#Pots on the Bluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megamindsecretlair · 4 months ago

Text

A Taste of the Divine - Chapter 1

Masterlist Chapter 2

Pairing: Yakuza!True Form!Sukuna x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. slow burn. Monster fuckers unite. Dark elements. Kidnapped reader. Cursing, graphic depictions of violence, implied violence against women but not shown, mentions of blood and gore, Sukuna is aroused by violence. Sorry if I missed others.

Summary: Sukuna is the feared leader of the Itadori clan. There are rumors that he uses a pet beast to get rid of his enemies. Nothing but rooms and locations full of blood and body parts. He happens about a group of men who dared to cross his territory without permission. When Sukuna runs across you, he suddenly finds himself unable to kill you. Not until he figures out who you are and why you were so important as to get kidnapped. He takes over being your captor, whisking you away to his property, where he proceeds to play with his food.

AO3 Link

Word count: 5,763k

A/N: Could not get this idea out of my head to save my life. I hope you enjoy. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @westside-rot @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @twocentuar @umber-cinders @chaos-4baby @soft-persephone

Rain beat against the windows in a steady stream. Cold, neon lights shone in a haze just beyond, painting the sides of the building sunset purple and cerulean. Ads played lazily on the billboards, reminding people that even while sleeping, it was never too late to buy.

Rival clan Kamo had members holed up in a shithole penthouse apartment, awaiting the signal for when they could move. They spent the first few days playing cards and board games. They were strictly forbidden from turning on their phones. From going outside. From doing anything fucking fun.

Yet, after a few days when they were tired of talking to each other, it was only a matter of time before someone broke the rules. There were only four of them. Each low tier members of the Kamo clan, some not even worthy of the association.

They were a low-key crew, handling situations that required stealth and finesse. Like babysitting a sweet little morsel tied up in the bathroom. They were instructed not to talk to you, touch you, or breathe in your direction.

Days passed and the men’s eyes lingered a beat too long, licking their lips as their thoughts ran away on their face, or rubbing their hands together as if they could imagine what your skin would feel like.

While on mission, they used no names. So instead, they numbered themselves. One, the leader, was bald with a stern frown permanently etched onto his face. He currently held the biggest pot of money on his side of the table, flipping through cards with masterful precision.

Three was to his right, a man with long hair that reached well past his shoulders. It was swept back into a half ponytail, the rest running down his back like a black river. Two was next, a shifty and nervous sort of man who couldn’t sit still longer than a minute. Eyes were always on a swivel around the room, looking for potential threats.

Though if Four had anything to say about it, he’d say that Two was snorting the White Dragon and they were left to suffer through it. Four held the worst hand with his cards, but he kept his face neutral. He could bluff with the likes of Three, but One might see through him.

A thump on the roof made them all look up. All except for One who continued to stare at his cards. Two sat up in his seat, moaning and chewing on his nails. He shook his head back and forth, getting more agitated by the minute.

“I told you we should have checked. This doesn’t feel right,�� Two said.

Three sighed and rolled his eyes. “You say that about every drop of water that hits the roof.”

Two shook his head once more. “That wasn’t a raindrop,” he said and pointed to the ceiling. Four looked at him, annoyed. This mission was freaky enough without the ghost stories. He took a swig of his whiskey, following the burn down his chest since it was the first interesting thing tonight.

He stood up, getting ready for Two’s freakout to overtake the night. First it was the bird that flew into the window. Then it was the nail he found under his mattress. He went on rants about ill omens and angering the elder gods.

“Then what was it, genius?” Three sighed, tossing down his cards because he also knew that Two was just getting started. A crackle from the lit fireplace drew Four’s attention. He stared at it and briefly wondered if dying by fire was worth the pain.

“We’re too close to his border. How sure are you that this is on our side?” Two asked.

One leaned back from the table, tossing down his cards and rolling his neck. “I know how to do my job,” One said. He folded his arms and stared straight ahead. If Four wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure that Four was a hidden synth. Nothing but clockwork and oil pumping through his system.

The first thing Four was going to do when the mission was over, was take his payment and go find a warm pair of legs to sleep between. Maybe this was burnout. Maybe he needed to check out that app his sister sent to him about that crap. She always thought his stress was too high. Always going on about going on walks or getting a pet or doing anything else that didn’t involve being a gangster.

Heh. He owed his baby sister a call soon. Their last conversation ended too quickly when she started talking about an asshole teacher and how Four offered to kill him. Or at least persuade him to watch his fucking mouth.

“How do you not know who Sukuna is? He’s the leader of the Itadori clan,” Two said.

Three laughed obnoxiously and clapped his hands. “Since when do you believe in fairytales? No one’s seen or heard of that made up bullshit. You really think that he has so much curse energy, that he’s lived this long? That he has a secret army of beasts who rip his enemies to shreds?” Three continued laughing, his chair creaking from Three settling into it.

Two cracked a smile and Four poured himself another drink. The first two clearly weren’t doing the job. Four moved back to the table, bored out of his skull. In fact, he should probably check on you. He wouldn’t get paid if you went on and died on him.

Instead of sitting, Four changed directions and went towards the bathroom. The penthouse was decorated in slate gray and mustard. There were expensive paintings on the paneled walls, ceramic statues of bodies twisting, imported plants from all over the world every few feet. It was a pompous, underhanded way to show that the rich could buy anything, even nature.

Four moved down the wide hallway, big enough to park a sedan in and still have room on both sides. He knocked on the door once and your answering gasp was enough confirmation that he needed. Still..,

He opened the door, turned on the light, and looked down at you. You were on your side, curled up on the plush bathroom rug like a pathetic pet. Your sweater was stained and dirty, your light colored jeans worse for wear. The tennis shoes used to be a light color, but were now so dirty that it was hard to tell. The blindfold was still secure on your face.

“You dead yet?” Four asked.

“Untie me and find out, bitch,” you spat at him.

He laughed, tempted to kick you in your fat ass stomach for that. But he doubted you’d feel it. “I’d watch that mouth of yours,” he said.

“Or else you’ll try to stick your shrimp dick in my mouth? Might take me a few tries but I’ll bite clean off if you do,” you growled.

Four laughed again and shook his head. “Never fails to make me laugh, bitch,” he said. He turned off the light and slammed the door. His anger at last getting the best of him. Stupid bitch. He had half a mind to break that reckless streak of yours. To fill your mouth so you couldn’t talk back for once.

You’d been nothing but a pain in his ass since they kidnapped you. You fought like a hellcat, scratching and biting. They had to punch you in the face a few times to knock you out and then drag your fat ass to the van. When you came to in the bathroom, you gave everyone a mouthful. And had been an annoying asshole the last few days.

Four rubbed his shoulders and walked away. He needed the money more than he needed to teach you your place. As Four walked down the hallway, he heard a series of thumps that made him falter in his steps. He looked between each of the closed doors, sealed up like a damn museum in this place.

He walked closer to one door, where he thought the thumps were coming from. He strained his hearing, awareness searching for anything out of the norm. Two and Three were still arguing in the living room but Four was too far away to hear what stage they were in. If Two was standing on the table and arguing his point or covering his ears and screaming loud over the other person.

Four opened the door he was in front of, arms up, prepared for anything to pop out. The room was dark but the window was open, letting watery moonlight shine across the carpeted floor. Looked to be some kind of guest room, all done up in cobalt blue. Four did a cursory sweep, just in case.

He turned around to the shadowy figure before him and jumped, screaming out before realizing that he faced a mirror. His heart skipped a beat as it caught up to the realization that he wasn’t in danger. He stalked closer to the mirror, chuckling as he confirmed with his eyes that he got scared by his own reflection. The other men couldn’t know this. They’d see him as weak and he couldn’t have that.

He tapped the mirror once, for extra confirmation. Two’s conspiracy theory rants were starting to get to him. Next thing he knew, there’ll be Sukuna’s pet beast right behind him. He chuckled at his own thoughts and looked at his reflection. It became darker so he leaned in, opening his mouth to look at his teeth.

The darkness kept going, almost otherworldly so, and Four felt a menacing, thick presence at his back. The aura was indescribably heavy, bowing him at the shoulders. Going lower still. He had just enough energy to turn his head and stare into a pair – no two pairs – oh god – there’s too many red eyes staring at him.

He opened his mouth to let out a scream but a slice to the neck cut it off. His hands flew to his neck, warm spray of blood soaking his fingers. There was nothing to compare to the horror of feeling the heat from your own blood outside of your body. Hands stained red and sticky. Four stared into those red eyes and his last thought was of how Two was actually fucking right this time.

One opened his eyes with a silent gasp. “We are not alone,” he said. He hopped from his seat, flying to the edge of the living room where they had abandoned the majority of their weaponry. They each held their guns at the base of their spines, tucked into their pants. But the bigger weapons lay across the table, thrown haphazardly. They had gotten too comfortable.

The menacing aura was enough to choke him but he kept his mind on the mission. This had turned from a simple kidnapping to a game of survival. No amount of money was worth this, losing his life to the boogeyman. His people had forgotten the old world. Forgotten that the myths were merely legends once upon a time.

The lights shut off as his hands closed around his semi-automatic. Two and Three finally stopped their incessant fighting and grabbed their guns. Gone was the twitching, sketchy conspiracy nut and in its place was a ruthless killer. A ruthless kobun for the Kamo clan.

Three took measured, slow steps around the room. The rain seemed to increase in intensity. But that was only because it was quiet now. The water slapped against the windows. Purple and blue neon light shone in from the windows giving them just enough light to see each other. Or see anything that may have entered the penthouse.

If they somehow found a way to survive the night, they’d have no answers on how the beast got in. How the beast found them. Or how Sukuna even knew that they were on the this side of the boundary.

One hadn’t lied. He was very good at his job. This building was right on the cusp of Sukuna’s territory but it was decidedly in Kamo’s territory. If this was Sukuna’s infamous beastie, then Sukuna was in the wrong this time. Honorless scum.

One swept through the living room, keeping his semi-automatic up and at the ready. He communicated silently with the other two. Where the hell was Four? If he was back there missing with you at a time like this, he’d kill Four himself.

He took off in your direction, intending to check and make sure that you hadn’t escaped. Reaching the door, he opened it and heard you gasp. “What’s going on?” You asked.

“Shut up,” he hissed. If you were too fucking stupid to understand what was going on, then the least you could do was shut that fucking mouth up for once. He closed the door and continued checking rooms, wondering if Four went out onto the terrace for a smoke break.

He made his way forward, the crack of a door catching his eye. He used his gun to nudge the door open, the room too dark to see much of anything. Still, something was off about this room. Some lingering aura that beckoned him even as his brain was screaming for him to turn around and run and never look back.

His boot squelched on the carpet and he looked down. His mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. His mind said he was looking at a mangled hand but his eyes only saw blood. Red.

There were pieces everywhere. Half a foot. An elbow. One stepped backwards. The evil aura in this room was astounding. The rumors were true. They were actually true. Sukuna did have a beast in his employ and it was here to eat them all.

He turned and ran to the door only to be blocked by a massive arm across the doorway. The massive tree trunk sized arm split in two. Oh god. There were four arms. Red eyes crept open slowly and a wide grin split open in the middle of the beasts’ belly. The monster stood on two legs, at least seven foot tall, and it chuckled. It laughed.

“You’re far from home,” the beast said.

“You’re in Kamo’s territory. When Kamo hears about this…”

The beast chuckled and the deep rumbling laugh was like the crack of lightning outside the windows. “Who’s gonna tell him?” The beast asked.

One was no stranger to fear and he would not pretend as if he were not capable of it. But even as he trembled and gulped around the painful lump in his throat, he stared at the many-eyed beast and lifted his chin.

“Your lord has no honor,” One said. Sweat gathered at his brow, tickling his forehead and he fought the urge to wipe it away. To move.

The beast laughed again. And laughed still as he picked One up as if he weighed no more than a feather. It laughed and laughed as it took big chunks out of One, chewing on him like a snack. Blood sprayed One’s face, hot and sticky and stinging his eyes. His screams were no match to the sound of that maniacal laughter.

You

The second scream had to be the worst one. Maybe because it was coupled by the sound of bone-chilling laughter. Something cold and cruel. Your arm was killing you from laying on your side but you were finding it difficult to roll over in this bathroom.

The nauseating perfume clung to your nostrils and made it hard to breathe around its cloying scent. Why couldn’t these idiots kill you and call it a day? You hated being at their mercy. Hated the way they casually joked about slitting your throat or teaching you how to respect your betters.

Assholes. You’d be a liar if you weren’t enjoying the sounds of their screams. But at the same time, you didn’t want to meet whatever the hell that thing was. You prayed that you’d remain invisible, small, insignificant. Not worth whatever that thing’s gaze was. Surely it was some sort of vengeful god. Malevolent beast come to feast on the world.

You couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Couldn’t make a sound. In case the beast was capable of turning the knob, opposable thumbs letting you know that the beast was far scarier than previously believed, you wanted to remain on the floor. Better yet, you needed to get somewhere you could hide.

Your options were limited. There were no other sounds outside your door. You knew that you were in the bathroom so you rubbed against the floor until you could heave yourself into a sitting position. You were out of breath, but you had to keep going. Had to get into the tub.

Hell, what was worse? The silence or the screams?

You got to your feet and steadied yourself. You were woozy. It’d been too long since your last meal. Your fault. You couldn’t take your death lying down. You fought and cursed and insulted their dick sizes until you were blue in the face. They retaliated by withholding food.

You’d take that over the way they knocked you out. Hitting you like a grown man. Your jaw still stung from it. Your skin would surely be darker with a bruise the size of a fist. The way their hands wandered while they checked you for weapons, tied your hands behind your back, and shoved you into a musty van. How they laughed over your figure as they pretended to struggle with tossing you into the bathroom.

You didn’t know when they put the blindfold on but had to be when you were out cold. There was no telling what they could do while you were sleep so you learned to sleep lighter, waking up at any little sound. So far they weren’t hurting you. You couldn’t imagine why. However, you’d have to stop provoking the last guy that came in here. He was perilously close to breaking and you didn’t want to be around for it.

You felt behind you for the edge of the tub. Rich people’s apartments like these usually had a tub on one side and a shower on the other. As if it was some subconscious misogyny bullshit about women taking baths and men taking showers.

You scooted further down, tennis shoes scraping against the tile as you tried to figure out how you were going to get into the tub safely and quietly. You weren’t even sure that you’d be hidden from the door. But you had to do something. Had to try at least.

You lifted one leg and got into the tub as another blood curdling scream split the air. You were shaking with fear while at the same time feeling vindicated. Fuck those bastards. If you’d survive, you’d never take your life for granted again.

The sound of wet splatter hit the walls and you wondered briefly if a window opened somewhere. If there wasn’t rain pouring all over fancy furniture. You got your other foot into the tub and then sank to your knees, getting down into the wide tub and turned on your side.

It wasn’t perfect. And you didn’t want to think about what kind of germs you were kneeling in. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

You waited. You jumped at every sound. Every scrape. Every knock of wood. There was a final scream as the last of your captors went silent. His screams still echoed in your ears.

Your heartbeat thumped steadily, shifting your awareness inward. You ached all over. Your shoulder was killing you. Your stomach pains twisting your insides. You had a faint ache in your foot and you weren’t sure if you sprang it during your last escape attempt.

How the hell did you end up here?

It was the question that rang through your mind every so often when you weren’t thinking about escape. How did you end up kidnapped, taken, and held against your will like this?

And the sick part? No one would know. You had a job where you set your own hours, the perfect introverted job. You didn’t have to talk to others when you didn’t want to. Didn’t have to set alarms for when you went to sleep or stayed up. You followed your body’s natural rhythm and was damn happy with your solitary life. You had friends, but they knew about your need to disappear sometimes. Go radio silent while you work on your special projects. Or pigged out in front of the TV.

So here you were, stuck between how you were going to escape or how you ended up in this position. You lived a normal life. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt others. You gave money to the homeless and smiled at the janitorial staff. You weren’t perfect, but fuck. You didn’t deserve this shit.

Thumping steps traveled down the hall and you clasped your lips shut, throat shaking with your need to cry. You needed to alert someone, anyone, to come and help you. Or at least untie you so you could have a fighting chance. How pathetic it was to die on your back, tied up, and at the beasts’ mercy.

The steps got closer. That aura. It was so intimidating. Sweat gathered on your brow, fear like icy spikes in your stomach. There was no way that you were getting out of this alive. With an aura like that, the beast could likely smell the fear on you. Lead it straight to you as if you had rang the dinner bell.

You were so stupid. You should have used your remaining time to find a way to cut through the zip ties behind your back. Found a pair of scissors or clippers. Anything to get your hands free. Ah well. Didn’t matter this time. Because whatever it was that was outside of your door, you had no way of defeating such a creature.

Sukuna

You smelled delicious. After dispensing with the four-man crew that dared cross into his territory earlier in the week while traveling to this dump, Sukuna licked blood from his lips as he shrunk down from his true form.

He hadn’t intended on striking against the Kamo clan for at least another two weeks. He’d been in the middle of his usual reconnaissance, following the habits of his enemies before pinpointing when to strike.

These four were barely worth the effort. A small time, petty offense. But the rules were the rules and he had to enforce them. He grinned, picking meat from his teeth as he thought how these idiots still haven’t figured out that there is no Sukuna’s beast. He was the beast.

He had no qualms about eating his enemies into submission. Fighting for every strip of land, every pulse of illegal activity in the country, every dollar to join his coffers. And he’d be damned if even one cockroach stepped an antenna out of line.

What he did not expect was the tasty scent of fear wafting from the bathroom. A stowaway. The imbeciles had hidden you somehow. Oh, that delicious scent. He followed it, already growing hungrier by the second.

His black suit was pasted to him, slick with the blood of the four insignificant humans. Let their people find them like this. Ripped apart, Let the rumors grow. The beast. The beast.

He approached the door and he sensed that you sensed him. Your body was shaking, teeth clacking. He could hear you through the door. He was getting harder by the minute just thinking about it. He pictured where he’d start first. If he’d bite your neck. Or somewhere he could still make you scream. He wondered what you’d sound like.

He pushed on the door and it gave way under his hand. He left a bloody handprint on the door as he swept into the dark room. His eyes adjusted to the dark, detail starting to fill in as his eyes relaxed.

There you were. Sukuna chuckled evilly as he approached. You were too damn good. Each second brought a fresh wave of fear skittering down your spine. He inhaled deeply, mouth salivating with the thought of ripping you to pieces.

You were cowed in the bathtub. Sukuna grinned wider before he really took you in. Your hands were bound behind your back. You also had a blindfold on. Your clothes were dirty and stained, a strange odor emanating from you. Your shoes looked like you’d been marched around in mud for the past few days. Your hair was wild and unkempt, riotous thick hair escaping your plaits.

His smile disappeared. You had already been kidnapped. You weren’t part of their crew. You were a victim. Sukuna’s curiosity peaked. It wasn’t every day that he ran into this situation. He was no hero. Whether lord or pauper, a tasty meal was a tasty meal. But the urge to eat you was growing fainter the longer he took in every detail he could about you.

What did you do in order to get kidnapped by these thugs? What was so special about you? You’d clearly been here a few days and you were still alive, untouched. You were important to them for a reason.

“Well?” You asked.

Sukuna was taken aback by the sound of your voice. He could smell your fear and yet…you dared to talk to him?

“Quit playing around and kill me, I don’t have all day. Or night. Whenever it is,” you huffed.

Shocked, Sukuna laughed. Hell, he hadn’t been this surprised in a millenia. “Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m a nobody. Are you going to kill me or not?” You asked.

Sukuna chuckled again, sucking blood from his finger. “Pretty eager to die,” he commented.

“Not very eager to wonder when it’s coming. The wait is the worst part,” you said.

There was a hitch in your voice. As if you were no stranger to waiting or being disappointed. Sukuna tilted his head. This was bizarre. It’d been a long time since he felt like this, interested in something other than eating at the moment. You couldn’t see him. You were right to be afraid but still had the audacity to talk to him like that.

He had half a mind to break your spine here and now. Rip your head from your shoulders. Suck the life from your heart. His fingers twitched with the insatiable need to shred. Throat burned with a hunger that never truly faded.

He stepped closer to you, stared down at your pathetic form on your side in this tub. It’d be so easy to lift his boot and crush your skull. So easy to snuff the spark of life that kept you animated.

But he found himself hesitating. Withdrawing his presence. You gasped audibly, catching your breath. It was a wonder you held out as long as you did. He’d seen people have entire heart attacks after enduring his aura for too long. But not you.

“Who are you and why did those men hold you captive?” Sukuna asked.

“I don’t know. I told you, I’m a nobody. Just an insignificant bug,” you said.

A burning in Sukuna’s chest made him want to correct you. To ensure that you’d never talk like this about yourself where he could fucking hear. He grimaced and scowled. What the hell kind of thoughts was he having?

He lifted his hand, reaching out over your form. He’d just snatch you up like he did the others. You were their victim and it wasn’t terribly your fault for crossing boundary lines with them, but well. He couldn’t let you go.

What if you talked? What if your harmless story caught on the news like wildfire, spreading, until the legend of Sukuna’s pet beast was no longer feared. The real gangsters knew. No one fucked with him or his clan and lived to tell the tale.

He had to end you right here and now. Go on and do it. Be done with it. Separate your head from your body. Again, he was unable to harm you. There were too many questions in his head. He was having fun not being the smartest person in the room at the moment.

He growled and grabbed the front of your sweater. You yelled out, kicking your legs as Sukuna lifted you higher, more at eye level with himself. You scrambled, kicking and kicking.

“Put me down!” You screamed.

Sukuna laughed. “Aren’t you scared?” He asked.

“I’m terrified!” You yelled.

“Then how do you bark orders with the same mouth that should be begging for mercy?” He asked.

“What mercy? Go on and kill me and be done with this bullshit,” you said. You were still flailing but no longer screaming in fear.

You were fun! He scanned your body, looking for some source of trickery. Some hidden agenda. He stretched his awareness searching for a hint of your aura to reveal something that explained you. Some part of your genetic makeup, some part of your clothing or jewelry able to repel creatures like him.

Nothing. You wore nothing, you had nothing, you were nothing. And he still had questions. He wanted to know more. His thirst for knowledge was almost as large as his thirst for blood. He should want yours. But even yours smelled insignificant.

“Who are you?” He asked once more, voice soft as he regarded you. You didn’t make sense and it was driving him nuts. Driving him to the point of not wanting to solve you at all. He’d rather toss you into the nearest fire and call it a job well done.

Tonight, at least, his curiosity got the best of him. He’d figure out who you were and what you were keeping from him. Then he’d get rid of you.

“I’m nothing, a nobody,” you responded. Your lips parted and he felt a strange tug in his chest. Another weird sensation he hadn’t experienced in hundreds, if not thousands of years.

“You’re coming with me,” he growled. He half dragged, half carried you out of the room. You didn’t fight him or scream. You didn’t try to tug yourself free. You kept up as much as you were able as Sukuna left the penthouse suite of the Kamo clan. He didn’t have to worry about security cameras as he turned off power to the whole block.

Rain pelted the both of you, soaking his shirt. Rivulets of red dripped from him and disappeared into the nearest drain. He ran towards his car at the end of the block, shaking you in his haste to get to his car. His hair plastered to his face and he growled. He didn’t have enough hands to move his hair from his face.

It may be the dead of night, but that meant little to a world still guided by its misconceptions and folktales. They told themselves stories about being safe because the government told them that they were. Nevermind the fact that the pent up anxiety they pushed down, the suppressed emotions, created a legion of curses to haunt the natural world for years and years to come yet.

He couldn’t shift into his true form over hair in his eyes. Too many cameras. Too many onlookers. He pushed you into his car and you finally yelped as your shoulder hit the side of the seat.

He quickly crossed in front of the car and got in, starting it, and tearing off down the street in a whirl of tires and smoke. The sound of the windshield wipers were the only source of sound.

Sukuna kept glancing at you. At the way the streetlights and ads shone periodically across your face. It was maddening to see. And yet all you did was pant for breath. Your lips were parted again. Were you doing it on purpose? What the hell was wrong with you?

He could tell that you were still scared. Still nervous to be around him. But there was a soft acceptance in the way you didn’t mouth off or ask a million annoying questions. You were an unassuming presence beside him and it was a feeling he wasn’t used to. Couldn’t name.

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to arrive at one of his many penthouses. This one was in the dead center of the city. If his enemies got through his defenses and reached the middle of the city, well then, they deserved to take their shot at him.

He pulled into the private garage, turning off the engine and looked over at you. You licked your lips and he followed the movement, the glide of your tongue darting out from your mouth. Sukuna tore his eyes away with a scowl.

He got out of the car a little too roughly. Yanked open the passenger side door a little too harshly. Grabbing you out of the seat with too much force. He slammed you against the car as he closed his door. Then, he dragged you towards the private elevator.

No cameras. Exactly what he needed. He rode the elevator straight to his penthouse. It opened out into a spacious foyer decorated in black. He dragged you inside, growing impatient with your human body unable to keep up with his stalking gait.

He knew the perfect room to throw you in too. Sometimes Sukuna liked to play with his food.

He pushed you into the small room that had a million cameras set up inside. The room was decorated in an off white subway tile scheme. There was a bunk bed held up by chains drilled into the wall. There was a private bathroom. He found that allowing that little bit of decency made humans think he was merciful. It made betraying them that much more delicious.

You fell to the floor on top of your bad shoulder and cried out. Sukuna laughed at your pain and shut the door.

“Why won’t you kill me?!” You yelled, loud enough to be heard through the thick, reinforced door. No small feat.

Sukuna turned and looked at you through the checkered plexiglass window. He smiled, grin spreading across his face and likely making him look feral.

“The fun’s just getting started, princess,” he said. His haunting laugh echoed throughout his apartment as he left you alone for the night. Tomorrow, he’d make sure that you knew whose control you were under.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

112 notes · View notes

timkarr · 6 months ago

Text

Unsettling Sound The Puget Sound is an unsettled sea that lies above the tectonically active western edge of the North American Plate. This large body of frigid water is separated from the Pacific Ocean by the Olympic Mountains to its west and the Cascades to its east. Glaciers crowded into the Sound during the last ice age, advancing from the north. When they retreated some 13,000 years ago they left behind deep deposits of interglacial sediment. These sand and clay remnants, in turn, were carved by frequent rain, sea and wind erosion to form high, unstable coastal bluffs, which were soon blanketed by dense evergreen overgrowths of cedar, hemlock and fir, and undergrowths of alder, blackberry and fern. As erosion progresses this cover slides from high bluffs in slow cascades that often take decades to complete from hilltop to shore. The process is sped up when the northwest rains are heaviest. Landslides can carry trees and their understory to the beach in an instant. Once arrived on the shore, the upended forest enters the marine ecosystem, where it functions as nutrient, shelter and barrier. In the last centuries, human structures have been added to this tumult. Houses perched on bluffs afford spectacular views and command high prices, but they face the disturbing prospect of being splayed across the beach following a prolonged downpour. Slides in the Northwest earn frequent headlines, and were even the subject of a popular book and film set on the slopes of Queen Anne Hill. Much hilltop construction in the area occurs with little immediate awareness of the role erosion plays in maintaining both the geological and biological integrity of the Sound. A common response to the inevitable is to line the bank with black basaltic stones quarried from ancient lava beds. The proliferation of these bulkheads throughout the Puget Sound has resulted in a phenomenon called “shoreline hardening.” According to some government statistics, approximately 30 percent of the Sound’s shoreline is now armored with stone and concrete reinforcements. This happened along the beach where my family has lived for nearly a century. in the 1970s and 80s, property owners piled stone bulkheads to shore up against sliding —attempting to fix in time something that’s always in flux. The results of our obstinance has been devastating. Within years this beach began to lose much of its value. As a child, I can remember clawing a hundred Native Littlenecks from the sand and clay beneath beach rocks. We let these clams sit for a couple of hours in a bucket of seawater. My grandparents taught us to sprinkle in cornmeal so they could spit out stomach sand as they fed. Once full, they were transferred into a steaming pot where they open latticed shells to offer up their tenderness. Today I’m lucky if I find a single Littleneck after 30 minutes of raking. When I visit the Sound, I think of Sue and Payne, who were privileged to live on this shore and loved what it could yield to any of their grandchildren willing to put some time into it. They left us more than 20 years ago, and a new generation of family has built modern homes on the foundations of those Sue and Payne left behind. In time, ownership may be handed to successive generations, or we might drift away, passing the beachfront to someone with no memory of what it meant to a family that gathered there. And while the Sound may retain much of its scenic beauty, this too is fleeting. The tides will rise and fall revealing stretches of rocks and sand, again and again, and still something will always remain unsettled until it’s gone.

#timothy karr #documentary photography #landscape photography #witness #and words #cellphone photography #cellphone composite

130 notes · View notes

gripefroot · 1 year ago

Note

Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face.

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you.

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish.

He pushes himself too hard. He always did.

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him.

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again.

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled.

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now.

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled.

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes.

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away.

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest.

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized.

“There’s a first for everything.”

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?”

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates.

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was.

He had, miraculously, survived.

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything.

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough.

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?”

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes.

“You have a new one,” you say.

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber.

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation.

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration.

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year.

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart.

He’s smiling again.

“How long can you stay?” you ask.

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it.

“I have time,” Law says.

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips.

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.”

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.”

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you.

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin.

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button.

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?”

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map.

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light.

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?”

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never.

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.”

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything.

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing.

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic.

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea.

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.”

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again.

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops.

He knows.

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely.

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.”

You hadn’t.

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading.

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says.

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?”

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes.

“What would I do?” you ask.

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes.

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks.

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising.

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.”

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.”

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it?

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this.

Where will you take me?

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode.

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times.

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.

“Thank you for coming back.”

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next.

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his.

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same.

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp.

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble.

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat.

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors?

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up.

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him.

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other.

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request.

Look at him. And see what you don’t want.

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back.

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks.

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t.

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?”

Law says nothing to that, but waits.

“I love you,” you say.

“That’s all I need,” he says.

“What about what I need?”

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin.

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always.

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow.

“Hold out your hand,” Law says.

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand.

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one.

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!”

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers.

Oh. Not a bracelet.

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.”

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.”

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure.

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.”

“Don’t be. I love it.”

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.”

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away.

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last.

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk.

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.”

“When?”

“When I return.”

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?”

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.”

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?”

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same.

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on.

Ugh. Pants are the worst.

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent,

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.”

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #drabble requests

163 notes · View notes

galadrieljones · 2 months ago

Text

"Bet on Hope": More Thoughts on Isabelle

This is a response to @frangipanilove's post about Isabelle as a Beth Proxy. I agree 100% with everything frangi says and had to type up this quick follow-up, regarding Isabelle as a "proxy" for Beth.

I want to add that this may feel a little out of left field, but I believe that Beth and Isabelle are connected even in the hard wiring of some of the symbols we've seen over the years. What I want to talk about here is one of the last things it seems we will hear Isabelle say in the series, which is: "Bet on hope." She can be heard saying it in the trailer, and it also appears in the *leaked* script from episode 2.6.

The language "Bet on hope" is unique and uses gambling rhetoric and essentially conjures an underdog situation. To bet on hope is to call the enemy's bluff, and to hold out "hope" that you can win, even against all odds. The opposite of betting on hope would be to fold, to give into your fate, even if you still have a chance to win, or if your chances are, essentially, no worse off than your enemy's.

First, I have to wonder, what "hope" they are betting on here. I maintain there's a connection to the actual character Hope Bennett from The World Beyond, who, as a distiller and a scientist currently hiding out with T.B. Ellis, I think will be instrumental in curing Wildfire or finding a remedy for it. I think we should literally "Bet on Hope" (capital H).If you rewatch the WB coda to season 2, you'll notice that the French scientist (who has a folder full of T.B. Ellis papers on her laptop) uses the word "hope" multiple times, mainly in iterations of the phrase: "Hope beyond hope." She is "hoping beyond hope" that the Primrose Team will return to France and "end all of this."

We also see in episode 1.4 of The Ones Who Live, at the "Greenwood" laboratory where Rick and Michonne find themselves after exiting the helicopter, a poster that urges residents to "Keep Hope Alive!" None of this is coincidence!

Hope Bennett aside, when thinking of the phrase "Bet on hope," I am also reminded of episode 10.19 "One More," which TD pounced on long ago as containing a huge number of "Still" callbacks, including alcohol consumption, drinking games, golf, color parallelism, and cards. The episode revolves largely around Father Gabriel's slow loss of faith, a conflict which he will confront in season 11, and Aaron's struggle to believe in himself as a survivor. Their dynamic mirrors that of Daryl and Beth in "Still."

In "One More," FG and Aaron play a game of poker while drinking whiskey. At the end of the scene, FG bluffs his way to a win, because, instead of calling his bluff, Aaron folds. Episode 10.19 is all about foreshadowing and setting up characterization for the future, just like so many of the episodes in 10c. It is also the episode that comes directly after "Find Me."

What's so interesting about their poker game is not JUST that Aaron folds in the face of adversity, but the way that the hand goes down. Mind you that they're not playing for money. They're playing for bottle caps, so essentially, there's nothing at stake. Aaron, in a very Beth-esque "bullshit" moment, accuses FG of bluffing, so FG urges him to call his bluff.

Aaron, however, is afraid. He "doesn't have enough" to call. In a game with no cash pot, FG, however, realizes one has to be creative. He tells Aaron to bet his whiskey.

At this point, Aaron considers it. He even starts to push his cup toward the pot, but then at the last moment, he folds. You can see in his hand that he has a jack, just before he throws his cards down. It doesn't mean he has a better hand than FG, but it does mean he could have something, and that it's worth soldiering forth. He will not "bet on hope" here, so to speak. He gives up.

After FG wins, Aaron then demands that FG show him his hand, and what are the cards that FG holds? An 8 and a 2.

In the shot above, you can see in the background of FG's hand a mini-golf set. Apparently a game of mini-golf was among deleted scenes for this episode. The 8 and 2 here, which is a terrible hand, and which beat Aaron (who was too afraid to call FG's bluff), is yet another callback to Engine 82, the firetruck that mysteriously disappears without any explanation after "Coda." The firetruck that Abraham's group previously fights tooth and nail to defend from walkers. Where did it go?

Whatever happened to the firetruck may explain what happened to Beth. After "Coda," both Beth's body AND the firetruck disappear without a trace, and we never learn what happened or why.

"Bet on hope" could mean, essentially, hold out for the long odds. You could still find the one thing that's been missing all these years, which could solve all of your problems and deficiencies. Even if it is hidden behind a major, major "bluff." You must see through it and be brave enough to call it out. You may have to be creative, to bet everything. And to do this, you need all the hope you can muster. Unsurprisingly, Isabelle, a woman of faith, just like Father Gabriel, gets it.

It could also be important, especially as this is in response to a frangipanilove post and contains the reference to "Hope" Bennett, that in "One More," Aaron considers betting his alcohol to call FG's bluff. Alcohol, we are all pretty sure, has some connection to the "cure" for Wildfire, as the "Staff of Life" (quoted by Jim, the beer brewer from Fear season 4). I've also written a post comparing the French herbal liqueur Chartreuse to the potential cure for Wildfire. Essentially, I think "Bet on Hope" also means "Bet on a Cure." It also just means, "Don't give up. To get the happy ending you desire, you have to take the long odds."

Alcohol, Engine 82, and golf all in one shot. Both a nun and a priest encouraging a doubter to bet on hope. Idk if it means what I think it means but I'm going to "bet on hope" a little longer.

#team delusional #bethyl #beth greene

40 notes · View notes

blankjournal · 2 months ago

Text

THEME: SEVENTEEN RIGHT HERE!

week seventeen: 7.10.24 - 12.10.24

seventeen:

soulmate service | chwe vernon | @dkfile

bluff and nonsense | kwon soonyoung | @thepixelelf

strawberry cheesecake | choi seungcheol | @yuzukult

until next july 15th | choi seungcheol | @wavesmp3

a stitch in time | chwe vernon | @kabira

lights go down | chwe vernon | @swyllh

in accents soft and mild | kwon soonyoung | @swyllh

chapstick | chwe vernon | @cheolism

pot luck | lee chan | @junkissed

drunk confession | lee chan | @ssentimentals

superpower | lee chan | @eoieopda

cherry boy | lee chan | @ncteez

#bjnet weekly theme #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #writing #imagines #seventeen #seventeen x reader

52 notes · View notes

therealvinelle · 5 months ago

Note

Is it true that Tom Riddle has a different name in a lot of translations because publishers thought making the anagram in book 2 would be super important so they changed the name rather than just letting that one thing not work in the translation? What's Tom's name in your Norwegian copy?

I'll have you know almost everybody have different names in the Norwegian translation. I'm sure Harry would too, if the translator could get away with it, sadly his name was on the title card.

Some of this is for pronunciation, Hermione Granger is made Hermine Grang so we're not all sounding like Victor Krumm trying to make sense of her name, others are given more of an overhaul to convey the pun or vibe from the original name. Alastor "Madeye" Moody is Alastor "Galøye" Bister ("Galøye" is literally "Madeye", while "bister" means "terse").

Other examples of translations include the Black family being Svart (Norwegian word for Black) but by and large keeping their constellation names and spelling (with such exceptions as Alfar ("ph" isn't how we spell the f-sound, and the d would doesn't really work either - it's a phonetic translation of Alphard) and Narsissa (the c would be a problem)), and foreign characters like Victor Krumm and Gellert Grindelwald stay (almost: Victor is now Viktor.) the same, presumably because they're foreign in-universe.

For punny translations we have not just the names, but places and things being made punny to best reflect the original. Diagon Alley is made Diagonalgangen, "The diagonal hallway" that with the -en ending becomes "walking diagonally". Heh. Quidditch is rumpeldunk, the snitch is "snoppen" (a euphemism for penis. I commend the translator for making the game somehow that little bit gayer than it already was), Rita Skeeter is Rita Slita (conveying that she's an exhausting, tireless person), Cornelius Fudge is Kornelius Bleouf (a made-up surname that coincidentally is pronounced the same as "bluff"). It keeps going.

Some people didn't get punny names, simply names that captured the vibe. The Crouch family is now Kroek, Percy is Perry, and Tom Riddle (whom I'll get further into below) is Tom Venster.

(Though, since you've got me talking about one of my favorite niche subjects: the translator did make a pun out of Tom's name that isn't in the original series.

Tom is a common name in Norwegian, but it also is the word for "empty". We have an unrelated idiom, "full av faen" - literally "full of the devil", figuratively a malicious or cruel person. For use in conversation, I could use it about a person but also about a particularly grouchy cat. My friend had a horrible day so now they're full av faen, I tried petting that cat but it's full av faen.

The chapter where we meet eleven-year-old Tom Riddle is titled "Tom, eller full av faen".

I can only imagine the translator had been waiting four books to make that pun.)

In other words, yes Tom's name was trnaslated. In Norwegian the full name is Tom Dredolo Venster, with the anagram being "Voldemort den store" (Voldemort the great). That's right, we suffered even worse secondhand embarrassment in Norway.

I am quite fond of the translated name, as it in my opinion captures the vibe of Tom Riddle very well. An ordinary name with a very nice ring to it, and you don't actually know anybody else with that exact name. Dredolo, the oddball middle name, is as foreign yet fitting with the rest as Marvolo is in English. It's a name that rolls off the tongue.

The Danes, by comparison, have Romeo Gåde Detlev. Which is a very... eyecatching name, I've seen it go viral several times (along with the French Tom Elvis Jedusor), but the problem is that Tom was named for his father, an English gentleman in the 1920's, and this name sounds like a cultural melting pot. Gåde, originally the middle name that stood out and had Mrs. Cole assuming Merope came from an exotic background, is now the most normal name in there.

I want to be lenient, I do, the translator hadn't read Half-Blood Prince at the time and didn't know how much emphasis would be placed on Tom's name being ordinary. But, well, he made the name a different ethnicity, and I can only imagine he must have wanted the first name "Romeo" quite badly. We're left with a name that signals completely different things, which I do think is relevant when Tom's name being painfully Muggle and ordinary, growing up in 1930's London, had such an impact. Being perceived as foreign, which he would be with that name, would change things. His shedding the name to become Voldemort also takes on a very different meaning when he's an Englishmen who spent the first few decades of his life being asked if his parents fled the Soviet Union.

So, not a fan of Romeo Detlev.

As for Tom Elvis Jedusor, that one I have no problem with. Elvis wouldn't become a star until several decades after Tom's birth, and the middle name is supposed to be unusual anyway. The rest of the name sounds appropriately French, no notes. (Though the Danish translator should have taken some for how to give readers a funny, but plausible name).

#harry potter #harry potter books #harry potter translated #harry potter meta #tom riddle #tom venster #thorstein bugge hoeverstad

48 notes · View notes

formleadsfunction · 3 months ago

Text

I think about the intro to "Give Way to Open Sky" every single day.

transcript:

[the sound of a car door, footsteps, noise like a letterbox being used. footsteps and the car door again. the sound of a phone number being dialed, the ringing, and a connection being established.] soundtrack: Give Way to Open Sky by Jack de Quidt It's me again, Hector. I promise I won't hang up this time. I promise. I had to... I had to put something in the mail, I'm sorry, but I had to, something paper, I do not trust the hands… but I trust the hands more than the air. The waves, radio and ocean and sign and wind and electromagnetic, they, they can't—they've been ripped away from us, they used to be ours, or at least we used to know how to ride them, but they're not free anymore, they ain’t loose, they're tight, they bit down on the line, like in Job 41, “Can you pull in Leviathan with a hook, or tie his tongue down with rope, or—” Nothing. It's nothing. It's—we were wrong about what Leviathan is. We thought it was aberrant, we thought it was a creature, or a clever devil, or a conspiracy. We knew it was aligned with the tall city, but we did not know how high Bluff's towers would reach. I'm going. I need to—I can feel it. It wants me to be another me, but I'm going. Don't come after me. Heard is already there, he—we made a covenant. I have to. I, I have to follow him. But I’m having thoughts. I drive between the hills and their shadows are doors to other mes I've already been, but not yet. Electrical wires give way to open sky, and, is there a difference… between me and I—the thread on the wall, I could follow it, I could open other people's eyes, there's more than one mystery. I could put this one— Shh. Shh. Wait, listen. Do you hear it? [brief, faint static] “Can you pet him like a bird? Or put him on a leash, for your maidens?” Bluff City is Leviathan, and I cannot keep silent about its limbs anymore, “its power and its graceful form, who can strip off its outer coat? Who can open its jaws, its rows of scales are its pride. One scale so near to another that no air can pass between them. Its snorts flash with light. Its eyes, like the rays of dawn, smoke billows from its nostrils, as from a boiling pot over burning reeds.” “Nothing on earth is its equal: a creature devoid of fear, it looks down on all the haughty. It is the king over all the proud.”

#electrical wires give way to open sky.......#*#shoop.audio #audio #podcasts #Friends at the Table #Bluff City #transcribed #today i found out that up until now i've been using audacity in a way that was so much more complicated than it had to be btw #well! the more you know!!

31 notes · View notes

margareth-lv · 1 year ago

Note

I can tell you - for a fact - there has only, ever, been one child on set with his nanny and that is the boy born in 2021.

I think you forgot to mention, Anonymous, that the father of the One Child who visited the set is Mr McUglyHat aka🧛🏻‍♂️?

Which immediately begs the question: Who is launching the One Child agenda in December 2023 and why?

You know, the sophisticated eloquence of what you wrote is such that it seems to imply that you, a nameless Tumblr user, have direct access to important information. That you know everything first hand. But it's a bluff. You're stirring the pot. To what end? You must be aware that even if you write in your anonymous question that you know something 'for a fact', neither I nor my fellow shippers (who are strong, intelligent women, aware of their abilities) will change our minds about Caitríona and Sam's children. The facts are that there were many different children on the set of Outlander. And we link some of them to the Heughan-Balfe family.

What about the newborn, Baby Bree, from the third season? What about the newborn baby that Caitríona put her finger in her mouth in a very intimate, maternal gesture?

What about the baby under Caitriona's coat in season 4?

What about Sam's statement that Little Soul was a new addition to the family? "New addition" must mean that the family already existed, right?

youtube

Don't bother coming to me again, please. You're in no position to succeed here, I'm afraid.

[December 8, 2023]

123 notes · View notes

radioactivepeasant · 4 months ago

Text

Snippets: Free Day Thursday (Second, sillier part to follow Friday)

Poll Results: Trespasser Jak

Picking up from HERE, Jak and Daxter have been taken back to Spargus

The drive back to the city was not quiet. Every couple seconds, the kid with the amulet he shouldn't have had was pointing to something else, talking a mile a minute to the fuzzy orange thing. The red rock bluffs fascinated him. The crocadeer on the clifftops fascinated him. The frith-rotted cactus was interesting to this stranger.

Jak started to lean out of the seat again, trying to take in every speck of the horizon.

"Will you stop that?" Damas asked irritably, "You're going to fall out, and I'm not turning this car around to go get you. What are you so entranced by, huh?"

Jak's enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "After they took us to Haven- I thought there was nothing left out there but wasteland!"

"You're in the Wasteland," Damas reminded him.

"Nah."

Jak stood up despite the driver's protests and clung to the turret gun to watch a flock of birds.

"This place isn't wasted. It's alive."

"And you won't be if you don't sit down right now-!"

Damas’s headache only multiplied -- exponentially. once they had actually returned Spargus.

The stranger gawked at everything, sometimes lagging as many as ten behind to look at the most mundane things. Forges. The communication hub/post office. Leapers. A stray chickalope he tried to pick up-!

Getting him into the Gate District garrison building took five minutes longer than it should've, by which time Damas’s patience was almost completely gone. It was all he could do to keep some modicum of professionalism as he herded the boy and the talking spirit thing into a clean, well-lit room for interrogation. He left them with a stern warning to wait there until someone came to figure out who they were.

Then he left to make a very strong pot of coffee. He wasn't going back in there without it.

He quickly decided that needed another kind of drink when he returned ten minutes later only to find Jak, barefoot, sitting on top of the table like a moody teenaged gargoyle. That ratty blue winter tunic was tied around his waist now, and the loose scarf and oversized undershirt didn't quite cover a surprising amount of scars for someone his age -- or maybe not so surprising if he was an Heir, given the proclivity of Haven to put those through the wringer-

No. No jumping to conclusions.

Old burns on the soles of his feet that looked roughly six to seven years old -- a childhood accident or stubborn adventure, most likely -- were the most benign of them. Damas saw old, healed clawmarks, and strange fractal-like patterns not unlike those struck by lightning, crossing his upper arms, shoulders and chest. Here and there he saw raised lines -- the telltale sutures of do-it-yourself shrapnel removal. Regardless of whose blood flowed in his veins, this kid was a soldier. And it looked like he'd been a soldier for a depressingly long time.

Damas pushed the thoughts from his mind and took a seat in the chair the trespasser had ignored.

"Alright. Let's get this over with as quickly as we can, shall we? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Oh...kay...?" Jak gave him a puzzled, wary look and scooted back across the table to rest his back against the wall. "I mean, I can't answer everything, and half of what I do tell you won't sound believable, but that's honestly not my problem."

Patience, Damas. Inhale, slowly. You're just stressed. You can't kill him if he's related to you.

Damas took an exaggerated breath and folded his hands on the top of the table. "I don't much care about your activities in Haven. My agents deliver news regularly enough. No, I want to know how you opened a locked door with a Seal of Mar on it."

The kid looked surprised, and then intrigued.

"Mar? Wait, really? He made it out here too?" Jak looked almost impressed. "Huh! Guy got around!"

"Answer the question."

The orange one answered in the kid's stead.

"Jak here's got the distinct misfortune of being descended from the guy-"

*Allegedly," Jak interrupted. His voice was distinctly harder than before.

"What "allegedly"? Dragging me into the frickin nightmare tomb wasn't enough for ya?"

"Everything we know about that guy we got from Krew, or Samos," his companion argued, "And most of the Oracles didn't bother to warn us that Samos was lying to us our whole lives. So no, I'm not taking that on faith."

Clearly this was a sore spot for the young man.

It just so happened to also be a very sore spot for Damas.

They were just going to act like they so happened to "conveniently" let slip that this boy was supposed to be related to him? Did they think he was a fool?

"What are you playing at?" he snapped, startling them both. "Do you think I am so easily taken in?"

"What-?"

"Tell me, boy," Damas said, much more quietly, "What makes you either brave enough or stupid enough to try to pull that story with me?"

And Jak blinked at him with eyes that were a little too familiar. Wide. Full of shadows and pain and anger but still clinging to the vestiges of innocence. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Um. Who? Are you?"

If this was a con, the kid was a decent actor, Damas had to give him that.

"You're telling me you're a survivor of the House of Mar."

"No? I said other people told me I was related to that guy. People with a vested interest in controlling me."

Jak scoffed bitterly and spread his arms wide.

"Little "abandoned" orphan boy kept isolated to train as a soldier, so he wouldn't know what they planned for him. Wouldn't run. And then magically suddenly he's heir to the worst city on the planet? Give me a break. The guards in Praxis's lab came up with better lies than that."

Damas wanted to agree with the kid. He wanted so much to agree with him. Whatever else he might be, clearly Jak was not the kind of person who bought into delusions of grandeur. In fact, he sounded like he actively resented the thought. Damas could appreciate that. Rot, he could even sympathize with the kid.

But.

He had opened a sealed door.

And the river-weasel had just said something about a Tomb.

He really really didn't want to be right, but if they could give an accurate description of the Tomb at some point, that information would be pretty hard to fake.

"Why did they think they could pass you off as Haven's heir?" Damas asked bluntly.

"Because I can make old Precursor crap work, I guess? And the Oracles like me." Jak folded his arms and shrugged. "They're useless when it comes to actually protecting anyone, but at least they tried to help after the fact. More than most hu'mens did."

Oh. Alright, okay. Maybe he's a sage prodigy and he's never been trained. That would make sense-

"Pal, the Oracle called you a "chosen one". That's gotta mean something."

"Chosen for what? Time looped torture?" Jak's entire posture had become rigid. He was beyond agitated, but Damas couldn't quite pin down if it was anger or fear or something closer to grief.

"....I...sorry." The orange one looked down, clearly ashamed. "That's- fair point. I won't bring it up anymore."

Damas didn't want to hear another word of this. Not one. Without stopping to think lest he talk himself out of it, he drew a knife from the back of his belt. The boy tensed even further, looking like he might snap as he watched Damas pull a sheet of paper haphazardly from the notepad that came standard in all the interrogation rooms. Damas ignored him and placed the tip of the blade to the pad of his thumb, pushing until two large drops of blood dripped onto the paper. The boy's tension eased slightly, but he still looked vaguely alarmed.

Damas wiped the blade and, steeling himself, held it out hilt-first to Jak.

"Your turn."

Jak glared at him.

"Are you nuts?"

Damas remained stonefaced. "You want to prove those people wrong? Blood comparison. Computer will be able to identify if it matches old records or not."

"Then why'd you cut yourself?" Jak challenged.

"Control sample," Damas answered shortly, staring until the boy gave in and set the blade against the tip of his little finger.

He declined to specify whether he meant for or against.

Jak twisted his pinkie between his fingers and let a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. He narrowed his eyes at Damas.

"And this is supposed to take...how long?"

"Two months if they're not busy."

Jak unfolded his legs and slid off the tabletop. "Months?! What good does that do me? They'll probably have found a way to guilt me into going back to Haven by then!"

Hm.

Damas leaned back in his chair and studied the boy with a new perspective.

"You're a runaway. Aren't you?"

Jak scowled and folded his arms.

"I'm not! I'm just...there's something I have to do out here. And I can't go back yet."

Suspicion trickled in cold at the back of Damas’s mind. He folded the edge down over the bloodied paper and tucked it into his belt.

"And what," he asked warily, "is this "something" you intend to do?"

The boy's ears dropped, broadcasting uncertainty despite his belligerent posture.

"I...don't know yet. There's just...something was calling me. And I can't leave until I know what it is."

This boy was going to be a walking migraine trigger, wasn't he? But unfortunately there was a reasonably high probability that he was Damas’s kinsman, which meant that under no circumstances could he just toss the kid back to Haven and say "not my circus, not my moncaws".

Just get through this until the blood tests come back. Who knows, maybe the guy will find a place here in the meantime. Or he might decide to fight the squid and die horribly. One step at a time.

Damas opened the door and beckoned to one of the district guards down the hall. Commander Shui left her subordinates immediately to respond.

"Sir?"

Damas nodded back towards the trespasser.

"Have someone show him to the showers. Once he's cleaned up, see if you can't determine his age."

Shui glanced at Jak, but never lost her stoic expression. "Understood. Is he a candidate for the trials?"

Damas ignored the harsh whispering between the boy and the...okay that was called an ottsel apparently. Didn't have those out in the desert.

"I doubt even he knows. For the moment, we will proceed as though he is a refugee."

He sighed.

"I have matters to attend to. Inform me if he causes any problems."

Jak wasn't sure how to feel about this turn of events. Six days of maddening dreams of eco comets and a broken string of beads. Five days of something pulling on his eco core, or his soul, the way the Precursor Stone had.

He wasn't sorry for leaving Haven in the middle of the night. The Grand Council had been getting more and more vocal with their more...Praxian...views on his right to life and liberty, and Samos just kept telling him to focus on what was "more important", fighting metalheads and new Krimzon Deathbots.

When the Call took him down that ancient eco mine, it had felt like an escape. He'd told himself he'd go back after he found what was at the end of the tunnel. And he'd meant to, if only because he thought he had nowhere else to go. After all, Daxter had built a life in Haven. He had a mentor. A girlfriend. A whole business!

But regardless of all the pretty lies Samos and Onin and Ashelin filled his ears with, Haven was not Jak's home. He would not take responsibility for their evil. And even if he was descended from their founder, they all let Praxis kill whatever blood relatives he might've had! They decided the line of Mar had no say in government, so who was Jak to contradict them?

It was strange -- almost unfathomable -- how his perspective could have changed with a rebalancing of eco. The Oracle down in that desert temple, it had pushed through old scars, given him access to light eco, when he'd thought the substance didn't exist anymore. The constant aches that ruled his every waking moment when it was even slightly cold out, the irritability, the burning in his core, it was gone.

How had he become so accustomed to at least low levels of pain as a daily companion? Jak hadn't realized how bad his condition had been until it was gone. And his mind felt clearer than it had in months. Maybe even years. Home was far behind them now. Sandover was forever lost to them, along with all remains of Jak's innocence. Because of Onin. And because of Samos.

Without his thoughts dulled by pain and lack of sleep, Jak thought of his heartfelt thanks to the manipulative old sage and wanted to be sick.

And now he was on an island, eighty nautical miles from Haven. A wild, living, sanctuary of Wastelanders and open wilderness. They called it "wasteland", but Jak couldn't understand why when it was so beautiful.

That Call still pulled at his heart, told him he wasn't done here yet. And he was relieved, because the longer he spent under clear, blue, sky, the more he hated the thought of returning to that corrupted city.

Just because he'd told Ashelin it was worth saving didn't mean he belonged to it.

Damas -- the angry man he'd startled when they came up out of the catacombs -- left, and a well-built woman about his height entered the interrogation room.

"Holy crap, a lady Sig!" Daxter hissed in his ear.

The Wastelander did have a prosthetic eye -- her left, not her right -- of the same make, but that was really the only similarity. She carried herself like Ashelin -- someone in command, used to cooperation if not obedience -- and that alone put Jak on-edge. He met her searching gaze with a hard stare, determined not to be the first to flinch.

"Hm." The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I see what he means. When's the last time you washed?"

"Do pools of water count?" Jak asked. If there was sarcasm in the tone, so what? "Expendables don't get time to wash."

"Eesh." The woman curled her lip. "Well that's not going to fly in my garrison."

She turned to shout down the hall, "Strom! Get the rookie to the showers before the flies move in!"

"Oh rot you!"

#fic prompts #writing prompts #snippet Thursday #free day thursday #jak and daxter #king damas #dadmas #Damas doesn't know it yet but in about three days Jak and Daxter will have decided they're adopting his as resident parent #Damas was not informed beforehand #the guards don't know what to do with Jak so they send him to the Foundling Barracks #Samos calls to demand that they tell him where they are and return immediately because Daxter turned off location tracking #and Jak is just 'so. i think i may have just been put in an orphanage.' completely nonchalant #since he got his eco balanced for the first time in years he's thinking a lot more clearly and realizing his mentors are Sus #long post #trespasser au

34 notes · View notes

seancekitsch · 2 years ago

Text

Indiana Handshake: Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson

Warnings: slightest cucking, mama used as a nickname but no mommy kink, threesome, spitroasting, dirty shit, this is like my first time actually actually writing steve i do not count when he pops up as a passing character in eddie shit, like/love confessions, smut with feelings, three best friends exploring each others bodies

“Hey Munson, you ever kiss a girl?”

The question floats in a haze of pot smoke over Steve’s head as the three of you lounge on his basement couch. He was dozing off, completely zoned out listening to the mixtape in the deck, but now he perks up at the question.

“Do I really look that much like someone that doesn’t get any?” he retorts back, sassy and bitter. Steve opens his eyes as you cackle over the sound of the tape deck, Eddie’s response not particularly all that funny but you always get giggly after half a joint.

“No, I asked: Did you ever kiss a GIRL?”

You emphasize the word and suddenly the meaning is clear again. Its like the two of you are in your own little world, like Steve is a fly on the wall. Eddie whistles and Steve shifts on the couch, sitting up from his slouching. You’re perched on the couch, lazily laying your head on your arm on the back of the couch and gazing at them, your free hand rubbing your collarbone. That’s something Steve’s picked up on. You tend to do that when you’re thinking a lot. He wonders what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours right now with your line of questioning. Your other hand on the back of the couch is lazily scratching at Eddie’s scalp, and Eddie is practically leaning into it like a cat.

“Shit, haha,” Eddie laughs, “Why? Are you offering?”

You only shrug noncommittally and mumble a “maybe”, but you smile like the goddamn cheshire cat, like you know more than you let on.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Well have you?”

“No, but that could always change.”

Eddie’s talking like he knows more than he lets on, too. Steve knows when two people are flirting; he knows how this dance goes.

Steve’s neck is starting to get uncomfortable from where he’s turned it to get a full view of what’s going on.

“With who? Anne, the new bartender at the hideout?”

Eddie giggles, and mutters “you’re stupid” under his breath, and grabs your other hand from your collarbone, pulling you until you’re basically fallen into his lap.

“What if I said I was thinkin’ about you, mama?” Eddie’s voice drops, seductive and low.

Steve just stares in awe and slight confusion at the scene beside him. Did they think he was asleep? Should he go? What the fuck could he do now about his crush on you if you were going after Eddie right next to him.

You giggle again, this time a little more subdued and closer to Eddie’s face. You’re completely unashamedly looking at him like you want to tear him apart.

“I’d say you can’t handle me, big guy,” you whisper, and Eddie calls your bluff. He pulls you in hungrily, kissing you with passion Steve’s only seen reserved for Eddie’s guitar. His hands tangle in your hair while he nips at your lips, teasing and biting before delving back in with his tongue. He’s sloppy and ruthless, but fuck if this isn’t turning Steve on.

It’s turning you on too, as far as he can tell. You’ve climbed into Eddie’s lap to straddle him and your hand is now resting on his throat. Fuck. Would you do that to him if he asked really nicely? Would you be that excited to kiss him? He can feel the blood rushing to his cock and absolutely straining his pants. God, it’s fucking embarrassing how hard he’s getting watching Eddie fucking Munson make out with the girl he likes.

You moan against Eddie’s lips, and it cuts through all of the smoky haze like a knife. Fuck this, fuck. Steve can’t take it anymore.

“I’m uh, I’ll leave you two to uh…. this,” not Steve’s best exit, but he still tries to climb up from the couch as smoothly as possible as he turns away. He can get upstairs and shut himself in the bathroom and jerk himself off until the skin on his dick is raw for all he cares. He likes you so fucking much, and he can feel the old Steve basically shouting at him to do something other than this. Part of him wants to make a move, fight Eddie like some kind of macho fuckin animal, maybe even join in, who fucking knows? All he knows is that if he stays here like this he’s gonna see you the way he wants to with someone who isn’t him, and both his dick and his heart can't handle that.

“Wait, Steve,” he hears you plead quietly behind him, and he turns around maybe a little too quickly.

“You don’t, uh, you don’t have to go, dude,” Eddie offers, his voice more husky and choked than before. Your hand is still on his throat. Of course.

“And why not?”

He doesn’t intend to sound annoyed, he’s just so fucking hard and he needs to get out of here ASAP.

“Oh shit! Mama, he really was asleep.”

Okay, now Steve’s annoyance turns to confusion. He looks over to you, and your eyes are fixated on his crotch. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze and all he can think of is you looking up at him like that all wide eyed while your lips are wrapped around his—

“Dude, sit down,” Eddie commands, and Steve complies, albeit uncomfortably in his too tight jeans. He spreads his legs wide to accommodate, bumping his knee into your hip in the process. He thinks for a moment about pulling it away, but doesn’t. He can’t help but notice the look you’ve been giving him the whole time.

“What did you hear?” you ask him, voice ragged like you’re trying to catch your breath still.

“Enough to know you’re going to jump Eddie’s bones in my basement,” Steve retorts, wanting to reach out and touch you too, but his hands are on his legs and trying not to clench into fists.

“Oh,” Eddie butts in, “So you didn’t hear the first part?”

Steve cocks his head to the side.

“You didn’t hear,” Eddie pitches his voice up to do a terrible impression of you, “Oh Eddie, do you think he’d go for me? Do you think he’d care I like you both?”

Eddie twirls a finger in his hair to further make fun of you, and Steve can actually feel your eyes leave him, if only to choke Eddie harder to shut him up. Eddie coughs, and you relent slightly.

“To which I said:” Eddie puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder awkwardly, “If he doesn’t want this hot little body, he definitely likes men more than I do.”

Eddie’s hand feels like a hot iron on Steve’s shoulder, searing and painful but fuck if he doesn’t slightly lean into it. Now, Steve had never really considered men. It was the year of our lord 1988 and two of his best friends were queer, but Steve himself never really though of whether he might be or not. He knows he can appreciate when a man is good looking, and he liked Eddie enough that he even doesn’t mind when they sleep in the same bed and accidentally cuddle. It feels nice in a guy’s arms. He just really never considered the option. Especially since he’s been crushing on you since Eddie introduced the two of you after spring of ‘86. You crowded his mind, took up every thought and every day when he wasn’t actively focused on keeping the teens alive and at school on time.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Steve says, now connecting the dots and hearing the first part of what Eddie said.

“You like us both? You like… me?”

You only nod, biting your already bruised and bitten bottom lip and smiling at him.

“Dude it was obvious, she practically drools over you. She doesn’t shut up about you in the car.”

You reach out your hand, and gently place it on top of Steve’s, on the leg that’s leaning up against you.

It clicks.

Holy fuck. Is he having some kind of fucked up porno dream? Is he like, asleep and humping his couch having a weird ass wet dream right now?

“Do you ever… think of me?” It’s a loaded question and he knows it.

“Only every night,” you admit, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Do you think about both of us at once?” Eddie chimes in, and the look you give him tells him everything he needs to know. Your eyes go wide like you’re about to yell at him for telling a secret. Eddie throws his head back in laughter, and finally your hand slips off the metal head’s neck. You let a giggle slip past your lips as well, and then finally Steve let’s out a little laugh of his own.

This feels nice, this feels right even though everything tells him it shouldn’t. He likes feeling both of you touching him, he likes how easy this feels so far.

“Can I come kiss you?” You ask, and anyone else would think it was shyness, but Steve knows you better than that.

“Shit, are you gonna kiss me like you kissed Munson?” He asks, but he hopes you kiss him better.

You climb off of Eddie, who as it turns out from just one glance, is just as rock hard as Steve. Eddie’s zipper looks like it might burst he’s so hard.

Steve’s breath hitches as you plant your knees on either side of his thighs. He attempts to close his thighs a little bit, but only stops when it gets uncomfortable. His comfort stops mattering though, when your warm body slots itself over him. You rest yourself right up on his crotch, the weight of you finally the pressure he needs to relieve even a tiny bit of this tension inside him.

“You like me, too?” you ask, and he can tell this is actually two questions: do you reciprocate the feelings? And do you want to actually do this?

“Of course,” Steve answers, and captures your lips in a kiss.

Steve kisses a lot different from Eddie. Steve is slow and careful and strong. He holds you in a vice grip, like one of those men on the cover of a trashy romance novel, like an old Hollywood movie star. He parts his lips gently, working your lips open with gentle nudges and licks, his rhythm steady.

He finally licks into your lips, his tongue reaching for yours. Fuck, the amount of times he’s daydreamed for this specifically, the amount of shifts at Family Video he’s wasted just thinking about making out with you. Of course, he didn't expect Eddie to be here, but he's not upset by it. Not when you moan into Steve’s mouth like a fucking pornstar. Not when your fists are balled up into the material of his sweatshirt and gripping onto him for dear life.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Eddie sighs, and you pause kissing for just enough time to look over. Eddie’s stroking himself through his jeans, lazy drags of the heel of his palm against himself, but Steve feels the way your thighs clench against him at the sight.

“She likes lookin’ at that, Eddie. Keep goin,” Steve mutters, not at all upset that your gaze is turned to his best friend when it gives him perfect access to your neck and collarbone. Fuck, that collarbone. Every time he sees those beautiful fingers of yours go there he just wants to lick it, wants to stake some kind of claim to you with it.

He goes for it straight away, licking and sucking to the skin there, knowing it'll be a dark purple hickey by morning.

“Fuck, Steve,” You moan, and he thinks he’s done dreaming and died and gone to heaven.

He hums against your skin, teasing you again with a bite to your collarbone before his hands slip from your back to your hips.

Slowly, Steve starts moving your hips, rocking you against his lap; that slow drag of friction making both of you gasp. Steve isn’t used to being this reactive. With girls in the past, he’s cool and collected, sex basically being a series of movements that kept someone wanting to date him. He can’t deny the loneliness it’s caused him, but this feels like a whole other beast. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in forever, since he started liking you. Maybe it’s because the noises you’re making are so fucking pretty he’s going insane. Or maybe it’s because he has an audience… or a third party… or whatever this is about to be.

You start rocking your hips of your own accord, setting the pace for Steve; This means he gets to finally grab your ass, something he’s been dreaming of for two years now. Fuck, it feels amazing to finally have you like this on top of him. He cracks an eye open he hadn’t realized he’d shut, and fuck, the sight of you. Your head is thrown back, your throat with already forming splotches on full display, the light from the lamps streaming through your hair. This is better than anything he’d fantasized about.

“You wanna kick this up a notch, mama?” Eddie interrupts, and you grind particularly hard into Steve, making him groan in appreciation.

“What are you suggesting?” you ask, placing your hands on Steve’s shoulders for better leverage to keep grinding on him.

“You or Steve ever participated in an Indiana Handshake?”

You stop moving immediately.

“Ugh, are you fucking serious, Eddie?” you groan, “Are you really calling it that?”

Steve laughs, and pulls you in for a hug, squishing your chest into his face. He fears he’ll crack up too much if he looks at you or Eddie’s face right now.

“What do you want me to call it? Peter, Paul, and Mary? Spitroast? Eiffel Tower? Indianapolis Bus Transfer? Holy Trinity? Sportsman’s Double? Double Meat and—”

“I don’t know? Something romantic?” You cut him off, half exasperated and half laughing. Steve is definitely laughing against you, trying to hide it in your cleavage. Steve can’t help himself, Eddie’s the funniest guy he knows, even when he isn’t trying to be.

“Oh, this is going to be a romantic moment. Why didn’t you tell me earlier, mama?” He responds, voice laced in sarcasm.

“Goddamnit. I know why I like Steve, but now I’m starting to question why I like you, Eddie.”

Steve gives an appreciative thrust of his hips up into you, making you yelp. He sticks out his tongue childishly at Eddie, preening with his own pride. You like him, and he won't ever get tired of hearing you say that.

What Steve doesn’t expect, however, is for Eddie to take the opportunity to lean forward and kiss Steve square on the mouth.

Steve makes a little noise of surprise, and then even to his own shock, melts into the other man’s touch. Eddie’s kiss for Steve is just as sloppy and eager as Eddie’s kiss for you. Equal enthusiasm and passion for both of you. You like Steve and Eddie, so does Eddie like you and Steve? Steve doesn’t have time to dwell on that when you slip off of his lap and let Eddie grab Steve and pull him closer. The other man grabs him by the hip and turns him on the couch until their bodies are flush together. Steve can feel Eddie hot and hard against him, and okay, maybe Steve CAN think about a guy that way. He grabs Eddie back, pushing their hips together harder. Eddie moans, loud and wanton against Steve’s lips.

Wow.

Fuck, Steve didn’t know he could get that much more turned on, let alone by Eddie Munson’s voice.

Steve pulls Eddie in the same way he did you, the other’s slim waist is easy to pull so he can start to grind himself against him the same way he did you. Steve’s hips work slowly, his pace steady and hard. This is how he likes it, usually. When Steve jerks off, he makes a fuckin’ meal of it. When he can, he likes to take his time. He likes to feel absolutely everything. He can tell by the way Eddie’s hips stutter out of rhythm against his that Eddie likes things fast.

Steve wonders, when you touch yourself at night, are you fast or slow? Do you take your time? Do you finger yourself and wonder what his fingers feel like, trying to fill yourself to imagine what he would be like on top of you?

Does Eddie do the same? Does he imagine his own hand is Steve’s?

“Fuck; We forgot someone,” Eddie jokes, lips still smashed against Steve’s own.

Steve looks over to you, half sat on the coffee table in front of them. You've taken your shirt off and you're leaned forward, watching them intently. You smile sheepishly at the two of them and lean away, as if you'd been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“Don't get shy on us now,” Steve chides, an easy and charming smile on his face. This must be the face the girls that got “King Steve” must have seen. And for good reason: it works.

“Come’ere, mama,” Eddie beckons, grabbing for your arm and pulling you down on top of them, “Lets get a look at this, huh?”

“Do they live up to expectations?” you ask, slightly getting insecure at your lack of clothing. You'd thought it was a smart idea at the time, but now that they're both so much more dressed than you, you're second guessing.

However, instead of answering, Eddie smiles like he’s got a secret and Steve turns as red as a tomato.

“What?”

“Gotta admit, last time we were over here… the hot tub…” Eddie trails off, burying his face in Steve’s neck so he doesn't have to finish his sentence.

“Oh god,” you realize, “Did you spy on me while I was changing?”

“Guilty,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s skin.

Steve refuses to look anywhere but your black bra.

“Steve?”

“No comment,” he whispers, bringing you back to his face so he can kiss you again.

It was two weeks ago, and Steve had invited everyone of drinking age over to go in the hot tub and use the metal fire pit as he had just closed his pool for the season. Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle were all unavailable, claiming anything from work to an impromptu high roadtrip. Only you and Eddie had stumbled through his door with a bottle of cheap wine for each of you and a bag full of your bathing suits.

Steve hadn't meant to be such a peeping tom. It's just, you changed in front of the big window in his room with the lights on and the blinds open at night. At first, he wanted to rush into the house to protect your modesty. His neighbor’s creepy husband who had made more than enough comments to Robin would be able to see you if he was home. But then he was paralyzed when your top came off. Yes, he’s seen you in a bathing suit tons of times, but a bra is different, more intimate. He was panicked, because if Eddie saw him he’d never live it down. He watched the whole time you changed, his head whipping around to the neighbors house every ten seconds just in case. He got more than an eyeful.

This kiss is hungrier, and Steve’s hands have more skin to roam. He runs his big warm hand down your spine, then back up.

“Watch this,” Steve pulls away from the kiss and whispers, more to Eddie than you, and his hand on your back moves to your bra strap.

He puts two fingers, from what you can feel it's his index and his thumb, on either side of your bra clasp, and snaps. Your bra comes apart, as if his snap was some kind of magic trick. Steve slams his lips back on yours, letting the straps of your bra fall limply down your shoulders.

“Holy shit, is that the move you used in high school?” Eddie asks, and Steve only grunts against your mouth in response.

“Makes sense you got more than me.”

Eddie hands join Steve’s, one of them pulling your bra by the strap further down and hastily removing it, the other hand going straight to your ass.

Eddies hands move quickly, all of his moves feeling like he’s running out of time. And for Eddie, he always has been. Eddie, never the most desired, never the popular or wanted until extremely recently. He’s twenty two and this is the first time someone said they like him instead of just his body. He has to grasp onto this and hold on as long as he is allowed to. His hands are strong, just as strong as Steve’s hands, but calloused and his fingers move so much faster. You could never deny the way you'd openly swoon when he practiced guitar in front of you, you just always assumed he was only into men.

He was your best friend, and you weren't supposed to think of him that way. But fuck, when he showed up to your house with bruises on his wrists or hickeys on his neck? Oh, the fucking jealousy that ran cold through your veins. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of his hands and of his lips.

Steve entering the picture changed things, though.When Eddie introduced the two of you he threw the biggest monkey wrench in your world he ever could have. You had graduated with Steve, and were never on his radar. You probably didn’t want to be back then.You didn’t even understand how they were friends. How did the King of Hawkins suddenly become such close friends with a guy recently cleared of murder charges that hadn’t even graduated high school yet?

Steve charmed you almost instantly. He wasn’t the douche you and Eddie had grown up thinking he was. He was sweet, and funny, and so fucking thoughtful it hurt. You couldn’t help but fall for him. His looks didn’t hurt either. He was known for his basketball prowess, but his body showed his time as swim captain from high school.

Eddie pulls you from your thoughts by yanking you up closer in between them by the hand thats on your ass. Your mouth disconnects from Steve just long enough for Eddie to steal you, letting Steve pull your bra the rest of the way off of you and reattach his lips to your neck.

One of each of their hands immediately flies to your chest, each of them grabbing a breast. You can practically feel them sigh in relief at the contact, like they’d built up this moment for themselves in their minds and they finally got what they wanted. Eddie’s calloused hands feel abrasive, but fuck would you want that all over. Steve’s hand is so much warmer and calmer, his groping not about time but about space, wanting to feel everything he can and covering as much area as possible. His large hands palm and massage you, where Eddie moves to pinch at your nipple.

Both of them have you moaning and practically whining into Eddie’s mouth, and you need need need more of them everywhere.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you rip yourself away from Eddie. His lips chase yours, needy and wanting to keep kissing like this. Steve’s forehead bumps into your jaw but neither of you mind it.

“One of you strip, or something- fuck, I dont know,” You start rambling, “Do something!”

“You heard our girl,” Steve nudges Eddie and pulls you off of him, securing you in his own lap, “Strip for her.”

There’s a mischievous smile on Steve’s face as he positions you in his lap, making sure you can feel him on your ass as he rests his hands on your hips. Eddie stands up begrudgingly, hands already moving to remove his vest. It’s a new one, one that replaced the one lost in 86. Eddie still won’t tell you what happened to it, but either way you were happy for another craft project. You even sewed one of your own patches on there so he would ‘have a little piece of you’ when you weren’t around. The vest falls to the floor with a thud, the heavy denim and metal accents weighing it down. As Eddie moves to his shirt (actually one of Steve’s rare black clothing items that he let him borrow one day), Steve’s hands travel to the button and fly of your pants.

He works quickly to give his hands more access.

“You like what you see, mama?” Eddie teases, twirling his shirt in his hand and playfully whipping it at you like a showgirl would do.

You nod and giggle at him, and fuck if that isn’t Eddie’s favorite sound in the world. He loves what he sees right now, you on big strong Steve’s lap, already looking so desperate and needy, your eyes laser focused on him while Steve’s hand works it’s way into your pants.

Your eyes are glassy and wide, but your lip quivers desperately to hold back a moan. Steve’s got one of his hands firmly on your chest, holding you back against him. The other is in your pants, and from what Eddie can tell, in your panties and warming you up to take his fingers. Steve’s wrist is moving in clockwise circles, clear as day that his middle finger is teasing your clit. Your bare chest is heaving trying to hold yourself back so you can pay attention to him.

Eddie never expected to want a girl’s touch, let alone to have feelings for a girl. But you wormed your way into his heart, and took him by storm. How could you not? Its the classic story of childhood best friends, in those cheesy rom-coms where boys and girls can't be friends. He guesses maybe in some weird way this is just like that too. But how could Eddie not want you when you're the hottest girl (the only one he’s ever found himself attracted to) and the perfect mirror of himself? Eddie isn't religious but he knows he’s blessed to have a hot ass best friend who helps him write campaigns and plays music with him. Blessed to have a best friend who has always been in his corner fighting tooth and nail for him no matter what, a hot ass best friend that does not give a shit about either of their broken parts and tries to jam them together like a fucked up puzzle to make both of them better (and if not better than at least happier).

Eddie is less than a showman removing his socks and pants, more or less fumbling out of them like it's his first time again. He stands there panting in front of you and Steve in just his briefs, painfully hard and desperately wanting both of you to pounce on him and just take him right here. He likes that neither of you mind his scarring. Steve has his own, and you respect his secrets about how he got them. He’s fucked with a shirt on the past two years, but when he gets to have hot tub nights, and now, he gets to show himself. He’s always liked his body, always thought if people looked past his personality and reputation they could find him hot. You and presumably Steve are into both, so he puffs his chest out in pride when he undresses for you.

“Fucking handsome,” you say, even though you’ve seen most of this before. Steve takes this opportunity to tilt his hand and dip a finger into you, and you end up punctuating your sentence with a loud moan. Steve’s hand moves only with purpose, his timing impeccable for earring moans out of you like the beat of a drum; he works your body like he was made for it. Steve’s fingers thrust just slightly off beat with the music that’s playing, just at the same rate you can manage to roll your hips and reciprocate. It’s sinful, the way you ride his fingers.

Eddie pulls down his briefs, once off his ankles flinging them towards an empty fish tank. In Steve’s more hopeful youth, he might have had an aquarium; now it was just set decoration for whatever happens in a basement. Eddie’s cock bouces as he straightens back up to his full height, and he can’t help but feel pride at the fact that you bite down on your lip like you want to rip it off in response.

Your hand reaches out and grabs him the second he’s within arms length, giving him a curious pump of his length. Eddie thrusts into your hand, his head falling back on his shoulders, his hair going everywhere.

Steve hooks his finger inside of you, and you yelp pitifully.

Eddie escapes your grasp, not permanently but just to sit down, plopping down on the couch next to the two of you. The pout on your face when he gently uncurls your fingers is one he’s going to remember for the next time he jerks off. Eddie’s legs splay open on the couch, his dark curly leg hair a wild contrast from his milky white skin.

Your hand finds him again almost immediately, stroking up and down his length in earnest. Eddie’s dick is larger than you expected, you muse to yourself as your fingers squeeze his length at the base.

Not that you expected him to be small, but you’ve seen him in various states of undress and tight pants since the age of twelve. You think from that you’d know what your best friend is packing.

Not that you had been looking, no. Never. You’d never watched him stretch his back and let the thin tee shirt ride up his stomach while his pajama pants rest dangerously low on those hips of his. You'd never tried to watch him from the peripherals of your vision when you go swimming in the lake- or more recently- in Steve’s pool or hot tub.

You try to stroke him in time with Steve’s fingers, fingers traveling to the head of his cock as Steve’s fingers go deeper inside of you, slowing when Steve slows, picking up the pace when Steve does. Eddie’s eyes are screwed shut, trying so hard not to thrust wildly into your hand. All he wants right now is to fuck your fist, or even better, to split you open right there on Steve’s lap before going for Steve next.

You whine, and pout as Steve removes his hand from your pants without warning, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder before patting both of your hips like a dad.

“Babe, you wanna go sit with Eddie for me?” he mumbles in your ear, and now your pout is morphing into a sly little smile. You nod your head and Eddie thinks he’s going to fucking die at this point. Instead of sitting with him, you sit in front of him, sinking to your knees with the sweetest and most innocent smile he’s ever seen you have.

“Can I kiss it?” you ask, feigning coyness with that beautiful little smile. This little good girl, this fucking innocent act is doing so much for him right now. God how Eddie loves a manly man, but this sweet girl act? He’s a fucking goner, especially because its coming from his brash best friend whos unafraid to make fun of him or yell at him when he fucks up.

“Fuck,” he swears, running his hand down his face, “Please do, mama.”

Thats all the incentive you need to scoot yourself forward until you're kneeled between his feet. You reach your hand out again, but this time your lips join it. You grip the base of his dick firmly, holding him in place and perfectly positioned for you to massage right where his balls meet his shaft. You lick your lips, eyes never leaving his gaze, before pressing the sweetest little kiss to the head of his cock. Holy fuck. You kiss it again, your lips so soft and gently and velvety against his skin and he has to physically hold himself back from grabbing you and pushing your head down on his cock. He would never do that to you, unless you asked. You stick your tongue out, a testing lick to the underside of his head, and he tries to bite back a groan and fails.

Steve moves himself from the couch, standing to strip as your head finally descends on Eddie’s cock. You look fucking beautiful, your hair falling down your bare back as your head bobs up and down in Eddie’s lap. Eddie looks beautiful too, his head thrown back and his pale throat on display for Steve to want to bite into it. Steve’s eyes travel down Eddie’s form as he undoes his jeans, tracing over the scarring and tattoos that litter his chest.

Steve makes quick work of his jeans, pushing them down his muscular thighs and kicking them down the rest of the way. It's not by any means Steve’s sexiest move, but you and Eddie have definitely seen him at some of his worst and clumsiest moments, so he doesn't worry. No, hes more focused on the heaving of Eddie’s flushed chest, on the curve of your spine, and on the slick noises of your face fucking Eddie’s cock, the slight choking and sputtering and the sound of his tip hitting the back of your throat every so often.

Steve sheds his shirt just as quickly, having basically practiced for this moment every time he had to whip off his shirt in the locker rooms. Steve was an expert at the quick removal, he just didn't know he was practicing for this moment in particular. He feels like everything has led him here to you two. Every habit and every decision led him to meeting Eddie, and then you, and then to the nights where he would stay up late thinking of you all over him and even once thinking of you fucking Eddie while he watched. Steve had written that off as some weird half drunk mind trick, but now he sees it was more; he just didn't know.

Eddie cracks an eye open, having squeezed them shut when you started hollowing out your cheeks around your shaft and tried his hardest to not blow his load right then and there. When he gets a peek of Steve, his eyes shoot open, wide eyed and shameless in his staring. Steve is a tighty-whiteys guy, and for some reason thats so fucking hot to Eddie. He figures it's the same way Brad Majors is the one Eddie had a crush on when he first watched Rocky Horror. He was so into that nice all- American boy look in that movie, which felt so wrong because all of the random men he’s hooked up with- and Gareth at Gareth’s graduation party- did not sport that look at all. But maybe, subconsciously, his mind knew he would want someone like Steve somewhere down the line.

“Fuck,” you sigh, coming up for air from where you had been bobbing up and down on Eddie, your nose feeling a little raw from where it had been brushing against his trimmed pubic hair.

“Jesus, you're amazing,” Eddie praises, his hand affectionately cupping your cheek.

“Thats not my name,” you tease, and both of your boys laugh.

“Shut the fuck-” Eddie says, and then cuts himself off, staring past you. You turn your head to look at Steve, and you totally get why Eddie is so quiet now.

Steve is hung. Like, Hung hung. Both of you probably look ridiculous staring at him right now, with his eyes so wide and your mouth hanging open like a trout.

Steve is so much thicker than you expected. You had an idea of his size from the way his pants were always tight in the best way, but you had not prepared yourself for this. He had both length and girth on his side. There’s no wonder now why when Steve started hooking up in school, he immediately earned himself a reputation. There are no doubts in your mind.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“Yep,” You try to force out, but it comes from your lips sounding more like a squeak than anything else.

“Had I known you look like this, I would not have skipped gym so much,” Eddie jokes, his voice shaking slightly.

“Okay guys, shut up,” Steve deadpans, doing that disapproving thing where he puts his hands on his hips, “I’m starting to get out of shape. Its not that great.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” You say as you stand up, quickly noticing you're the only one still partially dressed. You hook your fingers into your pants and panties, pulling both down at once and stepping out of them daintily as they come to your ankles. Steve takes the opportunity to playfully slap your ass the second you bend down. You jump at the contact and Eddie cracks up from his spot on the couch.

There's a bit of a pause at this point, an unsureness of what's to come. Well, you all know what's to come, but you're not sure of how. You all stare at one another, feeling their eyes rake up and down your body, your eyes darting between them.

“So, uh,” Steve starts, now feeling the creeping of a blush bloom up his cheeks, “So how do we do… this?”

Eddie looks at Steve, and then to you.

“Well, I think she’s going to have the most, uh, activity,” He stresses that word, and you sort of just now realize what exactly you signed up for, “So I think she should decide.”

You hear Steve mumble a ‘yeah, okay, that makes sense’ as he comes to crouch down behind you, pressing the sweetest kiss to the top of your head as his big warm hands brace themselves on your shoulder.

Your brain goes a little fuzzy for a moment. Depending on what you say, will they think you like one of them more than the other? Will they get offended? You realize in that moment just how much power you have over them. They’re letting you control this entire new situation, new waters for all of you.

“I think…” you trail off, looking between the two of them.

It’s like Steve can see the gears working in your head.

“You know what?” he asks, quick saving you like he’s done thousands of times in the past two years, “What if we get you a little more warmed up?”

You nod eagerly, leaning back into his hold on you, loving the feeling of his warm hands on your skin. You can do that. Eddie perks up at this too.

“May I make a request?” he asks, leaning forward to stroke his thumb against your cheek. You nod against his hand, because honestly you'd let him do anything if he keeps looking at you like this.

His eyes briefly leave yours to look at Steve, smiling widely at the other man.

“Can I watch him eat you out?”

You can feel Steve jolt in excitement behind you.

“Yeah,” you sigh out, knocked breathless by his request. Fuck, the amount of times you’d thought of Steve’s mouth all over you, the ways you imagine he could make you come apart on his tongue.

“How do you want us?” you ask, following up with more confidence at the thought of one of your fantasies coming true.

Eddie turns even redder than he was before, if that was even possible. The scarring on his chest and neck is even more noticeable now, the white tissue stark against his wild blushing. You know his skin would feel hot to the touch right now.

“Jesus Christ, mama, you can't just ask me shit like that. Not when you look like that,” Eddie wipes a hand down his face in exasperation.

“Sit on my face,” Steve interjects. When you turn to look at him, there’s something dark and wild in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. His pupils are blown wide and his brow is furrowed in concentration, his lips plump and open.

“Holy shit, okay,” you breathe out, light laughter in your tone. You stand up to your full height in front of Eddie and gesture for him to get off the couch. He jumps up, revealing a tattoo on his pale white ass.

“What the fuck is that?” Steve gapes, laughing and pointing at the ink.

“What?” Eddie smacks his own ass, right over the tattoo, “Doesn’t everyone have a pot leaf on their ass?”

“No!” Steve shouts, getting up to take his place on the couch, and showing off his muscular, not tattooed butt.

Eddie cracks up, taking the opportunity to pinch Steve’s ass before he lays down on the couch, making sure his head is on a cushion and not the arm rest so you can take your rightful seat.

“Steve, before you you dine…” Eddie falters, as if nervous, “Can I possibly ask to get a taste?”

“Of you?” Eddie adds, just to be clear.

“Oh!” Steve sounds surprised, “Oh uh— yeah, please, of course.”

Steve straightens out his legs, one of his calves now hanging off the arm rest on the other side of the couch and the other half off the cushion so he could get leverage with his bare foot on the floor.

You're standing awkwardly, your first bit of apprehension in all of this. You're not awkward in your nakedness or the way you've been staring at both of these men the whole time. There's no shame in that.

“Whenever you’re ready, Y/n,” Steve says, not impatiently. He’s still looking at you just as intensely, with his eyes mapping your body, darting around like they're trying to memorize every detail.

“Okay,” you say, shakily, still hesitating.

Eddie notices the shift in your confidence and basically jumps to you, his arm coming around you to reassure you.

“Hey, whats going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asks, and Steve pushes himself up to lean up on his elbows, ready to push himself up to let you on the couch if you want a break.

“No ones ever, uh, done that to me before,” you say, feeling suddenly shy.

“No one? The prettiest girl in all of Indiana and no ones ever gone down on you?” Eddie gasps. He and Steve don't even try to hide their surprise, with Steve’s jaw hanging down as he tries to process the information. They know you've had boyfriends before, some of which you seemed to be really into but apparently were not satisfying you the way they would.

You shake your head, but Eddie got you smiling again at his compliment.

“Climb up here right now,” Steve orders, flopping onto his back again and patting his cheeks with his open palms.

You laugh, and with your renewed confidence you make your way over to the couch, to Steve. You bend over to face Steve, hair spilling over your shoulders and framing you like a curtain. Steve thinks it's incredibly cute how the ends lightly brush his face.

“So how do you want me, big boy?” you whisper, mirth in your eyes.

“Why do you both call me that?”

Your eyes dart down to his waist, and then back to his eyes.

“Well… we were right,” you joke, and both of you chuckle.

“Want you to watch Eddie,” he whispers, and he can swear your eyes light up at the thought. You nod quickly, eagerly, and stand back up. Eddie sits on the arm of the couch, his painted nails gently raking their way up and down Steve’s thighs.You rest one knee on the side of the couch next to his head, your other leg coming up so you and swing it over to the far side of the couch to place on the other side of Steve’s head. You hear him sigh contentedly as he watches you get settled above him.

“Ready?” you ask once you're in position.

“Fuckin’ born ready,” Steve sighs, and you slowly lower yourself onto him, leaning forward slightly and resting your hands on your thighs to give him the best access possible.

Its fucking heaven when Steve’s mouth hits your core. His plump lips move easily against your folds, his tongue deftly parting them. He wastes no time in thrusting his tongue inside of you, swirling it around inside of you without any hesitation. His tongue works inside you like a screw, swirling, pistoning, swirling, pistoning ever more trying to pull something out of you.

You're already a wreck on top of him, your clit pressed against his chin, when Eddie sinks his lips down on Steve’s cock. Steve moans loudly, sending vibrations up your abdomen from the epicenter of your cunt. Eddie immediately tries to push himself as far as possible down Steve’s cock, his throat opening up to the point where only about a half inch needs Eddie’s hand to cover and make up for it.

“Oh my fucking god, Steve,” You moan out, choked and half sobbing. You've ever felt pleasure this intense, never. He’s the olympic champion of making you feel like you're on top of the world, from the simplest of compliments to being the first person about to make you come from just their tongue. He fucks you earnestly with his tongue, as deep as he can and actively pressing his tongue against your g-spot, relentless but full of affection at the same time. Eddie does not let up his pace, bobbing up and down on Steve’s length, taking it all like a champ, the sound of his throat choking him spurring you on in your race to an orgasm.

“Fuck, please,” You beg, and you can swear you hear Steve say something, but he doesnt let up from his onslaught of his tongue so all you feel is the vibration of his voice against your core. His hands push your hips slightly, tilting the angle so he can focus on your clit. He attacks the swollen bud with fervor, licking and sucking as you clench your thighs around his head.

“Fuck, she likes that,” Eddie remarks, having taken his mouth off of Steve momentarily. You moan appreciatively, and then roll your hips against Steve’s mouth in desperation. Steve doesn't leave you hanging; he would never be the type. He doesn't let up, he feels the way you’re clenching, feels the way your cunt is squeezing around his tongue. Steve only works harder to push his tongue further onto your clit, to move it around more, he does everything he can to do better than any vibrator you might have. You start shaking, nor gripping his hips with the effect of leaving a series of crescent moons on his hips.

“Fuck,” You try to say, but it comes out more like a high pitched moan.

Steve takes your clit between his plump lips, and sucks, his teeth grazing the nerves.

You scream as you see stars, trying to pull yourself away from Steve’s grasp as you come, but his strong hands keep you in place. He keeps licking at you as you come, lapping up your arousal as he slowly lets you come down to earth.

It's around this time that you notice Eddie has stopped sucking Steve’s cock, instead focusing on the way you shake and yell for the other man.

The moment your thighs stop shaking, Steve slides himself out from under you and tries to envelop you into a hug. Eddie lets himself fall to the side, letting Steve wrap you up as you fall like jello in his arms. You sob and shake and fuck does Eddie want to experience it for himself.

“Holy shit,” You sob into Steve’s arms, and his big biceps hold you tight. He holds you as your shakes subside and your muscles relax against him. Eddie stares up at you in awe, not unlike the time you drove him out to see Dio in Chicago. He's gaping and wide eyed in awe, but there's a hunger in his eyes that wasn't there before.

Eddie watches the two of you hug while you come down, before grabbing Steve in a kiss. Eddie licks into Steve’s mouth quickly, and then pulls back to you.

“Needed a taste of you too, mama,” He admits, smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“Now,” Eddie turns to you, interrupting his own question with a kiss to your lips, “How do you want this to go?”

With the agency in your hands, you freeze for a second. Steve can feel you tense in his arms and he too freezes for a moment, worried you’re tapping out after that.

“I think maybe you,” You point at Eddie, “I want you first.”

You pause, and then turn to Steve with his arms around you, somehow you feel embarrassed. You feel embarrassed to face him after you've come.

“And then you to finish?” You ask, and Steve acts like you've given him the keys to the entire world. Steve’s knees buckle, while Eddie grabs you and twirls you in a circle like the most excited man in the world.

“It’s like you read my mind, been fuckin waiting for this,” Eddie sighs, bending you over the side of the couches of the basement. You didn't, you know you didn't. This was a deepcut- fantasy for him and you fuckin knew it because he preferred men. But to know he wanted you specifically, you only, was something of note.

“You come here often?” You flirtily joke as you raise your ass in the air, on your worst behavior for your best friend.

“I’m about to,” he replies just as playfully, and he ruts his hips against your ass teasingly.

“Fuck me, Eddie,” You ask, and that all he needs. Eddie presses slowly into your cunt, savoring every inch as it happens. He lets you feel all of it, splitting you open while he painstakingly slowly pushes his whole length in. He presses in again at the same rate, glacially slow. He takes every inch like a millimeter. And then he thrusts in quickly, dispelling any doubt that he wanted you, pressing himself back into you at a breakneck speed.

“I saved this all for you,” he admits, and thrusts himself fully inside of you. Its a stretch the fingers and the face sitting could not have prepared you for. Its distinctively Eddie, his thrusts full of that energy and love that all of his actions are. He thrusts into you quickly and uncharacteristically quietly, he thrusts like he is making love, pushing against and away and against and away with heart. Behind you he kisses and kisses and kisses, pressing endless kisses to your spine.

You press a kiss into the air to beckon Eddie closer, afraid that if you try to say anything you'll lose your composure too much.He responds by leaning fully over you to reach your mouth, and kisses you sloppily.

You feel the couch cushion dip in front of you, and you know Steve is getting onto the couch as well. You pull away from Eddie to turn to Steve, who is kneeling on the couch watching Eddie thrusting into you with the most serious concentration.

Eddie thrusts particularly hard, forcing a particularly loud moan from your lips. Steve wraps his long fingers around his cock again, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Hey, mama?” Eddie asks, “Wanna make Steve feel as good as I do right now?”

You nod fervently, worried that anything you try to say will come out as a strangled moan and worried that if you take either of your hands from where they are planted on the cushion you'll lose your balance.You look at Steve, from his cock to his eyes, asking for permission. Instead of saying anything, he leans up so he’s completely on his knees now, his cock dangling in your face. You look into his eyes, a sly smile on your face, before you stick out your tongue to lick his tip.

Immediately, Steve is moaning and tipping his head back, incredibly reactive to you.

“Been that fuckin’ long for you, big boy? Did I suck or something?” Eddie jokes, not slowing his pace at all.

“No!” Steve asserts, but then adds, “I mean… I haven't felt her. Been thinking about her longer than you.”

The way they keep talking about you has your heart absolutely soaring and your cunt clenching. They talk about you like you hang the moon and stars, with so much care and consideration for your comfort in all of this. But then they pull out lines like that, talking about how they've wanted this.

You decide to give them even more to talk about, the next time Eddie thrusts you forward you part your lips and take the head of Steve’s cock between them, swirling your tongue around the very tip. You make a show of pulling him deeper inside of your mouth timed to Eddie’s thrusts. You moan around Steve’s cock, and your eyes roll back. You can feel Eddie picking up his pace, and you don’t know if you can hold out much longer until your next climax.

“S’like you’re made for taking our cocks,” Eddie groans, “Our good fuckin’ girl.”

You moan even louder than before, feeling your nails dig into the cool pleather of the couch and you arch your back further into Eddie’s hips.

“Oh she liked that, you feel that Munson?” Steve asks, not at all ignoring the way your moans sent vibrations up his cock.

“Feel that? Fuck, she practically ripped my cock off how hard she’s squeezing me, Handsome.”

The way they talk about you like you aren’t even there has you wanting to put on eve more of a show for both of your men. You spread your legs even further, pushing your ass closer to Eddie, allowing every thrust to go that much deeper: his balls slap against you on particularly hard thrusts, your ass muscles bouncing against his hip bones sure to bruise. You hollow out your cheeks intently, trying to make your mouth as tight you can to take Steve, as long and thick as he is.

You swirl your tongue as best you can around his length, trying to move against him and in equal tandem against both of them.

Steve groans, losing all composure to take things by your pace, thrusting his hips forward. Immediately, he tries to apologize; but you moan again, seeming to love every moment of this.

And you fucking do, you fucking love it so much. You’d only daydreamed your way through a few community college lectures thinking about Steve’s cock in your mouth so casually. You’d really thought about this moment for a few months, tried to imagine exactly what he would feel like, but nothing could have actually prepared you for how nice this feels. Your lips feel lips they were made to be around his cock and your ears so finely tuned to the cute little noises Steve makes. Steve is vocal, if anything, during sex. You’ve learned that he has a different noise for everything he feels pleasurable. The noise he made when your tongue first touched his cock is so different from the noise he made when you added your lips and so different from now with him pretty much fully fucking your face. You relax your throat as much as possible, focus on being open in every way you can. Eddie struggles behind you, his pace faltering as hes groaning that you’re tight as shit. You can feel him start to waver and get lost as he fucks you. You're gleeful you can make your best friend feel this good; you'd spent countless nights thinking about him too, how if you ever got this chance you'd fuck him better than a pornstar.

You release Steve from your mouth with a pop and turn your head as much as you can.

“Come on, Eds, I’m on the pill, please,” You beg, needing to feel him absolutely lose it. You want him to come, need him to come.

“You’re sure?” He groans, but his tone sounds like someone jump scared him in a haunted house.

“Deadly, babe,” You call back, only to wrap your lips back around Steve’s cock instead of waiting for an answer.

Fuck, how are you even real? Eddie thinks. Its like you just handed him the keys to the fucking castle.

You push yourself deep on Steve’s cock, your tongue massaging the vein on the underside and milking another loud moan from his lips. Eddie's hips stutter again, and you try to arch your back even harder. His left hand comes off of your hips to land a smack on your ass that startles you. You jerk under him, involuntarily squeezing him even more than you were.

“Fuck,” Eddie shouts, and his hips still. He comes with a sigh, hot spurts painting your insides as he holds you in a grip harsh enough to bruise. Holy shit does it feel amazing, white hot from the inside, you feel like you'll burn. Steve makes eye contact with you, and smiles, openmouthed and lazy through his panting. Eddie pulls out of you slowly, hissing at his sensitivity and a little whisper of ‘fuck’.

“Hey, Can you vacate her mouth for a moment?” you hear Eddie ask Steve, and he complies, winking at you before he slowly pulls his cock out of your mouth. He leans back to sit, legs folded beneath him. Your arms feel weak now that you can finally focus on them, the muscles strained from holding your position on the couch. Before you can move, Eddie’s fingers are back inside of you, meeting absolutely no resistance with your shared mess. He thrusts twice, giving you just enough to whine, high pitched and embarrassing. Then he pulls his hand away, only to bring that hand up to your mouth.

“Hey, mama, you want to clean these for me?” Eddie holds out the two fingers that were just inside of you, his come dripping off of them. The sight is obscene, degrading, all kinds of perverted.

“Why can't Steve clean them?” you ask, deciding to test Eddie’s patience. Is he the kind of guy who would punish you for acting bratty? He might be, seeing as he’s definitely the type that did shit in your friendship to establish that kind of dominance.

Eddie laughs, and his eyebrows arch up until they get lost in his bangs.

“I dunno, sweetheart, maybe because he isn’t the one that made such a mess?”

Eddie has a point, you concede, and Steve laughs too.

But that laughter quickly dies down when you wrap your lips around Eddie’s fingers and make a show of licking his fingers clean, especially the way you hollow out your cheeks and swallow.

Eddie is warm and salty on your tongue.

This is the first time you’ve enjoyed this taste. In the past with your old boyfriends it was always to satisfy them, to keep them from complaining. If spitters are quitters… that explains why you quit all of those relationships. With Eddie, it’s different. Your first thought is not disgust, rather how you just want more. More of Eddie, more of Steve, more of them and anything they want to give you.

That’s why you happily swallow around his fingers, smiling as you lick his fingers completely clean.

Eddie’s already half hard again before his fingers even leave your lips with a soft pop.

“Fuck, Steve, she’s gonna rock your world,” Eddie moans out. Steve is lazily stroking himself, just sitting back and enjoying the scene.

“She already is, man,” he mumbles back, watching your every move. You finally get off your hands and knees, giving your arms a much needed break.

“Fuck,” you hiss, immediately feeling the rest of yours and Eddie’s mess spill out of you, “The couch.”

Eddie grabs you in his arms to pull you to stand, the last remaining dripping down your thighs.

“Who cares about the couch?” Steve asks, immediately reaching for an old blanket and throwing it over the spot you were just sitting in. He should care, it’s his couch, but it’s the last thing he cares about right now. All he wants is you below him making all those pretty noises you just made for Eddie. Wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

Steve himself stands then, and comes up behind you to kiss your neck. He pushes stray hair from your shoulder and his kisses get sloppier, open mouthed and possessive. He presses his hips against your ass desperate to feel you on him again. Eddie kisses your lips hungrily, capturing your bruised bottom lip between his own. It doesn't bother him at all that he can taste himself on your mouth, fuck, he’d taste a thousand loads on your mouth if it meant you kept wanting to kiss him.

You pull away from him gently, breathless and eyelashes fluttering, looking like a goddess. A warrior babe straight off the illustrations of an album cover. Holy shit, its crazy to think about how everyone thought you were dating in high school. If only they could see you now.

You smile at Eddie like he hangs the moon in the sky, so wide and bright and blissful. Then you turn to Steve.

“Can I have you now?” you ask, and your tone is so fucking shy and innocent like his cock wasnt just in your mouth, like you didnt suck him off while Eddie railed you from behind. Goddamn, you’re going to be the death of him, he thinks.

“You’ve got me,” Steve says, tone soft and full of affection. Steve’s hand comes up to cup your cheek and turn you towards him for a kiss. Steve tastes Eddie on you too, but finds himself liking the taste on your tongue. A hint of salt like the ocean waves he tasted once when he was still on top of the world.

Steve turns you gently in his arms, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. He guides you down until your bare back hits the cool fabric, and then gets on one knee. The look in his eyes is intense, pupils blown wide with lust and his hair disheveled from pulling on it. He looks like a Greek hero coming home victorious from war.

He pulls your legs up, pressing a kiss to each knee, before moving them so your heels rested on the couch.

“Lay down?” He asks, so sweetly.

“Oh, Harrington’s into missionary!” Eddie teases, and Steve’s face goes bright red. He snaps his head towards Eddie, and you can only imagine the look he’s giving him right now.

“Hey, it’s romantic! I don’t know? I’ve never done it,” Eddie exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Next time,” you offer, “We’ll fuck you missionary. Turn on the romance for ya.”

Next time, they both think, there’s going to be a next time.

You maneuver yourself to lay down on your back, your head resting comfortably on the arm rest with your hair pulled back and out of the way, one of your legs sliding off the couch and resting with your foot on the floor. You turn your head to the side and look at your guys. Your guys who are flirtily touching one another, soft brushes of their hands and bumps of their hips as they talk and wait for you to situate yourself. Eddie is unabashed with his flirting, all teasing and smirking; Steve is more shy, more deliberate at testing the waters.

“Go get her, big boy,” Eddie urges, finally noticing you’re ready. Steve stands up again, only to sink his knee down on the couch between your legs, the cool pleather now warm from all of the activity. He watches as your eyes bounce from his, to his cock, and back up again.

“We can go slow, okay?” he asks, assuming your apprehension; Many times girls have told him he doesn’t fit, that they have to move at a glacial pace, that it’s just too much.

“If that’s what you want,” you retort, hand coming up to your collarbone.

“Well I— I don’t want to hurt you,” he asserts, absolutely not wanting to be too eager and ruin his chances with you.

“You won’t hurt me. I can handle roughness,” you reassure him, bumping your thigh against his hip affectionately, “I mean, did you not see what Eds was doing to me back there?”

You laugh, throwing your head back at patting Eddie’s thigh. Eddie, who’s now fully hard again and standing at the armrest close to your face.

Steve did see what Eddie did to you, saw every second he wasn’t staring into your eyes trying not to blow his load right then and there. Saw how every of snap of the metalhead’s hips pushed your mouth further down around his cock, saw how his pace had your moans so trapped in your throat they almost sounded like a squeak. You can handle rough.

“Can you settle for something in-between?” Steve asks. He’s a romantic at heart. He fucks, but he doesn’t want to just fuck. He loves when it means something, when he can hold and hug and kiss his partner’s skin. He loves when it could be love. He’s only seen it twice, in little glimmers; wants more of it like a drug.

You nod, a small smile crossing your features. Steve’s come to realize this is a smile you only give to him and Eddie. He should have seen all of this coming from miles away. His eyes rake up and down your body one last time, before raising an eyebrow to ask: is this okay? Are you ready?

You only respond by putting a hand on his cheek, telling him everything he needs to know.

Eddie grabs your other hand, pressing sloppy kisses to your knuckles, letting Steve push himself further between your thighs, letting his cock brush up against you.

You gasp the moment you feel him, ready for everything he will give you. Steve is so different from Eddie, and together they’re like your two favorite ice cream flavors swirled together. Steve rocks his hips against you, letting his cock catch against your cunt as he moves. His spread his legs, pushing your thighs even further apart, and then slowly starts to push in.

Immediately you moan, the stretch burning in such an amazing way. Steve is certainly the biggest you’ve ever taken. He pushes in slowly, just as slow as Eddie just did, easing you onto him. Whereas Eddie was fast and agile in his movements, Steve’s are slow and heavy. You don’t mean to keep comparing the two, as neither of them would be a clear winner in the competition. You’ll be damned happily if they would allow you to continue to be greedy for them both.

Eddie goes from kissing your hand to placing it on his cock, of course, and without even a second thought you start to stroke him again, wrist loose and moving quickly up and down his shaft.

Steve slows to a stop when he bottoms out in you, honestly surprised you could take all of him. He felt you on his fingers, and it was clear Eddie was going to be a little bit of a stretch to you. How he fits, he doesnt know, but fuck if it doesnt feel like your body was meant for him. This feels better than literally any fantasy he could have imagined.

“Fuck, mama, look at how good you take him,” Eddie points out, absolutely mesmerized as far as Steve can tell by the sight of himself inside you. You’re breathing a little heavily, obviously concentrating on adjusting to him. You nod, a wide smile on your face for Eddie, and then you turn to Steve.

“Please, I need you,” you quietly beg, “I need you.”

Thats the only encouragement Steve needs before he starts moving. Steve pushes his hips against you slow and hard, his pelvis grinding against you while he moves.

“Fuck,”You whisper, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. Your hand starts to slow on Eddie’s cock, fingers moving sloppily around his shaft.

Your eyes move from Steve’s to Eddie’s, making eye contact as you part your lips even farther. Steve pauses, watching the scene unfold before him. Your mouth is beautiful, lips all swollen and wet, and Eddie’s cock so pink and erect. He pushes the head of his cock past your lips just as Steve had just done to you on the other end of the couch. Eddie smiles at you, and then his eyes meet Steve’s. Theres something so flirty and affectionate in Eddie’s eyes as he smirks at him, and when Eddie winks at him, Steve forgets his control of his hips.

You moan loudly around Eddie’s cock as Steve thrusts harder into you. Shit, he didn't mean to do that; but as it turns out, you seemed to love it.

He tests it out again, another rougher thrust. He earns the same loud moan, and your mouth head moves even further down Eddie’s shaft. Steve is torn, half of him wishes he could kiss you and ask you how you're doing, the other half loves that he gets to watch Eddie’s cock slide in and out from between your lips. Its dirty, insane how much he likes this. He fucking loves watching you and Eddie. He was ready to be consumed with his jealousy the first time he saw you and Eddie kiss, how his fucking tune changed so quickly. Steve figures its because he doesn't know what he likes, he never has. He’s always been focused on what will keep people around him rather than his own fun. Pleasing you, testing the waters with Eddie, he never expected this to be so fun for him.

He starts a pace with these very deep thrusts, pulling out pretty much completely, leaning down close to grind his pelvis into you while he slams himself back inside of you as deep as possible. He watches intently as your chest heaves with every thrust, your breasts bouncing with every slam of his hips. Each of his thrusts pushes you farther onto Eddie’s cock, Steve inadvertently setting the pace for all three of you. You all move as one, the push and pull like waves crashing against a dock, hard and fearsome but oh so natural.

Steve does his best to stay quiet, biting back every moan of his own, instead trying to concentrate on hearing all of you muffled moans coming from your full mouth. He feels like he needs to memorize this sound, past his own moans. What he didn't really expect, however, is how much he wants to memorize the little gasps and pants coming from Eddie’s lips as well.

“Fuck, you two are beautiful,” Eddie sighs, breaking the rhythm of the sounds in the room, cuts through it like his pocketknife normally kept in his vest pocket. Eddie looks appreciatively between the two of you before thrusting his own hips towards your head, the surprise of his movements making you clench around Steve’s cock.

Shit, if Eddie keeps making you do that he’s going to blow his load in an instant.

You feel fucking amazing. It feels like every one of your nerves is on fire, and you're not even sure where to put your hands. They feel wasted where they rest on Steve’s biceps, but the selfish part of you is loving that you actually get to feel them up finally. You had not been prepared for how this night would go, and even less prepared for how much you loved being laid out and open for them. Did this make you a slut? You didn't think so. You'd never judged other girls that way, weirdly only holding yourself to that standard.

You're roughly jostled from finishing that train of thought (thankfully because you would have made yourself sad) by Steve speeding up his thrusts, and you can tell he’s close. Theres been a slow building tension tightening in your abdomen this entire time, and now an urgency to meet him where he is. Oh god, what it would feel like to climax in sync with THE Steve Harrington. You've heard so many stories, some of which you'd actually rolled your eyes at and made fun of with Eddie at the lunch table. My, how things have changed.

Eddie feels amazing in your mouth, now having you almost thinking your mouth was made for taking him. Never before have you loved giving a blowjob this much. You love the feeling of the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, not at all minding how you choke around it. He tries to time his thrusts with Steve, you notice, their in and out matching up, filling your mouth and cunt both so deeply at the same time. Fuck, its intoxicating. You know you're a moaning mess for them, muffled by Eddie’s cock and pretty much limp below Steve. But holy fuck, is this not the best you’ve ever felt. The tension of your abdomen stirs, feeling yourself tighten around Steve, and you swear you can feel every vein of his cock from the inside now.

“She’s close,” Steve pants to Eddie, not even talking to you. You shudder, already feeling your climax building.

“Don't I know it, babe,” Eddie responds, “I can just see how fuckin’ worked up she’s getting.”

You hadn't realized you were that obvious, but it doesn't matter as you chase your own high, archign your back so Steve hits you at a different angle, somehow even deeper.

“Come for us, mama,” Eddie urges, finally talking to you again, comfortingly rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Please, fuck, please give it to me,” Steve begs, quickly losing composure himself. His thrusts start to lose their pace, and one of his arms comes up off the couch so he can press his thumb to your clit.

“Please,” He begs again.

You swallow again around Eddie’s cock, the last thing you voluntarily do before you tumble over the edge, orgasm overtaking you in quick choppy waves. You feel yourself shaking, but your mind and body are miles away from one another. You're trapped in a dream, a fantasy beyond your fantasies, entire body feeling better than its ever felt in your entire life.You try your best to keep up your pace on Eddie, but you yourself devolve into a moaning mess.

“Thats right, mama,” Eddie sighs, pulling himself out of your mouth so he can hear your moans outright. He’s not disappointed, immediately without the gag of his cock your moans echo throughout the basement.

“Please, please, please,” you beg between moans, not sure what you're even asking for at this point. Steve fucks you through your orgasm, slow and careful.

He almost collapses on top of you, caging you in with his arms, kissing your collarbone again over the hickies he had already made while he comes quietly with a little shiver of his pelvis and a whimper against your skin. He only lays there for a moment before leaning back up, making sure to press his kisses into your chest before he sits back up. He stays buried in with you, soaking in the feeling of being inside you still. Eddie watches the scene with a keen eye, like he’s trying to memorize every centimeter of what lays before him.

Steve takes this chance while he’s distracted to wrap his own large hand around Eddie’s length, pumping his shaft quickly, not the way people are jerked off in porn, the way Eddie snapped his hips into your sweet cunt only a half hour ago. Steve tries to imitate that pace as best as possible, taking Eddies groaning and gasps as encouragement. You watch blissfully, still half coming back to earth as Eddie grasps Steve’s shoulder and almost topples over, and spills around Steve’s hand, the remainder spilling onto your chest.

Without even thinking about it, you dip your fingers in the mess on your chest and press it to your lips, licking the taste of Eddie from them again.

“Holy shit, Y/n, you CAN’T do that,” Steve laughs, and you feel his cock twitch within you.

“Sorry,” you giggle, but they can both tell from your tone that you're not sorry at all. Steve slowly pulls out of you, carefully and practically hissing with sensitivity. Steve is quick to pull you to sit up, and Eddie practically jumps onto the cushion on the other side of you. Both of your men sandwiching between you.

None of you speak for a moment, just sitting there breathless and basking in the absolute pleasure of what just transpired. Steve has you pulled into his sweaty chest, and Eddie has his equally sweaty chest pressed against your back. In literally any other case you would be yelling at them, telling them to get their gross boy sweat off of you. You'd be begging for a shower or to jump into the pool despite the unseasonably cold weather.

“Fuck,” Eddie chuckles, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck,” Steve echoes, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Fuck,” You third, feeling the mix of yours, Steve’s and any remnants of Eddie’s release dripping out of you again.

You all laugh, loudly and free like the funniest joke in the world was just told. This feels so fucking normal, so incredibly normal its crazy. This feels like any other day with Eddie and Steve. Maybe thats what tells you this is meant to be. Maybe thats what makes you feebly wrap your arms around both of them to pull them even closer.

“I really like you guys,” You sigh, a dazed smile on your face.

“I like you guys too,” Eddie admits, finally speaking his attraction to Steve.

Both of you look over to Steve, the one wildcard in this situation. Panic crosses you for a moment, worried that maybe he’ll reject one of you, whichever one you’re not actually sure. What if Steve was just going along with this? What if he didnt want this? What if he just wanted a wild hookup.

“Yeah… Me too,” Steve says, sleep already lacing his voice.

You and Eddie laugh, like an inside joke between the two of you.

“Alright let's get you to bed, big guy,” You chide, nudging Steve gently as he only gets heavier against you.

“Mmmkay,” he mumbles, and you and Eddie hike yourselves up, not even bothering to dress in the empty house as you pull Steve up from the couch. He comes up easily, walking along the two of you and pressing kisses against both of your shoulders as you both lead him up to his room.

Eddie kicks the door open at the top of the stairs, and the two of you almost throw Steve onto his bed, but quickly you climb after him on sore legs, pulling yourself onto the bed and gently slapping at Steve’s back so he’ll climb up to the pillows at the head of his bed. Eddie is quick to jump in on the other side of you after closing the door after you. He pulls the sheet over you hastily, effectively putting you all into bed.

“Goodnight handsomes,” you mumble to both of them, your eyelids feeling immediately heavy as both of their arms fell upon you, each of them circling your waist and brushing each other.

You'd talk about this in the morning.

#steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #eddie munson x reader

685 notes · View notes

giggly-squiggily · 8 months ago

Text

Weekly Basis (Fire Force)

Heyo! :D I missed my boys, and now here they are kjejakrkjearjkeaj I was fangirling with Nym (@intheticklecloset) recently over these two and Fire Force as a whole- one thing led to another and boom! This fic was born! I hope y'all like it! :D

Summary: Arthur and Shinra have weekly tickle fights. That's it- that's the fic

It was Arthur’s fault, naturally. He usually was the one to start these fights.

“Begone devil, or I’ll be forced to cut you down.” The blonde fumed, grabbing the hilt of his plasma blade. “I’m not one to bluff.”

“Gee, forget how to say ‘excuse me’?” Said devil rolled his eyes as he turned back to the counter, pouring cream into his coffee. He could move, but Shinra was feeling petty now. The self proclaimed knight king could wait. “Since you're standing there, hand me the sugar? I think Maki burned the pot.”

“Assisting a devil? And a stubborn one at that- you are truly bold to ask a Knight King for assistance after refusing my orders.” Arthur puffed up, the hand on his hilt tightening knuckle white. Still, he turned and grabbed the sugar off the nearby table.

Only to put it on the top of the fridge, just out of Shinra’s reach.

“Oh you son of a-” Shinra growled as he twisted towards him, reaching for the bowl. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Had you yielded, you’d have your sugar- hey, back you!!” Arthur pushed at his shoulders as Shinra leaned into him, using the blonde as leverage. “Begone I said!”

“Shut up, you started it!” Shinra stretched his arm long, fingers just grazing his target. Arthur scrunched his nose up at the smell. “Hold still!”

He did not. Instead, Arthur shoved his hand into his armpits for a better shove, curling his fingers.

The reaction was near instantaneous.

“GAH!” Shinra yelped, all but falling on his ass as he spasmed backwards. Arthur reached out to grab him, a hand to Shinra’s t-shirt the only thing preventing him from hitting his head on the way down. There was a brief moment of stunned silence, then…

“Geahhaha! Doohohohn’t you dahhahahre!” Shinra cried out when Arthur let him go, following him down with two hands in his armpits. “Stahhahahap, sthahhap yooohohohu jehheheerk!”

“Oo, what’s wrong? Is the devil himself ticklish?” The blonde cooed, grinning from ear to ear as Shinra thrashed and squealed beneath him, curling up like a cockroach. “If I’ve known this sooner, I’d have defeated you already! Now I shall take my chance!”

“Yehahahhaha rihhihiihght! Gehahahhaha, yohohohou’re a mohohohorohohohon iihihif yohohohu thihiihnk thihihs will kihihihll mehehehehe!” Shinra quickly reached out, grabbing onto Arthur’s knee and squeezing. Almost immediately, Arthur spasmed, falling back and giving Shinra the opening he needed to run.

“Dehevil! Get back here!” Arthur cried out, but Shinra was already far too gone, laughing the entire way.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was exhausted.

It was the beginning of the week, and the dreaded paperwork day. Normally such an event wouldn’t come around until later, but due to a few incidents over the weekend with infernals, the torture was moved sooner. The ogre pri-Maki; his head still hurt- insisted it wasn’t all that bad; just a small pile for each of them.

For her or the lieutenant, this was breezy. For the Knight King himself; it felt like decades.

“Oi, sit up- that’s how you fall asleep.” Shinra elbowed him gently, snapping him out of his sleepy trance. “Speaking of, did you sleep at all last night? I swear I heard you snoring for the most of it.”

“A Knight King gets plenty of stamina. This however- it’s poison. It drains my life force.” Arthur looked down miserably at the half finished paper, feeling his eyes start to droop just after reading the first few lines. “I’ve sat here for eons. Any longer and I won’t be able to go on…”

“It’s been five minutes. Most of them you spent asleep.” Shinra elbowed him again when Arthur started to droop, shaking him awake once more. “Do you want some coffee? An energy drink- water?”

“Coffee would be nice..” Arthur nodded through a yawn, watching Shinra get up to make it. “Make haste, devil- before this poison spreads to my he-aaaaart..”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Shinra rolled his eyes as Arthur yawned again, stretching his arms out overhead. “Don’t be asleep when I get back or else.”

Arthur knew Shinra likely meant it. He leaned into his hand as he stared at the paper, the world growing blurrier and blurrier until…

“Eheh!” Something sharp and ticklish jabbed his sides. His vision was blind- when did that happen? Oh no- the poison spread to his eyes! “I can’t see-”

The paper he was working on fluttered off his face. Arthur stared. Oh.

Then the tickles came back and he didn’t have any time to feel silly.

“I told you to stay awake, didn’t I?” Shinra growled in his ear as he squeezed the life out of Arthur’s sides, making the blonde squeal and squirm in his clutches. “I told you, and you fell asleep anyway! This is what you get!”

“Aehahhhahahha! Rehehahahaleahahase me, dehheheehevil! Hohohow dahahahare yohohohu- gehahahhahahahhah!” The Knight King tried and failed to grab his hands, still groggy with sleep as Shinra danced his fingers up and down his torso. “Begohohohohone, dehhehehevil-HEhhehehehehehhahah!”

“You know- you’re awfully bold to ask for coffee from me and then tell me to ‘begone’. Actually- didn’t you say the same thing yesterday too?” Shinra’s efforts were doubled as Arthur snorted like a pig, trying and failing to guard his stomach from the devil’s prodding fingers. “Well too bad for you! I’m here with an antidote for your ‘poison’, and I’m not going anywhere until it’s in full effect!”

The coffee had grown cold by the time they were done, but Arthur wasn’t sleepy anymore.

A win is a win?

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

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Shut up! It’s not like you’ve never been stuck before!” Shinra argued at the Knight King- his stance weakened significantly as he swayed to and from. “Get me down!”

“Usually I’d leave devils like yourself like this, but as a Knight King, I suppose I have to help you.” A puff of laughter escaped the blonde’s lips, momentarily breaking his monologue. Seeing Shinra hanging upside down in a tree with his leg caught within the branches was quite the sight! Part of him wanted to take a few pictures.

Well…

“Oi, put your phone away and help me!” Shinra cried, swiping at Arthur as the other snapped a few shots, ducking and weaving out of the brunette’s reach. “Arthur!”

“Pfft, okay okay.” Tossing his phone aside, he reached up and grabbed Shinra by the waist- or ribs. He was never good at devil anatomy. “I’m gonna pull you down- try not to squirm.”

“Hurry u-eehheahhaha, stahhahap!” Shinra cried, shivering all over at the feeling of tickles. “Don’t tihihickle me!”

“I’m not trying too- damn, how’d you get so stuck?” Arthur gave another tug, squeezing Shinra more and more as he pulled. The entire time, the brunette was giggling and curling up, punching at the air and holding his face as he tried and failed to escape. “I told you to stop squirming!”

“Ahahahand I tohohold yoohohou tohoho stahhap tihihihckli-EHEHE!” Hands to his hips did him in. He arched so harshly he went backwards into Arthur, his leg deciding that was the time to come loose. The two boys went flailing into the dirt below- groaning in mutual pain as leaves scattered around them.

“Ugh..Devil, are you hurt?” Arthur asked, feeling Shinra shake his head. “Good. You can carry me back.”

“Oh shit- did you get hurt?” Shinra shot up, staring down at Arthur’s torso.

“No, but I’m far too tired. It’s the least you can do for knocking the air out of me.”

Shira swore, digging into the blonde’s sides and making him jump and cackle.

He did end up carrying Arthur home though.

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

Ghgggggggggggghhh.

Shinra felt his eye twitch. He pressed them closed tighter, practically squinting.

Ghgggggg-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhch.

He pulled the pillow tighter around his ears, trying to block out the sound.

Khggggggh-ghhhghgh-zhhhhhhhhhhgh

Now that last one sounded personal. Shinra twisted in his bed to glare down at the blonde sleeping away. Arthur wasn’t usually the type to snore; most nights the most you’d hear out of him is sleep talking through a dream-made acceptance speech. It was only when he got sick he snored.

And good lord he could snore!

“Oi, Knight King!” Shinra whispered sharply down at him, waving to get his attention. Usually he’d be more sympathetic for his roommate in times like this, but Arthur was on the very last leg of his cold. After what felt like decades listening to him snore, he finally had enough. “Wake up!”

“Zzh-heh?” Snorting awake, Arthur blinked blurrily up at him, wiping at his face with a tired hand. “What? The princess wishes me to marry her? I’m flattered, but I am far too committed to my duties.”

“No, dumbass! Wake up! You’re snoring like crazy!” Shinra growled, climbing down the latter of their bunk before heading to the bathroom. “Hang on, let me get the decongestants.”

“I don’t need your potions, Devil. I’m fine. Besides its-” Arthur looked at the clock, wincing. “Good lord- 1 am?- I can survive the night.”

“Well, I can’t.” Shinra came back with a glass of water and two pills, offering them to the blonde. “Take them. That’ll clear your up.”

Arthur stared. Then he scrunched up his nose in distaste, shaking his head. “Those are poison.”

“They’re medicine!”

“They taste horrible.”

“You sound like ass- take the freaking pills!” Too tired for patience, Shinra put down the water and climbed onto Arthur’s bed, grabbing at his sides as he brought the pills to his mouth. “Come on- come on, Knight King- the princess wants you to take them!”

“The priiihihncess is a dehehhevil! A dehihihvil in dihhihisguiihihse!” Arthur giggled out, one hand slapped over his mouth as the other shoved at Shinra, trying and failing to keep it down. “Stahhahap, it tihihihickles!”

“Take. The. Meds. Now!” Shinra growled, worming his fingers higher up as Arthur fell back into the bed, squeaking and giggling all the way. He was about to shove a hand into the blonde’s gut to really get him going when the door suddenly opened. “L-Lieutenant!”

Hinawa looked beyond exhausted, hair slightly messy and glasses missing. He also looked really, really pissed. He walked over, taking in the sight as his eyes landed on the pills in Shinra’s hand.

Without any words, he held out his hand for them. Shinra gave them without question. Hinawa turned to Arthur.

“These will make you into a grand knight king. Take them or you’ll die to the witch's poison.” He spoke so seriously even Shinra believed him. Arthur blanched before snatching the pills, gulping them down with every last drop of water.

“Good. Bed. Now.” Hinawa gave Shinra a look that sent chills up his spine. Quickly, the brunette did so, watching the older man leave. Before the door shut, he heard a soft “Goodnight boys.”

“Scary…” Shinra moaned. Below him, Arthur was fast asleep already.

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

“That’s it! This charade has gone on LONG ENOUGH!” Shinra declared one afternoon- tossing down his coat and pointing at the blonde before him. “You and me- outside; right now!”

“Bring it on, Devil. I’ve been waiting for this day.” Arthur nodded, following the brunette out the door. Tamaki- who had been sitting by watching the entire fiasco- turned to the others with wide eyes.

“Should we stop them?” She asked- still new to Company 8’s dynamics.

“They’ll be fine. They do this at least once a week.” Maki reassured her, sorting through the remains of her paperwork. “If you want, why don’t you go out and see for yourself? I can take care of things here.”

Tamaki nodded, standing up and heading towards the door. With a small huff, she pushed it open to find…

“COME HERE!” Shinra yelled out, diving into Arthur’s middle as the blonde grabbed onto his shirt. Sparks flew and flames ignited as Shinra took flight, soaring him and Arthur through the air. Despite such a move, they only skimmed the rooftop, no different than a fly buzzing around a sugar cube.

“Think you’ve one? Ha! Take this!” Arthur wasn't deterred. The second they reached the center of the roof once more he brought the hilt of his sword into Shinra’s back, making him stumble to his feet. Tamaki sucked in a small hiss- that couldn’t have felt good.

Neither did the suplex Shinra performed on Arthur. With the blonde on his back, Shirna was quick to sit on his hips, one hand grabbing at his wrists while the other…

“AH! Shihihihihihihit!” Arthur yelped, arching when Shinra’s fingers attacked his stomach, sending waves of ticklishness up his core. “Dehehehhevil!”

“Whahaht?” Shinra mimicked, giggling like a goon as he carried on gently tickling the other. He was smiling that devilish grin of his- the kind that never failed to make Tamaki’s heart do little flutters whenever it came around. “Come on- fight back, Knight King? What is it- too much for you to handle?”

“Yohohoohu shuhuhuhut yoooohur fahahhahce! Gehahhaha, I’m juhuhust gehehhehetting stahahhahartred!” With a burst of strength, Arthur broke free from Shinra’s grip, attacking the other’s ribs with full force. The brunette yelped as he doubled over, giggling like a child almost immediately. “Tahhahahke thahahahaht!”

“Wow- and here I thought they’d spar more before getting into the tickles.” Maki’s amused tone make Tamaki jump out her skin, finding the older girl watching alongside her. “Last week it took them a few more attacks before they got going.”

“They’ve been on edge all week. This is their stress relief.” Hinawa added, making Maki nod in agreement.

“Latom.” Iris added, tenting hands. Tamaki copied her almost automatically.

“Ehehehehheheh! Dohoohohohn’t juhuhuhuuhst stahhahahnd thehehehere- hehehehelp meheheh!” Shinra called out to them, half fighting off Arthur’s attacks and half digging into the nearest soft spot he could find. “Geheheheht his neehheheck-EHEHEHEH!”

“Dohohohon’t goohohoho gihihihving awahhahy my sehehehecrets! Hihihis feheheht! Gehehhet his feheheheh-EHEEHEHK!” Arthur yelped just as loudly when Shinra dug into his highest ribs, the hands in Shinra’s armpits starting to weaken. “GEHEHEHT OOHOHOHUT!”

“DIHIHIIHIHITTOOHOHOHOHO!”

“They’ll work it out eventually.” Hinawa returned to his desk, Maki following not too long after. Iris stayed with Tamaki, giggling in her hand as she watched the boys play.

“They’re always like this- you don’t have to worry.” She reassured her, squeezing Tamaki’s hand. “Come- lets go get some tea before they realize we’re still here.”

Away they went, leaving the boys screaming and cackling on the rooftop in their tickle fight. Soon the noise died down, the boys returning to the office disheveled and giggly.

“Iihihll..I’ll win nehehext time!” Shinra called out, pointing at a sleepy Arthur as the blonde sank into his seat.

“Suhuhure, shuuhhure..dehhehevil.” Arthur rolled his eyes, head hitting the desk as he began to snore. Only Maki shaking him kept him from completely passing out.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.” Tamaki mused as she passed him a mug, watching his ears go red. “Who knew the hero had such a weakness?”

There was a brief pause in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite read passing over them before he began to laugh, taking the mug with that trademark smile of his. “Well- all the best heroes have one. Sometimes two.”

“What’s the other one?” She asked automatically, tilting her head when he only smiled around his mug.

“That’s a secret”

Thanks for reading!

#Fire Force #shinra kusakabe #arthur boyle #company 8 #fluff #tickle #tickle fic #implied Tamashinra cause yes #Tamashin?#Tamashin #They are PRECIOUS!

44 notes · View notes