independence you had left in yourself.

"i will always love you, but don't you realize that right now, you're literally showing me why it won't work."

scaramouche could no longer see anything but the threat of losing you, he couldn't hear you, not anymore, his mind was at risk to collapse and break, the hand on your chin beginning to tremble.

is it possible to scream without screaming? to cry without crying or to die without dying? because to scaramouche it felt as if those things were happening to him, right this second in front of you.

"what about all those times we made love to each other, hm? does this mean nothing to you anymore?"

a tear, barely to be perceived, danced around the corner of his eye as it spilled, alone and lost, plastering the cold floor.

"or when you told me that you'll never leave like the rest of them?"

scaramouche remembered those distinct feelings within his chest now, how hysterical laughable, he thought he had long since disposed of them entirely.

yet the one you managed to awake in him was still there, like a micro organism feeding on its damaged host, eating away the spirit until death was inevitable.

the first time he had perceived those world-shattering emotions, he was cast aside by his creator, his mother.

the words you intended to say were murdered in your throat, rejected, "i don't know what to say."

each decision had a consequence laced around it, some more gruesome than the other.

"you don't have to say anything." his innermost self, his being, gathered the last courage to lock his eyes with yours before lastly letting go of your chin, straightening his posture.

you felt the chill in your blood, ice water in your veins, the silence in your ears, the death of your failing relationship. Part of the pain, you could endure.

but could he?

"i should go." with clear, pure agony in your soul, you ultimately rose up from your seat to pass him and reach the door to the exit.

he stood still, not moving an inch of his tensed muscles, letting his thoughts walk out around him, in search of something he knew he couldn't get, at least not now.

"if you think that's the end."

scaramouche didn't intend to finish his sentence to you, nor reveal it, more so did it involuntarily divulge out of him.

what he meant by that was unclear to the both of you, it lingered both unpredictability and uncertainty in the air.

something was not right but you could not decipher the darkened suspicion with your alarm bells pointing right towards them.

it was the end, like a book you closed after reading through it, even if you dared to pick it up again, nothing would change in it.

your relationship was nothing but a broken mirror within a casted ray of sunlight, damaged and split as you left at last, scrambling the final steps out of the apartment you once shared.

to turn around, to watch you go, with the world around him animating death.

passed by limitless silence, he closed his eyes, endlessly consuming the darkness that were his thoughts.

and so, it wasn‘t a tear that slowed out of him, but a hysterical laugh, side splitting and crazy, as he commented for the very last time.

"how foolish you can be, dear."

©2022 anantaru do not share, copy, translate

[dooberific]

❝𝘖𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦❞

pre release wriothesley x afab!reader

genre: nsfw (dacryphilia, creampie, idk how to finish tagging this hehe)

wc: 2.7k

summary: Despite his imposing stature, your lover is the softest and most genuine man you know. His regular praises make it seem like you hung the very stars in the sky, so why his sudden withdrawl?

There was just something different about the flowers of Fontaine. Maybe it had something to do with the land, moist plains sweeping up into sharp mountain peaks that passed a gentle breeze over the winding waterways below. The easy smell of rain, the babbling streams that fed into raging waterfalls that drenched all below in a fine mist. 

They seemed to grow a little differently, proud and tall like the Rainbow roses dotting the hillsides, their very own fine bonnets adorning their heads as their brilliant appearances dazzled passing strangers.

Perhaps that was why the simplicity of the Marcotte slipped under so many eyes, winding through life with a silent elegance and glowing smile so heartfelt and utterly kind that even the most icy of hearts would tremble under the warmth of her gaze. She would never be a rose, nor would she ever entertain the thought of it, laughing away the idea with great mirth dancing in her eyes and a grin lingering on her lips well after the encounter. 

You may never be a rose, but your simplistic and nostalgic charms had catalyzed such a violent reaction that he was sure you had hung the very sun in the sky, elevating its position as a kindness for your own radiance far out shone the largest star in the Teyvat sky. 

But if you were the Marcotte, so delicate and pure, then what was he? Surely he was nothing but a weed in the garden of the gods, a wicked thing who rose from the dirt to strangle the life out of the pretty and soft things around. There was a trail of battered roses in his wake, resentful that the weed had never blossomed into something worthwhile as they had dreamed, that it had spent their precious time, basked in their light, and then left them to wither away in anger. 

But the Marcotte was wild and resilient, your unbreakable and hearty spirit more than strong enough to carry your own burdens with grace and dignity even before you had unfurled your brilliant petals. 

Pure and wild chased by the impure and plotting.

You should resent him for his wickedness, his impudence to dare stand under the same sun as you. He couldn’t help himself, he was little more than a moth drawn to a flame, a weed that kept creeping back into the garden. How long had he waited, chasing fleeting images and the feeling a hand could never hope to emulate, before your own interests had become so entranced that you allowed him closer? 

He would swear it was all unintentional from the beginning, that it had all started as a draw to your magnetic personality. Fleeting kisses of parting after he walked you home at night giving way to deeper intentions as he cornered you against the door and indulged you a little more intimately. The wet slide of his tongue into your mouth, the firmness of his hands trailing down your sides and toying with the hem of your shirt. The little whines from your lips as your fingers carded through his hair, a sting in your calves from standing on your toes as his chapped lips ravaged your neck, your body pressed flush to his own. 

It was such a natural progression until it suddenly wasn’t. Kisses left broken as he hastily departed, a harsh flush creeping to his ears as he apologized and took his leave. The onset of his behavior had left your head spinning with questions. Had you done something wrong? He never acted strangely about you until those last and most private moments together, maybe his interest was waning? If you had grown boring you would understand, it wasn’t like your job or life were particularly riveting—

Too many unasked questions, and too much sleep lost. You were not so shy or proud to confront an issue head on, and while Wriothesley loved that trait of your personality he loved it a little less when it was weaponized against him as you stood at his door, a finger pressed to his lips and a stern yet wary look in your eyes as you shushed his questions and gave him a piece of your own mind.

He really was nothing short of a weed, too cowardly to have confronted the issue before it had become a problem. He was a liar, unable to hold your burning gaze as he forced some half-assed excuse past his lips. He certainly could not tell you that his hasty departures had been the product of your evening rendezvouses which simply stoked the fire that the all consuming thoughts of you kept burning in his veins, of the perverse feeling stirred by the lovesick look in your eyes that was increasingly hard to resist. There would be no kindness in those pretty eyes should you know that he could barely touch you now without getting hard, that a moment too long basking in your presence would surely have him cumming in his pants with the same choked gasp that he so poorly suppressed as he jerked himself off later fantasizing your pretty cunt wrapped around him. 

There was no question of want, he needed you. He needed to defile you with every dirty thought that ever dizzied his head, to have you fucked dumb on his cock and begging for more because you knew he couldn’t resist. What a shitty lover he felt like, having let you think you had ever done a thing wrong when it was just his own self disgust that he couldn’t keep it together that was wedging you apart. 

Maybe just once he could show you, and if you hated him for it he could beg for your forgiveness. Just this once he would kiss you like always, whispers of reassurance passing between you that there was nothing wrong with you, you were perfect. Just this once would he not fight the onslaught of debauched feelings that flooded him the moment you sighed against his lips, parting your own at the gentle tease of his tongue. He would kiss you deeply and with no regrets or holds, making your head spin from the lack of oxygen as the feeling of his warm hands settling on your body as he pressed you against the wall. He wouldn’t make some shitty excuse to leave when he felt his pants tighten, nor would he apologize for the moment he grinded his hips deeply against your own in search of that heavenly bit of friction only you could provide. 

He swallowed your surprised gasp, hell bent on smothering you with every ounce of his affection with sloppy kisses and a tangle of tongue. One hand settled at the nape of your neck anchoring you to him as the other hooked under your thigh, drawing it up to rest at his hip as he pressed deeper between your legs and you whimpered at the roll of his hips against the apex of your thighs. 

He broke away from your lips, his forehead pressed flush to your own. Your cheeks were tinged pink, eyes dazed as your lip quivered from the greedy breaths you sucked in. His voice was deeper, huskier and tainted with lust.

“I want you.” 

Your own voice was shaky as you replied.

“Then you may have me.”

Your sheer stockings and well pressed skirts were hardly more than heaps of fabric on his floor, pearl buttons of your blouse scattered if not clinging to mere threads. A blind stumble through the house had left a trail of what was easiest to remove. Had it not been for his insistence to do right by you and take you in his bed he was assured he would have bent you over the nearest surface and had his way with you. 

He swore deeply to any archon that would listen that he would be the most devout follower should they let him remember your disheveled look in the clearest of details, from the smear of your lipstick and the swollen lips he had indulged himself in to the sweeping curves of your body that he had marred with his teeth which now burned the angry red of ruptured capillaries. His kisses were smothering as his hands explored every inch of newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of chills from his cold fingers. He was a gentleman even in the most dirty of moments, all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as he waited for you confirmation as if he was still hesitant to think it anymore than a vivid dream to unclip your bra and lathe his tongue over the delicate flesh beneath, to drag his fingers over the soaked fabric of your panties and press his thumb harshly against that little bud of flesh that made your hips jerk in his grasp.

He was sure the sinful noise that parted your lips the moment he pressed your panties aside and flattened his tongue against your weeping cunt had been permanently seared into his brain right alongside the taste of you. The clamp of your pretty thighs against the side of his head only encouraged his efforts, calloused hands easily prying you open as he tongue teased past your lips and his nose pressed against your clit. Your shaky cries that it was too much fell on deaf ears, your fingers fisting into his hair to pull him off a stark contrast to the way your pretty hips grinded against his face begging for more. 

He wasn’t so heartless to stop when he knew what was best for you. It wasn’t like you knew, and the flush on your cheeks as you had so softly admitted to him your intact virginity had him questioning if you had ever pleasured yourself at all. It was his duty now to show you what needed, to strip you of every ounce of purity, to fuck you so good you would never consider another man to be capable. 

You could taste yourself on his lips, a bitter combination lost quickly on your mind as he dragged your panties down and pressed his calloused fingers into your cunt. His fingers felt thick and rough as he gave a few experimental pumps into your wet heat before burying them to the knuckle and curling them into your walls, relishing the heady cry that escaped your body as your hips canted into his palm.

“Fuck, baby, so fucking tight.” He groaned into your lips, his fingers scissoring you open as he set a brutal pace to loosen you up, the rough pad of his thumb circling and teasing your clit as the wet sound of your cunt met his ears. 

“Wrio, please I-,” You choked out, arms wrapping around his neck as the wave of molten lust that clogged your veins and made your stomach twist so delightfully became unbearable. 

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His words, low and reassuring in your ear, were the last straw as he fingerfucked you into an orgasm. Your whole body buzzed as you cried out sharply, your face buried into his neck as you came on his fingers, thighs clamped desperately around his hand as your entire body quivered. 

Your dearest lover Wriothesley felt safe and warm as he settled over your boneless body, gentle kisses pressing away the tears that had streaked down your cheeks from a pleasure never before indulged in. Any notion of vulnerability or embarrassment had been stripped away, replaced by the simple thought that his fingers seemed to intertwine so perfectly with your own just as his body seemed to slot so perfectly between your legs, as if he were some piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realized you were missing.

It was that sense of utter completion that overwhelmed you as his cockhead teased your entrance, the sense of the intrusion so much you forgot to breathe as your body trembled. You could feel every engorged vein, every ridge that bullied deeper into your cunt with the slow roll of his hips, how heavily he was pressed inside you. 

He hissed at the feeling, how tightly you still wrapped around him. His grip on your hips was bruising, a vain attempt to ground himself in the moment of the realization of his most hedonistic desires and the simple truth that you were so much fucking better than he could have ever dreamed. 

He fucked you deep and slow, reveling in the little sounds you made only for his ears, the gentle begging of his name in a tone reserved just for him. An exchange of sloppy kisses left your head spinning, his cock nestled deep in your womb, every slow thrust teasing that spongy spot inside that made your walls tighten and your legs quiver.

He was so kind, even as he felt that last of his composure slipping with the breathy whisper pressed to his ear that he could have his way with you. It had to be that look of glowing adoration in your eyes as you stared up at him, body rocking gently with each thrust as he made love to you, but he could be good for you just this once.

Just this once to press a kiss to the inside of your knee as he practically folded you in half. Just this once, to intertwine your fingers as he bottomed out in you with one smooth motion. Just this once to fuck you like he really meant it, to watch your eyes gloss over and tears pool at your lashline. Just this once, yet a thousand times over, another lie he would tell himself as if he wouldn’t pound you into his mattress until you couldn’t walk if you asked for it. 

Your fingernails scraped harshly against his skin, your own little desperate cling to reality. You didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any deeper, finding it hard to breathe at the new angle as you were certain he was well into your guts by now. Your mind was utterly blank, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he fucked you with a new fervor as if to shape your insides to only remember the feeling of him. That heated, gut twisting sensation had rebuilt and teetered dangerously on the brink of collapse just as quickly.

He could tell you were close, your words slurring into an incoherent babble of his name. He could practically feel you tighten around him, willing him to finish you off as he leaned forward. 

“That’s my girl, cum for me.”

He kissed you, muffling the sharp whine you released as that familiar heat snapped violently in your gut. The harsh pull of your pussy was too much for him to resist, his hips stuttering as his teeth sank into your lower lip. It was a hot, sticky and overwhelming feeling that rested deep in your womb as he slowly fucked his seed into you, the taste of iron seeping into your mouth. 

He looked apologetic as his thumb swiped away the bead of blood forming on the vermillion of your freshly busted lip, but you had no heart to be angry when you met his glowing and tired eyes. There was a tremble to his arms as he effectively collapsed on top of you, trapping you under his weight. Your heartbeat was steady in his ear, your fingers tangling in his mussed hair. You could practically feel his entire body relax under your touch, hear his breathing slow.

“You don’t intend to sleep like this, do you?” You cringed at how hoarse you sounded. 

“I’m never opposed to this if it’s with you.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “But I should clean you up.” 

It was a hollowing feeling, the loss of his dick that had been seated so firmly within your walls that you subconsciously clenched around nothing. You watched in silent surprise as a trail of fluids weeped from your used cunt and spilled onto the bed, a sense of abject horror striking as you caught the burning gaze of your lover locked onto the sight as well. You clamped your legs shut, shrieking as he easily pried you apart once more, his fingers scooping the viscous liquid back up and pressing it back into your pussy as you hissed at the sensation.

All at once he grabbed your ankles, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. You propped onto your elbows, staring down his re-hardened cock that lay hot, heavy, and twitching against your hips before flickering up to his flushed cheeks.

 “I'm sorry, baby, let me indulge in you just a bit longer.” 

Rey, 2023

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece masterlist ౨ৎ

[ keep safe series ] // ongoing, romantic undertones, slow burn, future angst, comedic

-> "it's beautiful, how this deep normality settles down over me. i'm not bored or unhappy. i'm still so strange and wild. you're in the wind, i'm in the water. nobody's son, nobody's daughter." or, joining the strawhat pirates as luffy's childhood friend allows you to make memorie with people who started as strangers, but then became your loved ones.

playlist

๑ prologue

๑ the cursed orphan enters 彡 alabasta arc begins

๑ [name] joins the strawhats

๑ just a friendly competition...right?

๑ heartfelt conversations with a chef

๑ coffee beans

๑ i'm gonna freeze my balls off

๑ i'm gonna freeze my balls off, pt. 2

๑ crimson red icicles

๑ luffy's innate instincts (a hum of the heart)

๑ new crewmate, tony tony chopper

๑ his hand on his ankle

๑ don't you know? "lover" outweights "boyfriend"

๑ i'll kill you, i'll really kill you

๑ "together in chaos."

๑ zoro being annoyed at his captain and [name]

๑ mr. prince and mr. executioner

๑ the dogs are hounding on [name]

๑ wings that made [name] fly

๑ see you later, vivi!

❔[NAME] WIKI - ALABASTA ARC ENDS

๑ more in common than you'd think 彡 skypiea arc begins

๑ robin and [name] make a good team!

๑ we made it!

๑ [name] wants to adopt suu!

๑ that god guy thing

๑ strawhat adventure team, go!

๑ chopper's crown

๑ put a face to the name

๑ mummified [name]

-> frequently used tags:

#≡;- ꒰ ° keep safe series ꒱

#ks

#one piece fanfic

#one piece fanfiction

DOMESTICITY series // based off of keep safe characters/relationships, but can be read as standalone one shots

ꔛ sanji's special dessert -> he prepares a dessert only for you since he knows your likes and dislikes

ꔛ a shared interest among swordsmen -> rare moments of peace and quiet with zoro

ꔛ nami is working, don't interrupt -> she doesn't mind the company, especially if you're peeling her tangerines

ꔛ usopp and [name]'s conversation -> heart to heart

one piece [ smau ] // social media au

ପ strawhats misc. edition

ପ dating luffy edition

ପ dating nami edition

ପ dating sanji edition

ପ strawhat vacation edition

ପ dating zoro edition

ପ dating usopp edition

ପ dating vivi edition

ପ married to law edition

ପ married to franky edition

ପ married to robin edition

ପ dating eustass kid edition

ପ married to doflamingo edition

ପ dating ace edition

ପ married to marco edition

ପ dating sabo edition

-> frequently used tags:

#≡;- ꒰ ° smau series ꒱

#one piece smau

#one piece modern au

[ yandere ]

જ yandere zoro headcanons

જ yandere sanji headcanons

જ soft yandere luffy

જ yandere luffy

-> frequently used tags:

#≡;- ꒰ ° yandere series ꒱

#≡;- ꒰ ° yandere headcanons ꒱

[ drabbles // one shots // headcanons ]

ꔛ playlist : tender by blur [ luffy x male reader ] // based off of keep safe characters, but can read as a standalone one shot. small hints of yandere luffy. // snippet of pt.2

-> tender is the night, lying by your side. tender is the touch of someone that you love too much. tender is my heart. i'm screwing up my life. lord i need someone to who can heal my mind, or luffy and reader reminisce about their childhood memories while cuddling in merry's crow's nest.

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SUGAR DADDY series

ꔛ in a world of boys, he's a gentleman, nami x SD male reader

ꔛ pass the test, nami x SD male reader, the one where he meets nami's friends

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ꔛ shanks being your doting boyfriend

ꔛ random sanji headcanons

ꔛ sanji has a crush on you ♡︎

ꔛ halloween with the strawhats [platonic]

ꔛ a day in the life as a strawhat [platonic]

ꔛ rockstar ! tragalar law headcanons

ꔛ me psychoanalyzing sanji x male reader

ꔛ random individual headcanons ; includes, law, luffy and zoro

ꔛ the type of man . . .

[kenneduck]

Would your Yona also have feelings for Link? Or perhaps she sees him as a good friend? Would Sidon get jealous seeing Link ride HER in the water lol

Hmm, so I've been hesitant to answer this, but I kind of want to! I'll just say that what I'm GOING to say isn't canon for Secret Confessions when it comes to Link, but this is how I like to write her character, and to make full sense of it, I'll just say how I imagine both Yona's relationships w/ Sidon and Link here...

Yona I imagine was a childhood friend of Sidon, who met him through her family member, Muzu. As she's from the same domain Muzu/Dorephan was from originaly before Dorephan married Sidon/Mipha's mother and moved into the Hyrule Zora's Domain. Yona was there to comfort Sidon after he lost Mipha, as the two both mourned her and leaned on each other. Though, the two spent less time together as Sidon grew older, so their romantic feelings didn't grow until after their arranged marriage.

I HC Yona to be like demiromantic + asexual, so I view Yona and Sidon's romance differently than Sidon and Link's. Yona loves Sidon as her husband. Her love for him is strong, and she feels so safe in his arms and by his side. She didn't have romantic feelings for him when they were first arranged, but he's just so charismatic and lovable, and quite honestly funny. In a way Yona didn't get to see much when he was younger. She can't get over how much heart he's grown to have, but still manage to be the most lovable ditz in her life. She worried at first with the marriage that it would be nothing more than a political one, especially as she grew very aware of Sidon's blatant attraction for his dearest friend, but she quickly realized how big his heart was. That she also had a place in it. Sidon fell in love with Yona's comfort, her genuine care, and the way she's able to speak so heartfelt with such ease and consideration. She's the smartest person he knows, and he's so happy that she's the Zora Queen. He also loves how cuddly she is, and that when the two are alone, it's spent in each others arms. She's so comforting.

After Link joins the picture, Yona is more than happy to see Sidon's heart full. That, and she most definitely can enjoy breaks from her husband, and even though she enjoys his cuddles and endless compliments, she also enjoys her alone time. She also feels glad that Sidon has someone that... loves him in a way she doesn't. She's never felt pressured by Sidon to be intimate. Even with him always explaining his love for her isn't defined by intimacy, she's found herself guilty for not loving Sidon in that way. The first time she spots a Zora bite on Link, she's overwhelmed with laughter. She's happy, and Link clearly is too, as he isn't trying to hide it at all. Yona feels a weight of sort off her shoulders from this... so thankfully Link had a mark on his LMAO.

When it comes to sleeping arrangements, if Link is there that night, the three share a bed in Sidon and Yona's quarters that is big enough for the three. Where Link and Yona sandwich Sidon between them, and the three cuddle the night away. Yona, at first, is cautious about sticking to her side of the bed. She wants to avoid Link, not because she dislikes him, but she knows he loves Sidon, not her. She doesn't mind sticking to her side of the bed, but one morning when she wakes up to Link cuddling her and Sidon snoring on the other side of Link, she's overwhelmed. Though, she strangely feels comforted, and she quite enjoys it, which only causes her alarm and she gently unwraps Link around her. This happens a few times, and Yona feels a bit confused at the experiences. She doesn't DISLIKE them, but she also feels a bit guilty when she admits she is finding Link quite comforting in the way she finds Sidon.

Yona finds herself giggling more at Link's feral like behaviors. Finding herself blushing a bit when Link and Sidon swim around the reservoir. When she and Link talk alone, she feels a comfort that leaves her confused. She wants to know more, be around him more, but she knows that isn't what Link wants.

But again, one morning after she wakes up, she's met with Sidon on the other side of Link. Sidon is awake, and with Yona's movements, Link awakens, too. Yona expects Link to give his usual morning kiss to Sidon, but with Link used to Sidon being to his left, he, without opening his eyes, gives Yona a peck, leaving Sidon AND Yona both confused and speechless. Link opens his eyes to the sight, and immediately apologizes, turning redder than Sidon. Yona explains all is well, but her heart is racing, and she's overwhelmed because she LIKED the kiss, and with her guilt, she runs out.

Later that day, Link meets Yona alone, and he apologizes for the morning. Link noticed Yona hadn't returned from the reservoir, and knew this accidental kiss was something they wouldn't just forget about. When Link apologizes, Yona apologizes too, as she admits she liked it, and that she apologizes for falling for Link, too. Link is silent for what feels like a long time. But when he walks over to Yona and hugs her, she's surprised. Link admits he's grown his own love for Yona with their time spent together. It's different than his love for Sidon, but it's more than just as a friend. He does love her, and he's sorry for the kiss, but if she's okay with it, he'd like to make a proper kiss next time. To which Yona agrees, and the two kiss again.

Sidon of fucking course is overly excited at the news, as this presents so many more cuddling and date options. The three get along swimmingly, and well, Sidon wouldn't get jealous of Link swimming on Yona's back. He'd just be waiting impatiently for his turn LMAO.

[invinciblerodent]

So, uh.... my boy has finally got a boyfriend, I finally got Gale's second romance scene, and... man. I have a LOT of thoughts and feelings, and woefully few words to describe them. (But I'll try to keep it vague, lol.)

I honestly love how the writers didn't shy away from writing this to be something so earnestly, unapologetically STRANGE, but so heartfelt and romantic. That Weave scene, while it sounds weird on paper, I honestly don't think I've seen a romance scene that was more representative of a character before. I already felt like I related to Gale quite a bit, but now, I feel like I see him on almost a whole new level. Now, he showed just how deeply INTENSE a man he is.

Yeah, there is a bit of showboating in him (though I've always kinda seen that as less of a "look how awesome I am" and more a "look how useful I can be, please like me"), and overall he presented a pretty restrained image- but now, with that recolored by this, I feel like it all goes to show how he really just YEARNS for someone to know him. It most shows in how after telling him that you love him too, he immediately throws all his doors open, invites you in, whisks you away to the part of the world that feels most meaningful to him, shows you all that he feels important- the Weave included.

He wants to show you everything, to share all that he feels is himself with you, be DEEPLY, INTIMATELY KNOWN by you... and he just wants to GIVE you so much, show you so much love, so much pleasure, so much OF HIMSELF, that just one set of limbs, just one of him isn't even enough! He wants to melt into you, hold you with more limbs than a human could ever possess, become one with you and give you all that he is while taking in all that you are...!!!!

And all he wants in return is that you accept him, with a his... unusual, eager, awkward, kind, smart-mouthed, somewhat melodramatic, loving, silly, deeply DEVOTED self, and his love that feels so vast, he wouldn't be able to fully express it even if there were three of him. This man is so full of love for you, he's all but bursting at the seams.

I feel... emotional. I don't think I've ever been THIS moved by a video game love scene (I can't even bring myself to call it a sex scene, these mfs didn't just have sex, they made love), like I know that feeling!!!! I've FELT that before!!!!! And I, as myself, a person, not as someone roleplaying a character, felt weirdly SEEN just now!!!!

I'm just overall very impressed.

.... Oh, and the way he drops on one knee to kiss his new, dwarfy boyfriend? Just adorable. I know all companions do that when they touch a shorter player character (I still love the way Karlach crumpled into my boy's arms in the hug scene), but it still feels kinda special.

(You just know these two assholes are going to be so deeply OBNOXIOUS about being in love. Like yes, they already were, but now that they know their feelings are mutual, they'll be like... fkin holding hands while traveling, and cuddling by the fire, and all that cutesy shit. God, I'm so endeared.)

[cuffmeinblack]

From the prompt list

13,18 with Ominis?

A certain necklace of a certain aunt Noctua being gifted to a certain someone as a token of love and to remind others to back off?

Parting gift

Ominis Gaunt x gn!reader

Tags: fluff

850 words

"oh, shit. I'm in love with you??" prompt: 18. having them give something of importance to them for you, as a gift

A/n: Thank you for the prompt (and the gif)! I chose 18 for this one. He's a bloody romantic and you can't stop meeeeeeeeeeee.

Ominis had been acting strangely as you approached the end of your time at Hogwarts. The way he'd fiddle with his wand and become lost in thought couldn't be attributed to your examinations now that they were over. He'd secured a job, all was well, so why was he so distracted?

The nervous energy that radiated off of him was catching and set you on edge when you were alone with him. More often than not, you'd end up watching his movements, occasionally losing yourself in his turbulent eyes, wondering just what was bothering him.

You'd tried to ask him, of course, but he'd so far managed to brush off your enquiries. Even Sebastian had thus far been unable to draw an answer out of him. Perhaps a drop of veritaserum in his morning tea would loosen his tongue, you thought idly.

When finally he admitted what he'd been ruminating, it was the last day of term. Celebrations were being had all about the castle and tearful goodbyes exchanged. You had promised to write to Sebastian, as often as you could whilst you were travelling, earning you a heartfelt embrace, but the words didn't seem to elicit the same response from Ominis.

"I'm...not thrilled at the prospect of you being alone on your travels," he admitted.

"Are you worried? I'm more than capable of facing whatever is out there."

Ominis shook his head, whether in disbelief or to convey a misunderstanding, you weren't sure. His hand delved into the coat of his blazer, pulling out a familiar silver chain, draped over his delicate fingers. After a second of contemplation as he brushed the locket with his thumb, he held it out in the palm of his hand.

"Take this with you. For me?"

Reaching forward, you picked up the delicate chain, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you brushed his warm skin. It was beautiful, understated and too precious for you to keep.

"This was your aunt's? I can't take this, Ominis."

"Why ever not? Please, I wish you to have it."

The large opal in the centre of the locket glittered in the waning light, and you turned it over to run your fingers over the Gaunt family crest with a sigh. Returning your gaze to your dear friend, you noticed he finally seemed at peace; his hands clasped in front of him and face relaxed with no hint of a frown.

He been so eager to gift this to you, for reasons you couldn't fathom. His cloudy blue eyes held no answers, but you searched them anyway as your heart raced and a blush crept onto your cheeks. Ominis had always been generous in how he bestowed thoughtful gestures, though you now realised that you'd been their only recipient.

"This is...this is a family heirloom, Ominis. I know you don't care much for your family traditions but..."

"That is exactly the point, you see. I had hoped that one day you...," he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his train of thought. "Take it with you, so that perhaps you might think of me. When you return I'll be waiting. You may return it then, unless of course you'd prefer not to."

You almost laughed at the thought of needing a trinket to think of him. You'd be thinking of him regardless, though you were no longer sure exactly how. Was he just a friend if the thought of being apart from him illicited such a deep sense of dread? That the jewellery now clasped tightly in your palm radiated comfort and quelled the longing which you already anticipated?

He cared enough to give you something so precious, which spoke volumes of his character and how he really felt for you. You'd been blind to his affections until this moment, and the sharp inhale of breath you took as the realisation hit you sent a ripple through the air between you.

"Do you understand?" Ominis asked quietly.

"Yes, I do."

You stepped towards him, gently brushing the back of his hand as he tilted his head towards the sound of your heavy breathing. Picking up his his hand, you turned it over and placed the locket in his palm, a pained expression crossing his face until you spoke.

"Could you help me put it on?"

Ominis smiled in relief, feeling the chain to find the delicate clasp as you turned to face away from him, exposing your neck. His featherlight touch glided over your exposed skin, tracing your spine before circling around to the side as he brought the necklace in front of you. Your fingertips glided over the opal as it lay perfectly just below your collarbone, turning back towards Ominis and gasping at how close he'd become.

"Ominis, I don't need this to think of you, but I'll take it with me," you whispered.

"Thank you. It's comforting to know you'll have something of me."

"May I ask for something else to take with me?" you asked, a sudden boldness overcoming you.

"Of course, what is it?" Ominis replied, tilting his head in question.

"A kiss."

[akutasoda]

hiii!! Have you heard of the song ‘Dial Drunk’? It’s becoming my comfort song so-

reader who uses alcohol to cope and will just randomly call them crying asking to be taken back? Even if they’re still in a relationship? I’d say it’s because reader might see them as someone from a past relationship cause reader can’t get over them yet?

(with Dazai, chuuya, atsushi, Fyodor, and kunikida? + anyone you want!)

-🌀Anon!

blank memories

synopsis - feelings are strange and often become more prominent in certain circumstances

includes - atsushi, dazai, kunikida, chuuya, fyodor

warnings - gn!reader, angst, slight comfort, quite heavy, alcohol, mention of underage drinking, fyodor being horrible with emotions, wc - 720

atsushi nakajima ★↷

as someone who only wants the best for his partner, would be absolutely so sad to see you in such a state. but seeing the fact that you're with him would probably mean your close to his age - so that would be even worse for him to see.

and getting any kind of phone call from you and seeing you so upset would mean he's dropping everything he was doing and going straight to you to comfort you.

would want nothing more than to help you and maybe get you out of using alcohol to cope, telling you that he would always be there to help and support you in whatever way you wanted

no matter the reason he would try his absolute hardest to help you. afterall he believes you deserve everything and seeing you like that breaks his heart.

osamu dazai ★↷

a man who personally and very id very much ashamed of it, but had turned to the bottle a couple of times when feeling particularly low. but that all changed when he had met you, you finally gave him a reason to attempt to crawl out of his bad habits.

but throughout the relationship he could tell something was slightly off but respected your privacy and wouldn't pry.

but when he found out about your habit it pained him deeply as he knew all to painfully what you were feeling. to receive a phone call from the one of the only people who bring him happiness sounding so distraught made his heart ache.

he would want nothing to comfort you in times of need but unfortunately he was never all too good eith his own feelings, let alone another persons. but he'd be damned if he didn't try and help you in the ways you've helped him. whatever the reason for you to turn to the bottle he would try his best to help you.

doppo kunikida ★↷

would only ever touch a bottle of alcohol in celebration or, very rarely, in times of desperation. although he heavily strays from the second as he knows how bad it is and wants to avoid it at all costs.

receiving that drunken call from you did nothing but break his heart even if you two were still together. would try and comfort you in whatever way possible and whatever the reason that you told him he would still offer nothing but support.

wouldn't openly tell you how much he hated your way of coping but would try and slowly gett you to stop and find another way around, with your consent of course.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

yet another who is no stranger to turning to the bottle in his darkest times. sure he does openly drink but it is never in serious amounts unless its really rough. and he knows, and he's not proud of it.

so receiving that phone call from you in the middle if the night, he couldn't help but feel himself be nearly brought to tears at your drunken, distraught cry to be taken back despite nothing between you two being off. what made it even more painful for him was knowing exactly how you felt.

now he knew he wasn't one to criticise your habits but maybe you two could figure it out, get both if you off the habit and do nothing but be there for each other. whatever the reason for your habit he would listen and offer his most heartfelt advice.

fyodor dostoevsky ★↷

someone who would rarely even think about touching a bottle of alcohol. not only does he just hate the idea but he hasn't really got a healthy body. so alcohol normally is out of the question for him.

but that's mainly because he isn't a fan of it, so seeing you resort to something like that msde him feel something he didn't want to feel. and receiving that phone call definitely didn't help. wouldn't immediately comfort you because he's kind of hopeless in that area.

but would talk about it with you later, once you sobered up and agreed to talk about it. would try to support you, again he's not that good with emotions but tries his hardest for you and hates to see you resort to alcohol and really wants to get you to find a new way if coping. a better one.

[undiscovered-horizon]

(tw for mentions of nudity)

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[After days of travelling, fighting and sleeping on rocks, a rest at a tavern is well-earned. Not feeling up to taste the nightlife with your friends, Halsin and you retire early. The evening turns into something heartfelt and domestic as you wash his hair and hum a song he's grown all too familiar with.]

The hot water against your skin is pleasant enough to elicit a chuckle of euphoria from you. It seems like a lifetime ago that you last had a warm bath. In some way, it was.

People downstairs are making good use of their money, time and energy - that you're sure of. Their music and laughter resound brightly but it's muffled by the walls and floors of the tavern, making it sound like the party is not mere meters below you but entire worlds away; almost like a memory of a banquet you're desperately trying to recall.

Despite not being used to the comforts of the city, Halsin was quick to accept your offer of shared bath. Perhaps it was the sharing part, more than the bath, that had convinced him. In any event, his broad back is resting against your chest, although judging by the minimal weight put on your body, you know he's holding back in fear of hurting you. Maybe one day you'll manage to get your point across that you would love to be smothered by the weight of his body.

As your thoughts wander further and further, you don't notice the soft melody escaping your lips. But Halsin does and the enigma of the tune he's grown to associate with you only makes him crack under the burning curiosity:

"You often hum this song to yourself. What is it?"

Only then do you finally hear your own voice. Have you really made a habit out of this? Suddenly flustered, your cheeks begin to burn. You've done nothing wrong and yet you feel embarrassed like a juvenile petty thief.

"It's something the washwomen back home used to sing while working," you explain awkwardly. In an attempt to steer away from the conversation, you reach for the cup next to the washtub. You did, after all, promise to wash his hair. "The river carried their voices, making the song audible pretty much everywhere."

"Would you mind singing it for me?" he asks, hesitance vibrant in his voice. Halsin must have noticed your sudden timidness and didn't want to push on but some part of him longed to hear the song so deeply ingrained in your mind.

You clear your throat. The lyrics first leave your mouth in a shaky voice, unsure whether your singing is pleasant enough for Halsin to want to actually hear it, but soon you let the comfort of the well-known melody take over your hesitant mind.

In my garden grows a rose Little Mania, go water my horse I can’t, I won’t, I’m afraid of the horse I fear the horse because I’m young

Halsin lets out a quiet sigh of relief as you pour the warm water over his hair. He smells of pine needles, sweat and mud but it's a good smell - it's the smell of someone who survived. And considering the strange course your life has taken these past few months, staying alive is the best thing that can happen.

In my garden grows rosemary Tell me, Mania, who’s the one that charmed you? Johnny’s eyes, Johnny’s eyes For they fell in love with my heart so much

The druid feels... odd. Not in the bad sense, of course. Perhaps "unfamiliar" would be a better descriptor. He's not used to having someone care for him in such an intimate, selfless way. After suffering so many losses in his life, Halsin doesn't quite know how to comfortably enjoy a triumph of sorts. Underneath the superficial pleasure and indulgement, lies a bottomless ocean of anxiety. Part of him expects this love to be short-lived like most affections in his long life.

His senses are overtaken by the dizzying aroma of lavender and rosemary as you carefully brush the oils through his hair.

In my garden grows a berry Tell me, little Mania, were you young? I was as young as a berry in the woods Like a berry in the woods, my love

Halsin doesn't often let himself dream and fantasise. It's better to expect nothing than to allow unrealistic scenarios to break his heart. However tonight, in the twilight of the chamber and with your soft breaths brushing against his neck, he lets his thoughts explore:

Years from now, if both of you manage to survive the upcoming series of misadventures, would this bathing be part of a routine? Dare he picture - after having put your children to sleep, would you regularly brush your fingers through his hair? Would you allow him to do the same for you? Just when he thought his heart could not swell more, the fantasy of a domestic life by your side made him ache. Something so sweet, something he's inhumanly desperate for, appears both out of reach and as the cure for his soul.

A thrilling shiver overtakes his body as he feels your nails gently scratch his scalp.

In my garden grows a lilly Tell me, little Mania, will you be mine? How do I know and tell you? How do I know if my mother will give me away?

Hot water is poured over his hair again. It feels just as good as it did before, if not better. The tension in his muscles dissipates, along with the soreness of day-long hikes over mountains and fields.

Then, Halsin feels your arms wrap around his midsection, your bare chest flush against his back. The hug is tight enough for him to be overly aware of the way your torso moves as you breathe calmly. Soft exhales brush against the warm skin of his shoulder. Perhaps it sounds a little cheesy, but to the druid, your smaller frame fits his bigger one perfectly.

Is this what being loved feels like?

"I know you're a man of virtue and honesty, my love," you murmur against his shoulder, "but can we lie a little and pretend we're still soiled and stay in here for a moment longer?"

His body shakes slightly as a chuckle rumbles in his chest. It still feels hardly believable that someone of your sort to seek his companionship. If he ever rejects your affections, he will have to be under a powerful curse.

"It brings my heart much joy to know you hold me in such high regard," he answers. One of his hands reaches for your palm, cradling it with almost fearful carefulness. Then, in an equally tender manner, Halsin places a chaste peck on the inside of your wrist. "Albeit, I am also faithful to nature."

You giggle when Halsin captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He's quick to turn around, water spilling out of the washtub, and trap you underneath him.

__

Gale's version right here!!

[itsabouttimex2]

A Brand New Journey:

Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

“…hey, MK.” Pigsy’s voice snaps MK out of his stupor, causing the boy to whip around and face him. Looking for a chance to get out of doing chores, he throws the mop in his hands aside and eagerly heads over to the counter his boss is standing at. “Yeah, Pigsy? Something up?”

The chef wipes his hands on the towel around his waist, freeing them of sweat and grease. Then he snatches up the leatherbound book that you left behind, flipping through the pages.

“Y/N left one of their books behind,” he says, his brows slowly knitting themselves together. “Musta been in a real rush. You mind holding onto it til they come by again?”

“Yeah, sure! Give it here!”

MK grabs his boss’s shoulder with both hands, hauling himself up and over it to snatch the hardback from him. Slipping off of Pigsy without much grace, MK plops himself onto a stool and throws open the pages.

Though he’s eager to start reading it, the delivery boy notably slows down when he sees the precise, neat handwriting within. Several anatomical illustrations are paired with the pages, pointing out the weaknesses; both confirmed and theoretical, of every character in the tome.

“Looks like your friend’s been hard at work, kid. Maybe it’s some kind of school project?”

Flipping a page further, the delivery boy takes note of what you’ve been using to hold you place.

MK holds up your book in confusion, pulling the strange bookmark from between the pages. Holding it between two fingers, he shows it to his boss.

“Whatcha got there, MK? Is that a piece of your bandana?”

“Uh, it’s not mine. It was in Y/N’s book. They’ve got this real dirty… cloth… thing? And I think they’re using it as some kinda nasty bookmark.” MK waves it around erratically, watching the tattered cloth dance like ribbon as he pulls it this way and that.

“Hey- stop fiddling with it, kid! It might be important to Y/N!”

“I don’t think so, Pigsy. It kinda just looks like… I dunno, garbage? Maybe I should replace it for them. I mean, finding something better than this can’t be so hard-“

“Kid, listen- Y/N ain’t a ‘just cause’ sorta person. If they’re using this beaten up old… rag, then it’s probably important to them. Just put it back before the thing tears.”

Conceding Pigsy’s point, MK replaces the tattered red fabric in it’s former position, snapping the heavy tome shut to keep it from falling out.

“Well… I guess I’ve gotta go find a safe place to put this in my room, like… real soon- laterPigsybyeee!”

“What- hey, MK! Get back here! You still have to mop the floors!”

———————————————————————

“This book is absolutely one of kind. I made it myself, actually. Promise me that you’ll take good care of it.”

“Of course I will,” you had quickly declared, taking the weighty novel carefully into both of your hands. “If it’s important to you, then I’ll definitely keep it safe!

“Why would it be important to me? It’s yours to keep. It’s a gift, Y/N.”

A gift. It had been a gift. You would have been beside yourself with worry and shame to know you had left something so precious and heartfelt behind, sitting on the counter for anyone to take if they pleased.

You would be beside yourself right now… if you had noticed.

As it stood, you simply trekked on through the slowly dimming streets, barely noticing how light your backpack was without the book inside.

There was a little bit too much on your mind right now to notice something so inconsequential. You had downed your noodles and rushed out the door the moment you realized that your concealer was flaking away.

It’s not that you didn’t trust MK and Pigsy with seeing your bruises- in all honestly, you worried that they might get the wrong idea and try to intervene in some way.

Before you took to wearing concealer, there had been more than a few concerned strangers that had pulled you aside and offered help, directing you to several sources of aid- and no amount of explanation soothed their worries.

In an attempt prevent drawing any further attention to yourself, you had turned to using makeup, freshly painting over your myriad wounds each morning.

And, speaking of all the bruises that training was leaving on you…

You really need to get back to your mentor.

Actually, now that you think of it… maybe you should bring him something to eat. Sure, you could head back to Pigsy’s Noodles and order some 20% off takeaway… or maybe it’d be good to try something new?

[zedrine]

hi, it's the anon who first requested that sunny reverse comfort! .. i have come back again..!!!!

can i request for a sunny from omori x reader doing pocky game (established relationship!!)

can be post game if you'd like! thank youuu <3

Z.2 — pocky game w/ sunny >:D

PAIRINGS : SUNNY x Reader

WARNINGS : none!! :D

DESC : mentioned at the top! <3

NOTES : ENDJGJENSBCBFKE HI AGAINNNN

You popped into the room, jolly as you held a Pocky box behind your back, “Suuunnnn?~”

He sighed — “Yes?” — he shot up a glare at you, frowning, he was busy writing down his essay for school.

“Can we.. play a game, please?” You softly grinned, hoping he’d get off that paper he’s been working on for, I don’t know, maybe two hours?

Sighing once more, SUNNY responded, with frustration, “Fine.”

“Oh–” you didn’t quite think he’d agree so quickly.

Both of you then sat on the couch as you revealed the Pocky box — “Oh, God,” he rolled his eyes, “Kel, right?”

You smirked as if you were a Kel dupe, “Yes, he told me to do it with you,” you nudged his shoulder jokingly as you opened the box, then the packaging, “he told me you’d enjoy the game!”

“I don’t like that [favorite flavor] one,” he blandly stated, quite cruel and direct if you asked me. “Oh, hush!” You took a Pocky stick out; you would get the flavor part and he the bread.

“So…?” he looked at you, begging for instructions of the game with his eyes.

“Okay, so—” that’s a lot of so’s, “—both of us have to slowly bite our way through the Pocky, but, whoever accidentally bites the Pocky off or gets to the middle first, loses.”

“What if we kiss?” he asked; you stayed silent.

You tried your best to suppress a smirk, grin, smile. How could one be so naïve?

“Anyway,” you said — a chuckle let out — as you pointed the Pocky between your mouth and his, again, you had the flavor part, “good game.”

The game started; both of you started nibbling on the Pocky, you looked up at him, but he only looked at his distance in the Pocky.

Then, it broke!

“Dang it– YOU did that!” You pointed at SUNNY, who stared blankly at you, “No,” he mumbled.

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, “whatever.” You took another Pocky stick, this time, cruelly and tauntingly, he had the flavor; “You must hate me, don’t you?”

“Hush,” you aligned the stick again, then the game began again. Nibble, nibble, both of you were close to the middle, then–

In just a mere moment, the stick disappeared — you were kissing him!

The kiss, surprisingly (as you thought he’d pull away immediately), lasted for long… long… and long…

“Pweh!” he exclaimed — ouch — as you retorted, “Uhm, excuse me??” Offended you were, how could he say that, to your perfectly lip-glossed lips? :(

“Sorry, sorry,” he wiped his lips, “the Pocky flavor—” but only because his saliva slightly dripped out from his cough, “—I don’t like it, I told you.”

You sighed; well, at least he was honest, “Yeah, whatever.”

You took another Pocky stick; he had the bread part.

Game started, nibbling, the room was quiet. Cold.

But, as an apology, he nibbled quite faster, so he got to the middle first to lose, willingly — “Haha!” you chortled triumphly; he smiled, a rare sight, but you failed to notice.

“I’m good at this game~!” You proudly reveled, reaching down for another stick, but, just then, his hand held yours (the hand you’re using to get the sticks, by the way.)

“Hm?–”

You looked up, but then he leaned in, much further than he planned to; kiss count, number two.

But this time, it was shorter, yet more passionate that the previous one — heartfelt, or maybe it was because he was the one who initiated it?

Nevertheless, he felt, quite strange too. Dear Sister, please help… he prayed in his head, help, help help!!!!

Blood came rushing to your cheeks — mostly his, though, he kept his head down — “Sunn?”

He breathed shallowly, Crap, he thought, “Y-Yeah?”

He kept his head down, his dandruff was showing — no, no, just kidding — embarrassed by what he’d done. You were still in shock from the sudden kiss, that you accidentally stayed silent.

“S-Sorry,” again, he apologized, thinking he caused the tension in the air. (Man, I just wanna hug him so badly)

You exhaled through your nose in relief, “Heyy,” you lifted up his chin, but he averted eye contact, “it’s okay, I’m sorry…”

You cupped his cheeks, then gave him quick, big pecks everywhere on his face, to his dismay, he kept yelling; “Stop!–” mwah, “–you taste like–” mwah, “[the flavor of the Pocky]!!” mwah.

You then stopped the kissing, pouting, “Oh, so you don’t like my kisses?” still cupping his cheeks as you stared right into his soul.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that…” He murmured, leaning into your palms, and caressing the back of them. Still avoiding looking in your eyes, though, even after all those verbs.

Softly, you kissed his forehead, “I love you too~”

He responded to that, but only I knew — “I love you more,” he whispered, or mouthed, but you didn’t hear.

JANXBDJAKSJDRNNDD im soooo sorry if this is so sloppy SNXNFNDND ITS LIKE 11PM HERE ND I AHVE SCJOOL TOMORROW😭😭😭 i RLLY RRLYYY hope u like this one☹️💔

[crustaceousfaggot]

Why you should give Text Adventure games a try (and how to do so)

There is not nearly enough love for Text Adventure Games here on Tumblr. Or anywhere really. But especially here, I feel like you guys would really get a kick out of them. Here's why:

(quick note, I'm gonna be using the words Text Adventure and Interactive Fiction pretty interchangeably here. Technically that's not perfectly accurate, they are technically different things, but I don't care to explain the difference Just roll with it.)

So

Do you like weird short stories told through unconventional mediums? That's most of what Interactive Fiction is

You like story based video games but hate the finicky combat? Congrats, there is literally no combat skill required beyond the ability to type "hit guard with crowbar"

Blind or visually impaired? Since these games are (with a few exceptions) entirely text based, they work great with a screen reader!

Sick of profit motivated AAA titles with no creative integrity? Well, these games are almost always produced by a single nerd (usually a horrid amalgamation of computer geek and literature geek) with no budget and no responsibilities of the product they're making. And they're usually not paid, since these games are free. Text Adventure is a labour of love, and in most games you can feel the care and effort the creator has put into the game.

Sick of spending $20-70 on a video game? Lucky you, I've been playing TA for years and I have not spent a cent in doing so (Fallen Londen will try to make you pay. But Fallen Londen sucks and is run by bigots. Fuck Fallen London.) Games are either available free on a browser, or as free, small downloadable files (most of which can be played using the Parchment Interpreter)

Wish you read more, but reliant on the quick dopamine of digital media? Well now you can read while also being an active participant in the narrative.

Bad at puzzles? Me too! Games from the 80s and 90s, as well as more famous newer games, have walkthroughs and hints easily available online. Newer games tend to either have a "hint" command, or come with a walkthrough file.

Do you like weird surrealist horror? Well there's... A lot of it.

Okay, but where do I start?

So there are two types of text adventure. The one you might be more accustomed to, and which sees more modern use, is called Hypertext Interactive Fiction. The other is called Parser Interactive Fiction, it's generally seen in older games, as well as games that are larger, feature more puzzles, or involve more exploration.

Hypertext games

Basically, the game will give you a scenario, and then a list of options (hypertext links) to click on to decide what to do next. These are usually more beginner friendly since you don't need to fiddle around with parsers, but personally I find them a bit limiting. Nonetheless, if you're new to Text Adventure, they're a good place to start.

Some of my favourites hypertext games (summaries in green)

My Father's Long, Long Legs is an interactive horror story about family, unease, and loss. Really more of a story than a game, but still good. Very nice use of sound. It does have some visual aspects, so this one might not work with screen readers

Scene Kid Simulator is pretty much what it says on the tin. A cute, nostalgic, coming-of-age slice of life story from the POV of a 2000s scene preteen. Nothing special, but a fun time.

The Uncle Who Works at Nintendo is a strange, unconventional, witty, and heartfelt horror game. Your friend has an uncle who he says works for Nintendo. You're about to meet him, or so he says. A fun and spooky look at childhood, childhood friendships, and childhood lies.

16 Ways to Kill a Vampire at McDonald's is... A joy to play. The name says it all honestly. Witty, charming, tense, engaging, and emotional when it wants to be. I actually found this one through a lucky Tumblr Blaze, which makes sense since this is perfectly suited to Tumblr sensibilities. This one has more puzzle aspects than most hypertext games, but it's still relatively easy and beginner friendly. You're a vampire hunter. It's your night off, and you go to McDonald's. But there's something wrong with the customer sitting beside you...

Toadstools is a game about hunting mushrooms. You have trespassed in a national park and you are wandering blindly through the woods looking for rare fungi. Good luck :)

Parser games

Okay these fuckers are where I really get excited. These games have the classic flashing cursor line where you input text like "go north", "search bookshelf", or "kiss my husband", and the game's rudimentary AI parses your input to decide what happens next. These are my favourites. They really allow you the feeling of exploring the game world, immerse you in the protagonist and the story, using just text on a screen and simple inputs. This does make them considerably more difficult, since a) you need to decide the right way to phrase what you want to do, otherwise it won't work, and b) more possibilities means more chances to mess up and miss things. Unlike video games, your cursor won't light up when you see something important, you'll have to search stuff and work things out on your own But, in my opinion, it is so, so worth it. Summaries in red

The first text adventure game I ever played was One Eye Open. It's an extremely graphic and gory medical horror game (although I would consider it tasteful medical horror, in that it never derives horror from medical procedures, disability, or ooOoHh gross scary sick people) You play as a volunteer test subject for a medical research facility, having to unravel the mystery of the hospital's bloody past. It's good. It's fun. It's tense. It has some really dumb mechanics. Don't play if you're sensitive to descriptions of gore, death, or corpses. This one doesn't have a walkthrough, but I've played it enough times to know the puzzles by heart, DM me if you need help.

Anchorhead is possibly my favourite piece of interactive fiction I've ever played. It's incredible. You play as a newlywed woman, moving to the small seaside town of Anchorhead after your husband Michael inherited a mansion from some distant relatives. There's something wrong with the town though. There's definitely something wrong with your husband's mysterious ancestors. And you're starting to think that there might be something strange happening to Michael. Get ready for some wonderfully atmospheric and immersive Lovecraftian horror, action sequences that are incredibly vibrant for Text Adventure, and a super compelling mystery that the game lets you work out on your own. The puzzles here are hard. I'm not gonna lie, I used a walkthrough at several points during this game. But my god it's worth it. Big massive huge content warning here for mentions of incest, sexual assault, and pedophilia. Not in excess, and nothing explicit, but it will be mentioned as part of the story.

Little Blue Men is a short, strange, sci-fi-ish horror-ish comedy-ish game by the same author as Anchorhead, though the two games are wildly different. You are an office worker. Cope with it. Take The Stanley Parable, Stella Firma, and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, mash 'em together, and you have Little Blue Men. It's bizarre. It's evocative. It's pretty darn good.

Coloratura is a strangely beautiful sci-fi story. You're a weird little alien blob. You've been separated from your home and are trapped aboard a human spaceship. You need to get home, need to make the humans understand in the only ways you can: color and song.

Slouching Towards Bedlam is a brilliant little steampunk game about language, choice, cults, Armageddon, and triangles. This game has multiple endings. It's neat in that none of the endings are really "good" or "bad". Rather, you need to decide where you stand, and act in the way you think is best.

The Lurking Horror is the grandparent of horror interactive fiction, released in the late 80s. You're a tech student in university. Something more than electricity is powering the school's computers. Find it, but don't die along the way. Besides the comically archaic descriptions of computers, this game doesn't feel all that dated. It's tricky, puzzle-heavy, and charmingly surreal. (Fun fact, this game and another old TA game called Zork inspired the "darkness kills you" mechanic which would later be popularized in Don't Starve!)

Nine Lives is a very short, very weird, very cartoony game where you play a cat that is very bad at staying alive. Cw for non-graphic but repeated cat death.

Spider and Web is one of the most ingenious uses of Text Adventure as a medium I've ever seen. It's famous for having one of, if not the singular best puzzles in video game history. It's tense, it's fast-paced, it introduces you to mechanics slowly and then lets you test them out on your own. I won't spoil too much, but you play as a very badass spy, reliving your brilliant heist during an interrogation. This game even features a character destined to be a Tumblr Sexyman. It really has it all.

If anyone actually read through all this, and has even considered playing any of these games, I'll be a little surprised. This post turned out a lot longer than I wanted it to be. It was meant to just be "hey interactive fiction is a cool and underappreciated medium, go check it out", but this is my special interest, and not one I often get to talk about. I guess this was me infodumping to the only place that will listen, the empty void of the internet. But these games are fun. And they do not get enough love. Text games are a dying genre, if they're not dead already. Give them a chance, show them some love.