#jeff buckley imagine

[chainkeepustogetherr]

BROKEN DOWN N’ HUNGRY, JEFF BUCKLEY ONESHOT

synopsis: in which, it simply isn’t too late to pay your ex-lover a surprising visit.

genre: angst i think? lil bit of fluff as-well!

IT HAD PRECISELY only been a matter of weeks, but it sure as hell felt like months since you and your now ex lover amicably decided to end things. Needless to say, you regretted it almost simultaneously. The lack of warmth on the left side of the bed every morning seemed to materialise it.

You woke up each morning with a sense of misery, almost emptiness within each pass of sunrise, day in and day out.

To make matters worse, the weather soon became rather drowsy and depression enduring, which seemingly added to your sense of blues, considering rainy days tended to be you & Jeff’s favourite kind of days to spend together, often humbly wrapped up within each other, simply devouring every savouring moment you two would spend together.

Looking out the small window located on your door, you observe the hues of grey and black painted on the clouds outside, delicate falls of rain cascading down below those very clouds. You stay seated and ponder on the fact that maybe you both were simply just too young to keep your love from going wrong.

You begin to wonder where Jeff is and how he's doing, if he could be missing you anywhere near as you are him. You'd heard through the grape vine that he'd been back out around town, seemingly carried away in his own world having his fun, a stark opposite of yourself who seems to spend most of her days pondering on the rather daunting & thought inducing would've, could've, should'ves this situation poses.

You wonder, what would happen if you simply returned? If you knocked on his door, what would come of it? Would a sense of shame wash over you as you realize he simply doesn't care anymore? Or is it not too late to rekindle things?

Although, little do you know, Jeff has been experiencing the exact same in return. Although he has been seemingly out and about, he often spends most mornings discomforted due to your absence. He spends most of his nights in despair, constantly tossing and turning due to the lack of sleep he faces. He imagines your silhouette smiling softly against him, the scent of comfort and vanilla overwhelming his senses. The fantasy constantly brings him to the verge of tears, simply wishing he had you with him. He feels as if he’s broken down and hungry for your love, yet feeling as though theres no real way to feed it. He ponders, wondering it he will ever feel the bliss of your sweet return.

It feels as if you've been gleaming out the window, looking for some form of metaphorical answer to your unresolved queries for hours and hours on end, but in reality, its only been about half an our or so. You come to the conclusion theres simply not much you can do, considering you remain unsure of if you're willing to deal with any negative consequences if you were to knock on Jeff's door, the humiliation seems too much for your currently sheer broken heart.

You decide to simply go for a drive, hopelessly leading to no where in particular in some form of effort to clear your head of any trace of Jeff. Yet, you feel yourself driving through a rather familiar road, though your mind doesn't seem to register what exactly you're doing & where exactly you’re travelling to.

Within minutes, you pull up to the familiar house that you've spent hours upon hours in, finally realising just where you are. You stay seated in the car for several seconds, realising you had no exact plan on what to do, nor say.

“Fuck it" you whisper under your breath, deciding to simply wing it and air out whatever thoughts previously on your mind earlier in the evening.

You slowly step up the stairs of Jeff's home, letting out a small unsteady breath you weren't aware you were holding in. Knocking three times, you begin to feel a swarm of anxiety take over your stomach, comprehending the fact that this could go extremely right, or extremely wrong.

The door steadily opens, a disoriented Jeff stands before you, a sense of weariness and lack of sleep apparent within his chocolate tinted frames.

His mouth slightly agapes open, his eyes widening slightly in a display of shock, it seemed. “Oh uhm... hello" he speaks, rather softly, yet cautiously.

“Can we talk?.. please?" you say, attempting to hinder the urge to formulate tears from cascading down your face.

“Yeah, yeah of course, come in, the place is a bit of a mess" he replies, a slight hint of embarrassment presented in his voice.

Though you simply nod in silence, unable to find the correct words to say.

"Do you uh, want a tea or a drink? or anything?" he asks, attempting to find a trace of emotion within your face, hoping and praying he isn't dreaming this current moment, due to his lack of sleep.

“No, I'm okay, thank you" you say.

"I think i understand why youre here, but i think i need to hear the words and phrases come out of your mouth, n’ not give into the thoughts that my mind is practically screaming right now " he says, anxiously laughing towards the end of his sentence.

"Yeah, well i just" you pause, attempting to find the right phrase to say without attempting to come off in a hasty manner. "Im just, having a real hard time with this, you know? I really, like really fuckin' miss you and i, just don't know what to do about it anymore”you speak, holding your head within the palms of your hands to hide any trace of emotion painted within it.

“I know i shouldn't come here and i know i should just let it go but i cant. I feel like pure shit everyday, especially when everyones telling me you're doing fine without me n’ i'm sitting in bed, unable to pin point what exactly went wrong" you continue, praying to god you haven't stated your emotions too strong.

A strong, rather unsolicited pause soon follows, allowing you to contain your thoughts in some sense of the word. Though within each growing second, the silence begins to haunt you in a manner, causing your stomach to undergo several different twists and turns, in a similar sense to a rollercoaster of the sorts.

“Don’t believe all the bullshit stories people feed you, okay? Look at my eyes, i look a mess, no? Like i haven’t slept in days?” he rhetorically speaks, not exactly anticipating a response. “I spend my nights awake reminiscing on the times we shared, reminiscing on you. I spend my nights writing endless amounts of poetry, journal entries and songs about you, and god, when i finally do get an ounce of sleep within my system, my dreams always revolve around you in one shape or another” he explains faintly, feelints of passion, yet great sadness oozing from within his tone.

“I consistently think about us and how much i regret the decision we made, its like it fucking haunts me, n/n” he furthermore continues as minor formations of tears begin to brim within the corner of his eyes.

“I really, really, truly did and do love you, you know? Honestly, i believe a fragment of me always will, no matter how close or far set we are apart” he formulates, withholding a strong gaze.

You bite down on your now shaky lip, both attempting and hoping to suppress any tears of your own from manifesting.

Though, a strong sense of relief soon overcomes all five of your senses, a feeling of existential bliss soon following as you ground yourself down to reality, realising Jeff’s words are true and arent a figment of your imagination somehow.

“God, i love you too, Jeff. You’re ‘boutta make me cry, asshole” you playfully jester, wiping away the newly devised tears.

“C’mere sweetheart, wouldn’t want that, would we?” he retorts, inching closer towards you, soon following by wrapping his delicate arms loosely around your frame in a tender manner.

“We’ll sort all this out in due time, okay? No rush, it’ll eventually unfold. I love you too much to let you go this easily, to let this go too easily” he enunciates, though the volume becoming slightly muffled due to his cheek being positioned in a scrunched manner alongside the tip of your hairline.

He furthermore places a delicate kiss along your shoulder, the feeling causing several fragments of goosebumps to arise upon your skin levels as you nod in response to his prior confession. The warmth of his kiss upon your body, the delicacy of his embrace and the scent of him sending a dizzying effect to your mind-frame, the only thoughts occupying your mind being ones of relief, bliss almost. You truly missed the raven haired, chocolate eyed boy beyond belief, beyond words could truly and coherently verbalise.

[theycallmeasullengirl]

Who do I have to message to request a Jeff Buckley fic? I need answers

[awearywritersworld]

oh, the welts of your scorn, my love. give me more.

"why are you acting like this?" he questions, even though he knows the answer. his tone isn't necessarily aggressive, but the vein in his neck protrudes as he speaks.

"because satoru! you can't even fucking pretend to care about this relationship anymore!"

the bedroom door slams in his face, but he still hears you mutter. "if you ever cared in the first place."

he does care. he cares so much.

but he knows he's been distant. he knows he never finds the right words. he knows he isn't cut out for a serious relationship.

he knows he can't even begin to fix himself, because he was never whole to begin with.

and it seems like the only time you look him in the face anymore is when you're angry with him.

so he pushes your buttons, because he craves the way he feels whenever your eyes find his— even if indignation and woe swim in your irises.

it's a sweet poison he can't seem to quit.

he's already lost your warmth, but it doesn't seem to occur to the man that one day he'll lose your scorn too.

then he'll be left with nothing but scars and regret.

[kathelovecatsandfeminism]

It's never over - Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader

disclaimer these gifs are not mine, they belong to @targaryensource and divider @dingusfreakhxrrington

Resumo: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader; Lover, You Should've Come Over; a rainha simplesmente vai buscar a mulher dela; angst and happy ending; não revisado ainda.

This story can be read alone but it is also a continuation of my other three works, but especially Place where I belong

So take a look if you want!

"So I'll wait for you, love And I'll burn Will I ever see your sweet return? Oh, will I ever learn? Oh-oh, lover, you should've come over 'Cause it's not too late"

A Rainha Negra e Syrax cruzaram o céu nebuloso do vale, se forçando contra o vento gelado que vinha de longe e lhe queimava a face. Era seguro afirmar a tormenta no peito de ambas, voavam de forma agressiva e imponente, e embora não fosse possível ouvir sempre que Syrax bradava ao alto era acompanhada por Rhaenyra, um grito alto e raivoso por liberdade das malezas que a cercavam. Daemon causara uma baixa significativa nos verdes, mas sua própria queda era bem mais custosa. Jacaerys era um bom menino, um bom homem agora e viria a se tornar um bom rei, mas estava ferido e como mãe não conseguia não poupar a cria, ele era o seu futuro também. Seus homens a enxergavam como suas mães e filhas, não como regente, se amargurava do pai por não ter à criado com um rei. O pior? temia perder a guerra e com ela a cabeça.

Eram todos bons motivos e boas desculpas para buscar Maryssa, mesmo que a ideia não lhe trouxesse alegria, mas uma velha melancolia abafada pela urgência de possuir ao seu lado uma estrategista de guerra a qual confiaria a própria vida

Não podia causar uma grande comoção com sua chegada e não poderia correr o risco de ver suas crianças, apenas inflaria o medo e dor em seu peito, muitas perdas. Sobrevoando próximo ao ninho da águia começou a silenciosamente, agora, rondar os transeuntes. De fato, era um recanto de paz e pouco demorou para do alto reconhecer um ponto em movimento na paisagem, vinha das colinas a cavalo, ao se aproximar mais o fantasma de um sorriso surgiu em seu rosto, conhecia o balançar daqueles cabelos de longe....Maryssa.

Com a aproximação da grande criatura nos céus, Maryssa percebeu e olhou para cima, por um segundo temeu a invasão, mas mesmo ao longe reconhecia aquele dragão, voara nele há muito tempo abraçada a cintura de sua rainha, parecia ter sido em outra vida e talvez fora.

Maryssa desceu de seu cavalo, o amarrou em uma grande pedra, deu mais alguns grandes passos e esperou o pouso.

So I'll wait for you, love And I'll burn Will I ever see your sweet return? Oh, will I ever learn?

Rhaenyra pousou a certa distancia e caminhou em sua direção em passos largos. Agora, frente a frente, apenas com uma pequena distância entre elas, Maryssa não sabia como reagir, o que poderia trazer a rainha aqui? A derrota e a busca por fugir com seus filhos? Pois ela não parecia a mesma, mais triste e cansada, abatida.

O silencio não durou muito. Abruptamente a rainha fechou a distância, tomou seu rosot confuso nas mãos e com os olhos mais suplicantes e voz tremula pediu

“eu pre-ci-so de você ao meu lado mais do que nunca” Maryssa juntou suas mãos às dela. Isso era sério.

“o que lhe aflige, minha rainha?”

“sinto que vamos perder-“ foi cortada

“Não diga isso” pôs seus dedos sobre os lábios machucados de frio da Targaryen “possui um exército e homens leais”

“nós duas sabemos que nem sempre isso é o bastante” disse afastando a mão “todos os dias tenho lembrar a todos, inclusive a alguns dos meus de me temerem, é cansativo ser a rainha que não querem mas que precisam e eu nunca estive tão só, Maryssa, preciso de minha mão direita, de uma senhora de armas, de uma amiga para me apoiar quando eu ameaçar a ruir, que me faça enxergar a coroa acima da minha dor.....eu preciso de você de volta.....mesmo que eu já não possua um lugar em seu coração”

Rhaenyra com olhos altivos varria o rosto de Maryssa, que agora segurava as mãos, atenciosamente. Está estava confusa, o tom utilizado foi forte, de governante, ela havia de fato endurecido durante esse tempo, sabia que jamais recusaria uma ordem de sua rainha, mas mesmo assim não sabia como responder à sua Rhaenyra, cuja a voz vacilou em meio a tanta firmeza.

Notando a hesitação, a rainha largou as mãos e deu as costas suspirando “não se preocupe, não voei até aqui esperando sua pena ou que pudéssemos voltar ao que éramos, pois que se dane se esse amor se assim quiser, lady Maryssa “a firmeza se tornou grave e as palavras quase cuspidas “preciso de lealdade e força para se juntar a minha e não há outra pessoa mais apta para isso”

Virando-se novamente em busca de resposta se deparou com sua lady de joelhos com sua velha lamina sobre cabeça, aquela que carregava na cintura, seus olhos fitavam a o chão enquanto falava “já lhe ofereci minha espada em sinal de lealdade uma vez, hoje sob esse céu e sobre essa terra eu faço melhor” confusa Rhaenyra lhe ofereceu ajuda para levantar e sem que ao menos percebesse ela lhe cortou a palma da mão esquerda, rapidamente Maryssa afastou a retaliação fazendo um corte gêmeo em sua palma direita e tomou a esquerda da rainha em um aperto forte “lhe ofereço em sinal de lealdade meu sangue, a minha vida”

A rainha havia encontrado o que tinha vindo buscar, quis sorrir, mas não era o momento, se conteve em apenas se oferecer para fazer uma bandagem em ambas as mãos feridas. Duas marcas que atravessariam o tempo as unindo, queria sonhar com as implicações disso

“alguém sabe da vinda de vossa alteza?” perguntou enquanto a outra lhe enfaixava a mão

“cuidei para que não” a interação parecia artificial ainda, como se pisasse em gelo fino

“e quem irá assumir a responsabilidade pelas crianças?” se permitiu sorrir de leve “a cada dia se parecem mais com a mãe”

A rainha dragão se permitiu ao mesmo, porém de forma mais tímida, sentia tantas saudades delas “princesa Rhaena, mandarei uma carta quando voltarmos. Precisa pegar algo no castelo? Pois se for comigo partimos agora”

Havia tanta pressa e agitação, apesar dos motivos de sua partida, queria abraçar e beijar aquela mulher, expulsar a dor que via em seus olhos, mas não havia tempo para isso durante a guerra, apenas as lembranças servem de acalento.

A Targaryen se pôs a frente andando em direção a Syrax, vez ou outra olhando para trás de soslaio, temia ser um sonho, uma vontade gritando do inconsciente, mas ela estava lá lhe lançando um olhar de reconhecimento.

Subindo com ajuda de Rhaenyra, Maryssa se colocou atras dela e suavemente envolveu com os braços a cintura da rainha, se aproximando e apertando forte. Nada foi dito, mas a rainha suspirou alto e soltou o som de uma risada sufocada. Possuía muitas esperanças para o fim da guerra.....uma delas com certeza era reconquistar aquela que a abraça com tanta ternura.

"It's never over My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder It's never over All my riches for her smiles When I've slept so soft against her

It's never over All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter It's never over She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever"

Please let me know if you liked it!!!

xoxo!!

[slugtowns]

NEED hozier to cover a jeff buckley song

[bunnyrafe]

curious abt everyone’s thoughts on rafe’s taste in music.

[fromasgardandback]

Automotive Plant's Secretary

Eddie Munson x Reader

description: Y/N L/N is the central secretary at the Automotive Plant Wayne Munson works.

word count: 1.2k

warning: nothing, literal fluff

masterlist | oneshots

Y/N went to work early that morning to set up for the bosses' meeting. She never understood why they couldn’t do it themselves, but she was getting paid for the boring and mundane work. Although she hated the executives of the company, she adored the workers. They were always kind to her when they came in and visa versa. At least once a week she would bake sweets for them and leave the container on her desk. The notes on top of the Tupperware were always different, but each one with a smiley face. Sometimes families would come in to surprise their loved ones who were hard-working and only a few would make a regular appearance. One of those guys just so happened to be Eddie Munson, the old classmate she had a massive crush on. His uncle worked on the floor and said hello to Y/N each morning and goodnight at the end of the day. If she was having an off day, he would make sure to cheer her up. If her day was particularly hard and stayed silent, when everyone left he would give her a hug with an encouraging word or two. Needless to say, she loved Wayne.

“Good Morning, Wayne. I made chocolate chip cookies.” Y/N smiled up at him.

“Good Morning, sweetie. Thank you, these look delicious.” He smiled back taking a cookie, wasting no time in eating the entire thing.

Most days were busy and quiet. If the floor was hard at work and not much chit-chat going on, you can hear the executives mucking it up in their offices without a care in the world. They cared little for their employees and only if they made them more money or not. It was hard for Y/N to see the contrast between white-collar and blue-collar workers. They deserved better, that’s why she baked and tried her hardest to be kind to all of them.

“Do you have any exciting plans this weekend?” She asked, leaning her elbows on the desk.

“Some chores around the trailer, nothing too exciting. Try and use my days off to relax.” Wayne replied, swallowing the last remnants of the cookie. “What about you, kid?”

“Same, nothing much other than relaxing. I might go out with some friends to a bar tonight.” She smiled at the nickname.

“Don’t get too crazy, don’t know what we’d do without you here.” He smirked, waving her off as he walked to the breakroom with his things.

The day went by fairly quickly, and now it was 1:30 pm. Only three and a half hours to go until they can all clock out. The hum of a radio blasting and turning off can be heard faintly through the entrance door and a pair of boots touching the fake hardwood floors moving closer to her desk. She looked up, only to blush and hide the heat rising to her face.

“Hey, Y/N.” Eddie smiled politely.

“Hi, Eddie. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you during a work day?” She smiled up at him. ‘Seriously? You had all of five minutes to come up with something non-embarrassing and that’s what came out of your mouth?’ She thought to herself.

“Came to drop off lunch for Uncle Wayne, he deserves something better than ham and cheese.” He chuckled as he signed the visitor sign-in sheet. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Eddie. You can go on back. I’ll let him know you’re here.” He winked at her, following her instructions and going towards to break room. Heart-pounding and the blush on her cheeks growing redder, she hurriedly went to the floor. On his way out of the building, he stopped by her desk again.

“My band’s playing at The Hideout tonight. Maybe you want to come by?” Eddie smiled nervously, quickly fixing his sentence. “Not alone of course, with friends. Or alone if you just want to be alone, but you don't have to.” Eddie failed terribly, fumbling through trying to stop talking.

“I’d love to come. My friends and I were headed to a bar anyways. We’ll be there.” She smiled at him to which he returned and a small wave while leaving.

For a few weeks, Eddie would make an excuse to come “drop” occasional things that Wayne just so happened to forget at home. He would spend at least ten minutes talking to Y/N and declare to his friends that he was going to ask her out one of these days. 

“Dude, you’ve been pining after her for years and talking with her every week. If you haven’t done it by now, you’re not going to. You’re just chicken, man” Gareth rolled his eyes sipping his beer.

“Watch how you speak to me, I am not chicken. She comes to see us play every week. If that’s not making a move, then what do you suggest?” Eddie grumbled sitting up straight, eyes boring into his friends’. 

“Y/N, go to dinner with me? That’s a start.” Jeff replied fiddling with his guitar. 

“ALL BLUNT!?” Eddie exclaimed.

“YES!” His friends yelled annoyed that he has yet to do anything about this crush, but bitch and complain.

The band was setting up the stage an hour before the bar opened to set up their gig. The moment they opened she walked through those doors with her friends smiling wide when making eye contact with him. Eddie blushed giving her a small wave, going back to tuning his guitar. Y/N sat in the back booth giving her the advantage of hiding what redness crossed her cheeks.

“Just ask him out,” Nancy commented setting down her purse next to you.

“What are you talking about?” She acted dumb, not wanting to be embarrassed by the conversation, watching her crush be his adorable self.

“How much you’re in love with Eddie. Y/N, we love you but it's painfully obvious. Just rip off the bandaid and ask him out.” Robin remarked, setting down the drinks.

“And disgusting to hear how much you think he’s hot and adorable and his eyes are so dreamy.” Steve rolled his eyes, exaggerating.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop talking about him. But I can’t ask him out. He doesn’t see me that way.” Y/N shook her head looking down. Steve laughed loudly, causing Nancy to elbow him in the shoulder.

“Sweetie, it is so clear that he likes you.” Nancy smiled. “Just go for it. There’s nothing to lose, we promise you.”

“And he’s making his way to the bar now. Take your chance. And if it goes awry, we’ll leave.” Robin nodded encouragingly.

Y/N had no other choice than to get up and face the fear of rejection from the childhood crush she couldn’t seem to shake.

“Eddie, Hi.” She fiddled with the rings on her hands.

“Y/N, you came. Hi.” He noticed, taking note that she was nervous.

“I, um, want to ask you something.” She squeaked out, not looking up.

“I want to ask you something as well.” Eddie leaned against the bar on his right elbow. They both took a short breath asking their question together.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” He asked.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” She asked. They chuckled, blushing harder than a tomato.

“I would love to, Eddie.” She smiled big, leaning into him.

“I would be more than happy to, Y/N.” He smiled wider, leaning closer to her.

[kse22chili]

Zodiac incense sticks.

I feel unsteady, like my mind.

Rosé wine is sweet with such a pretty color. Every night there's a glass of it on the table accompanying me while I'm taking a bath. I've definitely got everything I need at night. Jeff Buckley's voice soothes me deeply, helping me to relax my body in the warm water. As a matter of fact, when I'm at this time of the day I don't think of anything at all, really. So even now I close my eyes and start dreaming.

My baby boy has come to me, opening up to me and confessing every single problem he has to me.

I'm waiting for him with my arms wide open. He lays his head on my breast and starts silently whimpering.

I just love it when he cries in my arms. I love it when he is vulnerable in front of my eyes, in my presence. Because, it's me he seeks help from. And I am always here to give it to him. What can a woman do when her man comes back home destryoed from the army?

I don't cook for him. In truth, I don't even know how to properly cook. That's a long story for another day.

Without him having gotten in our neighborhood, I just feel his presence. I immediately get out of the hosue and wait for him at my frontyard. I look at his car from afar. I listen to the sound of his car and just that brings shivers to the back of my neck. He sees me waiting for him and impatiently speeds up his pace.

Oh, how much he has changed.

He stops his car in front of me and rapidly gets out of the car. He comes up to me and looks down at me. I study his face and his body. I inhale his musty, masculine perfume. What a bliss that brings into my belly. I instantly got the heebie jeebies.

Looking up at him I notice that he's got tears in his eyes. All my nervousness disappears and I wrap my hands around his body.

I could never get tried of his affection. Or of his beautiful voice. Or of his body. Of anything really.

This is never over.

Thank you for reading this. I'm really grateful of my inspiration that always comes from Jeff Buckley, Jim Morrison, Nirvana or Aerosmith. It is really hard to write sometimes because I've had too many ideas lately and I didn't really have the guts to organze them. But, I tried nonetheless.

hope you enjoyed this!!!!

K.M.

[m-00-se]

i wish i could relive our first kiss over and over again whenever i want

[doveotion]

and by the way the people who burned the library of Alexandria? ur gonna burn inhell forever

[chainkeepustogetherr]

1:32, a JEFF BUCKLEY one-shot

synopsis; in which you share an awfully fluffy moment with your (future) lover, Jeff in the golden hours of the afternoon, realising soon it’ll turn into much more

tws/warnings; none! <3

genre/type; fluff <3

a/n: lmk if you guys want more JB stuff! theres genuinely no fanfics about him anywhere </3

THE CLOCK adjacent to the white framed bed frame conveniently resting alongside the left wall reads 1:32, indicating its the peak form of the afternoon, your absolute favourite time of day. Not for any particular reason, of course. It simply remained your favourite due to the calming nature of the hour, often times indicating a needed restful moment of peace almost.

“You okay? Youre lookin’ a lil’ bit dazed” the soft spoken, raven tressed boy speaks beside you, a hint of concern laced within his tone.

“Mhm, was thinking ‘bout how i love this time of day, is all” you truthfully formulate, your words mirroring his same prior tone of tranquility and softness.

“Yeah?” he purrs, changing his position beside you to lay on his side, hand conveniently propped below his ear, seemingly to create a form of balance.

You nod in response, taking note of the small ray of sunlight suddenly illuminating the room, creating an almost golden tint within it.

“The sunlight makes you look real pretty, y’know that?” he adulates, his chocolate tinted eyes peering towards you with pure & unadulterated awe, his lips also simultaneously facing a light smile overtop.

“You’re not allowed to say things like that, J” you playfully remark, though a slither of truth lays well beneath the surface of your statement, a true showcase of your underlying feelings slightly breaking through.

I mean, you were right in some aspect, right? The more compliments and more fixated stares he would throw your way, the stronger & stronger you felt towards him, which simply wasnt allowed to even be considered as an option in your mind. You were fully aware of your feelings towards him, though the thought scared you to say the least. He was Jeff Buckley, big ol’ famous rockstar whom everybody seemed to fawn over, everybody simply wanted him, everybody. It truly felt like a crime, or some form of imprisonment at that.

“What? Why not? Can’t i compliment a pretty girl ‘round here?” he playfully jests, his peach tinted lips curving upwards, forming a rather boyish smirk.

“Stop” you mutter, covering your face within the process as an act of pure nervousness, a bundle of butterflies soon follow up by swarming the insides of your stomach.

He simply responds in an non-verbal format by guiding himself closer towards you, the close proximity between you two edging closer and closer within each passing centimetre.

“What are you doin’?” you query, attempting to appear in a conspicuous manner, though tones of nervous curiosity spill outwards instead.

Though yet again, to your surmise, he doesnt seem to vocalise his thoughts, only a small smirk lays delicately upon the corners of his lips, seemingly showcasing some form of forecast into his mind.

“J, youre makin’ me nervous’’ you retale, though feeling as though nervous was truly the pure definition of an understatement in this situation. You were practically shitting yourself to say the least.

“I know sweetheart, thats the point” he faintly remarks furthermore, his gaze aimlessly lingering on your lips for far too long.

“What would you do, right now?” he speaks, pausing mid-sentence in appearance to concisely formulate the correct and most coherent words. “If i just, kissed you, right here?” he questions, lazily tracing his thumb alongside your bottom lip. “Or here?” he additionally speaks, tracing alongside the hem of your jawline, once again in a rather lazily soft manner.

“You can” you unintentionally whisper, giving him permission to do so without realising your response conflicted with his question, due to your focus on the lingering sensation below your jawline.

“I can what, sweetheart? I need you to tell me what i can do” he responds, knowing damn well what exactly you want him to follow through with.

“You can kiss me, wherever you want too” you breathe, feelings of desperation soon becoming apparent.

You simply needed to feel his lips relish upon your skin, you truly needed to feel the bliss enduring sensations caused by his touch, you frankly needed to understand the taste of his lips as they danced with your own, it was well past a want at this point, it was faithfully a need.

He soon closes the unwanted gap between you both, strictly pulling you out of your maladaptive daydream by conjoining his lips within your own. The everlasting concoction of mint and cigarettes creating a buzzing effect as it elopes throughout both your lips and overall senses. His lips remain smooth, buttery almost, dancing alongside your own in a velvety consistency, furthermore inducing a large swarm of butterflies to overcome your stomach in a dizzying fashion. God, it simply felt so good. As if heaven truly was a place on earth.

“Holy shit” he resumes, detaching himself from your lips in a breathless manner. “You, are something else” he additionally speaks, still remaining in close proximity to yourself, seemingly not wanting to further the gap between you both anytime soon.

His gaze glues towards your own, noticing your both confused and worried appearance, not knowing whether or not his previous statement was a compliment or simply a negative observation. “Oh god, i mean that in a good way, not a ‘you’re fuckin’ crazy’ kinda way” he clarifies, taking note of your state of apprehension.

“Oh, okay” you shyly remark, cheeks tinted in a pale strawberry tone due to your prior activity.

Your mind remained simply too frazzled to even contemplate formulating a more articulate sentence, though the boy in-front of you seemingly remained frazzled as-well, unsure of both your current perceptions and emotions as to what just happened between you both, and if that moment will ever be shared again with the times that come.

“Look at you, all blushy n’ dazed” he awe-fully fawns, his left hand softly clashing alongside your right cheek, his thumb creating circular patterns in a soothing manner as he traces the boldy tinted surface.

“All cause of you, J” you relinquish, placing your own hand on-top of his own.

His lips fold upwards into a slight curve, a delicate smile caressing his lips. “My sweet girl” he whispers, his thumb still drawing lazy shapes along the frames of your cheekbone.

“Mhm, all yours from this moment on” you respond, leaning forward to gracefully gaze your lips upon his own. Creating another moment awfully reminiscent of a cliche romantic novel of the sorts, though you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

[haunt-i-ng]

okayyyy updated cd collection

[loverboydotcom]

ultimate felix playlist is 87 songs 👍 autism evaluation

[akoyaxs]

Forget Her

✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metkayina!reader x Neteyam?

✮ Trope: Friendsish/sistersbestfriend to voyeur lovers

✮ Tags: talk of sex, Aonung's pov (literally cooked, he's so in denial but he wants her so bad), jealously, oral (fem recieving), kissing, biting, munchiness, p in v, voyeurism (yay!)

✮ A/N: Siri, play "Forget Her" by Jeff Buckley, NSFW MDNI

Aonung wasn’t entirely sure when he first started seeing you. Sure, you were Tsireya’s little friend at some point, then you were Ronal’s little assistant at some point. And then some time after, you became his fixation.

Maybe it was that day by the fire, the one at the festival where you were dripping in pearls and the sway of your hips to the loud ceremonial music was nothing short of hypnotising. Maybe it was that day he was irritated that he hadn’t caught any fish, and you had laid a hand on his shoulder, knelt beside him and helped him repair that hole in his net he hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe it was when they arrived.

Oh, there was a reason Aonung had been so unwelcoming to the Sully’s, and it wasn’t because he wasn’t unfriendly. No, it had to do with the way that eldest Sully boy looked at you, and the way you looked back, holding his strange yellow gaze until Aonung’s eyes on your back had drawn you back to yourself.

That Neteyam was going to be big fucking trouble - Aonung just hadn’t figured out why yet.

And ever since, he felt you slipping away from him. You had never been that close, always hanging beside Tsireya and being perfectly polite to him, yet your sudden growing absense from his marui and the training grounds and even the bay was beginning to irk him.

You no longer tended the warriors in the case of an injury - instead your gaze was preoccupied with watching the darker, thinner form of Neteyam training. You no longer hung around the Metkayina on hunts - instead he found you gravitating towards Neteyam, who would smile lightly at you and ask for your assistance with navigating the reef.

It was getting seriously irritating.

You had never been anything to him, and now suddenly, Aonung felt irked every moment you weren’t in his line of sight, your dark curls bobbing beside him, the watery tinkle of your laugh trickling over his skin.

Until that day. The one by the fire - again - where he and everyone else within a 5 kilometre radius could see that something was happening. You spent all night by Neteyam’s side, barely an inch between you two.

He would whisper something in your ear and you would giggle and laugh and look away so he wouldn’t see the light flush dusting your cheeks. He would lean right in to speak, and you’d turn nervously till your faces were ghosting by each other.

And then you left, turning back to smile tentatively at Neteyam, and slipped into the tree line. Neteyam’s face split into a wide grin and he followed without a moments hesitation, taking a careless glance back at the party before ducking after you.

Well, Aonung wasn’t going to stand for it. Were you going to be alright? What were you thinking? What were you doing?

To be truthful, Aonung knew the answers to all his questions, but he tactfully decided to ignore them. Ahead, your giggles darted through the trees. His scowl deepened and his mind settled itself.

He was careful to be quiet, and the moment he saw you, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to breathe.

Neteyam had you laid out on the ground, head pillowed against leaves and body spread over the earth.

The coverings of your top were sparse to begin with, but in this position, the strings of beads were rolling over your supple skin in a way that was in no sort discreet. He could see everything, and the pretty little peaks of your nipples were something Aonung never could have pictured.

Nor could he have imagined the look on your face with Neteyam’s face kissing lower and lower down your stomach, until finally he reached your hips and grinned up at you.

Aonung can’t hear what Neteyam whispers, but you nod feverishly in response with a breathy, desperate yes.

Fuck. Your voice was doing something dangerous. It was just one word - not even spoken to him, not even aware he was watching - but the shiver that the sound of you all breathy and hoarse and wanting was unbearable.

Aonung felt both chilled and aflame, and he contented himself by melting into shadows and watching with ruthless fervour.

Neteyam’s head dipped between your thighs, and the sound that tore itself from your undeniably kissed lips was all but lecherous.

Aonung wondered faintly how much you knew about all this. The way you were gasping and rolling your hips against Neteyam’s face and grasping for his braids, his hand, his neck - anything to tether yourself to him - left little to imagination.

Oh, the things Aonung could teach you. But instead, he’d watch from the shadows as Neteyam enjoyed that paradise between your thighs.

From where Aonung’s standing, he can’t see nearly enough of what he needs. But he’s near enough to see the shine of slick against Neteyam’s face, his hand ghosting up and across your arched chest, the points of your fangs digging helplessly into the pillows of your lips.

Your breaths are growing louder, your moans hungrier, your mewls more pathetically desperate. Your grip is tighter and your thighs are closing tighter around Neteyam’s face, as though the thought of him pulling away was too much to bear.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Aonung doesn’t think he’s felt anything more erotic in his life. It’s so lewd and wrong and intimate, and that tent in his tewng is growing unbearably irritating. Still, he ignores it. He doesn’t deserve to get off from this, he’ll have to wait until he can taste you himself.

That’s fine. He’s happy to wait. Besides the fact that he is the most impatient man to ever live, and the fact that it’s taking every fibre of his being to not tear forward, discard Neteyam and take up his glorious mantle.

He’d cradle you close and whisper everything you’d want to hear. His hand would never leave your waist, your breasts, your hair. Your chest would never leave his, his lips would be resting on your skin for every moment till eternity.

Instead, he watches from the shadows as you cry out, and Neteyam grins in an infuriatingly self-satisfied way, before pushing himself up your body.

“Can I-” he’s barely asking before you’re nodding your feverish consent and reaching for his own tewng.

You look so desperate and eager and good, waiting for whatever Neteyam decides to give you.

Aonung would give you everything.

Instead, it’s Neteyam slotting himself between your thighs, dipping his head down to your chest as he pushes in, reaching up to brush his thumb over your lips as you let out a little whimper at the stretch.

Neteyam’s too fast with it. Not in any unreasonable way, just in a way that contrasts starkly with how Aonung would take you.

He wouldn’t look away from your face. He’d take his time, sinking into your velvety heat with agonizing, tortuous patience until his muscles were burning and you were mewling and whining beneath him. He’d make you feel every twitch and vein and inch of his length, and in return worship every clench and embrace you’d offer with dangerous enthusiasm.

Neteyam’s hips draw back, snap back in, and then he’s lost. Neteyam doesn’t particularly care - his groans low in your ears in a way that makes your eyes roll and hands tangle in his own. It takes everything in Aonung not to moan along with the two of you at the mere sight of your bare bodies embracing and tangling and melding into one another.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You’re moaning unintelligible words, and Neteyam groans praise back to you, of how pretty you look, how good you feel, how well you’re doing.

Aonung would take it differently. He’d tell you how the moonlight glows over your slicked skin, how he wishes he could sink into you and stay there for days, weeks, years. How he wants to kiss you raw and bare, and carve himself into you so you can’t blink your pretty lashes without remembering how well your future Olo’eyktan loved you.

But instead, it’s Neteyam who speaks to you, guides you through your growing peak, until you’re arching against the earth, fangs sinking into your lip, knuckles turning white around Neteyam’s skin.

The sound you let out is animalistic - nothing Aonung ever would have expected from Tsireya’s pretty little friend. It chills every inch of his skin, etches itself deep into him, blazes straight through his control and tears him apart.

It’s unbearable.

So Aonung retreats, stepping back quietly before tearing back through the forest. Back to the beach, back to the moonlight, away from you and Neteyam and everything he had just witnessed.

What had you done to him?

Aonung, the best warrior, the best hunter, the best lover, was utterly destroyed at your feet. And all he needed was for you to pick the pieces back up and kiss him better.

Please.

Let me forget her.

[whats-her-quirk]

Lover, You Should’ve Come Over

The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

roronoa zoro x reader x black leg sanji

rating: explicit, 18+

warnings: jealous zoro (who doesn’t quite understand his emotions), exhibitionism turned threesome, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, hand jobs, slight belly bulge, cum play, praise, size kink, multiple orgasms, the boys kiss too, not quite gay panic just cook panic, welcome to the zosanwich

word count: 2.7k

welcome to the fantasy that has been keeping me going while sitting in my drafts for over a year

♪ lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley

divider by @/cafekitsune

You’re sitting in the cook’s lap again. The dirty plates from dinner are stacked up, everyone except your bottomless pit of a captain finished eating. As you lounge around the table to rest and chatter over drinks, you slide into his lap, one arm draped over his shoulder while his hand wanders your hip and waist.

Zoro doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t buy that in the weeks since you joined the crew, the shitty cook managed to not only catch your attention but actually seal the deal. What could you possibly see in him? When you got here, he was still chasing after Nami and Robin. Now that idiot’s so busy touching and kissing you that he hardly glances at anyone else.

It just can’t be real, Zoro thinks, even as he watches the cook pluck the cigarette out of his mouth so he can plant a kiss on your neck. You’re focused on something Chopper’s saying, so it catches you by surprise, making you giggle and tug at the front of his shirt. He steals another kiss from the corner of your jaw before taking a long, satisfied drag from his cigarette. Zoro stares, unnoticed, and feels his face getting hot.

He truly doesn’t believe it, and when the kitchen clears out, he pins the cook against the wall and tells him so.

“Did I forget something? Your midnight snack?” Even with Zoro’s forearm across his chest, the cook is smirking.

Despite his annoyance, Zoro keeps his voice down. “Tell me what’s really going on between you and our new crewmate.”

The cook blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. He pushes Zoro’s arm away, but only because Zoro lets him. Now that he’s asked the question, Zoro knows the other man can’t simply walk away from it.

The cook takes the cigarette from his mouth and rolls it coyly between his fingers. “What’s there to tell? We’re together now, I thought that was obvious.”

“Give me a break. What would she want you for?”

“So you’re asking about the dirty details then?” he clicks his tongue, turning his back to leave. “And they call me a pervert.”

Zoro scoffs. “Don't expect me to believe you can please her. You couldn’t please anyone.”

The cook turns on his heel. His brow creased, he looks Zoro up and down at point blank range. “Really? I’ll prove it.”

Zoro is watching you again, this time from one of the plush chairs in the women’s quarters, pointed at the corner of your bed. Though he can hardly believe he agreed to this, he can’t leave now. You’re a feast for his eye, stripped bare and legs spread on your mattress, even if he has to look past the cook to see you.

Robin and Nami have been persuaded to take lookout duty together, and the door is locked, ensuring your privacy. Regardless, Zoro feels more like an intruder than a fly on the wall. He’s supposed to be here to make a point, to scratch an itch and satisfy his curiosity so that maybe seeing the two of you together will stop bothering him so goddamn much. But no matter how good you look like this, no matter how much it makes his cock twitch every time you gasp and moan and writhe underneath that bastard cook, he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here.

Yet he can’t tear himself away.

It’s something like torture to watch the cook bring you to your first orgasm with his hands and his mouth, every wet sound and throaty groan lewder than the last. He kneels on the floor at the end of the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, skillful fingers thrusting inside while he devours you like he’s starving. You fist the sheets and the cook’s hair like you’ll tear both to shreds. Zoro has to lean back in his chair, cross his legs, and put one hand over his mouth just to keep himself in check.

If there’s one thing he has, it’s willpower. He can get through this. If he has to take care of himself in the shower later on, so be it. The scene in front of him will be burned into his memory for eternity anyway.

After you finally break with his name on your lips, the cook rushes to kiss you, pushing you up the bed so he can crawl on top. He praises you between messy swirls of his tongue, dry humping before he’s even inside you like he can’t help it. You guide his head down to your chest so you can catch your breath, and he kisses the tops of your breasts instead. Zoro bites his lip.

It’s pathetic. Zoro should be disgusted. Instead, he’s out of breath and embarrassingly hard. He’s just grateful you’re not looking at him.

Once your hips are rolling just as desperately, you take his cock in your hand and lead the cook to you with a shuddering moan. Even from a few feet away, Zoro can hear how wet you are. It makes him shiver. Shallow thrusts become deeper, familiar bodies slotting together until your hips meet and begin to grind. When the cook starts to whine, Zoro starts to lose himself.

He’s heard it before, though he pretended not to. The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

He can’t help it anymore. Zoro’s knees are shaking, he’s so turned on. He stares at your fingers, at the way they’re digging into the cook’s lower back, and presses the heel of his own hand between his legs. The relief is instant, and so is the hiss that escapes his lips as he throws his head back. It’s shameful how badly he needs to be touched right now.

So is the way he finds you watching him when he looks up again.

His entire body pulses—is his heart pounding as loud as he thinks it is?—while you scramble for the cook’s shoulders, pawing for his attention. Is this it? Should he just leave? As ashamed as he is, he really doesn’t want to.

“Sanji, baby,” you ask, your eyes locked with Zoro’s. “Can he come over here?”

The cook slows to a stop. You cup his face while he pants for breath. Zoro swallows thickly, frozen, waiting. He’s never felt like this, like his head is barely above water, and that alone scares him.

The cook halfheartedly chuckles, wiping some sweat from your brow. It’s easy to forget he’s still inside you until his voice comes out soft but wrecked at the same time. “Didn’t know you wanted him too, my love.”

You nod, coy but enthusiastic. Zoro nearly chokes.

The cook kisses your cheek, then your neck. “As you wish.”

Over his shoulder, as if he knows Zoro can’t resist, the cook calls, “You heard the lady, moss head.”

Undressing is a blur. Boots are tossed aside. Swords clatter to the floor. Earrings clink together as Zoro pulls his threadbare shirt off his back. Before he realizes it, he’s standing there naked next to the bed, practically panting, not knowing what to do with himself.

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it and pull him in. “Come closer,” you beckon. “You can touch me. It’s ok.”

He sits down, leaning against the headboard, and lets you settle between his legs, only a little self conscious that his boner is touching the soft, slick skin of your back. You nestle yourself so sweetly in the notch of his shoulder, right over the edge of his battle scar. You place his hands around your middle, then drape yours around the back of his neck, securing yourself in place.

“Keep going, Sanji,” you purr.

From this angle, looking down over your shoulder, Zoro watches the cook slide back inside you. He feels filthy for groaning, but he can’t stop it from tumbling out.

His hands shake against your stomach as you find your rhythm again. The cook curls himself over you, watching too as he sinks his cock inside you again and again. His head is tilted down, hair covering both eyes, but he’s moaning so close to Zoro’s face with each forward thrust. Each sound burns in the pit of Zoro’s stomach.

You said he could touch you, right? Experimentally, he paws just below your navel, pressing his big hands into the soft flesh there. Your head rolls to the side, your lips grazing the side of his neck as you beg, “more, Zoro.”

He can barely breathe as he pushes just a little harder. Oh god, he can feel the cook inside you, the slight bulge pushing in and out. The weight and the sound of it, this melding of bodies, is all too much, and yet Zoro needs more.

Zoro slides one hand down and wraps it around the base of the other man’s cock where it disappears inside you.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” the cook swears. His head rolls on his neck, his chin craning back. His hair falls away from his face, giving Zoro the clearest view he’s ever had of both his eyes at once, his heavy lids fluttering and both curly brows knitting together in the center of his flushed forehead.

Zoro torques his hand over, putting his thumb on top, doing his best to swipe against your clit as you grind up. You press your face deeper into Zoro’s neck, your moans higher pitched and more broken than before. He thinks he hears your choke, “please.”

“I got you,” he promises, huffing against your temple. He cradles your face with his free hand, needing to hold you, desperate to give you anything you want. “You’re ok, I got you,” he groans as the underside of his own cock slides against your back.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, but he has to say it. He feels the heat of your face against his lips and stares right at the cook’s open, wet, whimpering mouth and says, “Both of you. I got you.”

The cook cries out, his hips jutting forward, and finishes, shaking. Zoro tightens his grip, tries to prolong the other man’s peak until he’s spent. Your back arches sharply against Zoro with your own release—he can feel a string of his precum pull and snap between you. It’s disgusting; it’s so hot he can’t stand it.

The room feels too quiet, suddenly. All Zoro can hear is huffing breath and the pounding of his own heart. Finally, the cook seals his mouth to yours with a needy, humming kiss. You mewl as the cook pulls out—a low, guttural noise that Zoro takes like an uppercut. He lets his head fall back against the headboard, his stomach in knots.

He thinks it’s over. He’s painfully hard and leaking while trying to get his head back down from wherever he floated off to. He holds you, preparing to walk away.

Tenderly, you stroke the cook’s hair as you relax against Zoro’s chest. When you speak, your voice is scratchy but unmistakable.

“Zoro. Do you want to fuck me?”

Zoro’s mouth turns dry. His cock jumps hard against his abs.

“Yeah,” he says.

The cook rolls over and hums again. “You want one more, baby?” He asks. He sounds almost delirious. “You want me to watch him fuck my cum deeper inside you?”

Your body shivers. “Yes.”

The cook looks up at him. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck.” Never, even in hell, would Zoro have used those words. But something turns over in his brain, and that’s exactly what he wants. He craves it.

Clumsily, he slides out from behind you. The cook takes his place, and he crawls over top you, gaze roaming from your face to your breasts, down to your messy, beautiful pussy. He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything better.

Your knees bob a little in the air; you’re getting tired. That’s fine. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last anyway. He fists himself, spreading his pre down the shaft with his thumb.

Your eyes wander to his groin. “Big,” you mumble.

He knows. “If you want to stop, just say so.”

“No, s’ok.”

He looks down again, eyes lingering on the spend that leaks from you. With a hitched breath, Zoro lines himself up. Despite his size, he slides in so easily it makes him shudder. He bites the corner of his lip with one canine, consumed by your wet heat. With nowhere else to go, slick dribbles out around him as he pushes further in.

You twitch as he bottoms out, so sensitive and pliant under him. And soft, so much softer than he could have imagined as he pushes your thighs up to your chest by instinct.

“So big…” you moan.

Zoro can’t breathe. He can barely think—he just moves where his body tells him, gradually picking up speed until he’s full-on thrusting, sandwiching you tight between him and the other man.

The cook cups your breasts with both hands, tweaks your nipples now and again to make you jolt. Zoro stares at his kiss-bruised mouth as he babbles out praise. “You take him so well, princess. So good for us.”

Zoro’s face hovers so close to the cook, he can feel his breath with every word. He’s like an animal, fucking you with a one-track mind. He can’t think of anything but how this feels—hard, hot, wrong, delicious. With your next moan, he drops his mouth to yours to swallow it.

As soon as Zoro pulls back, the cook replaces him, pressing two fingers in your mouth for you to suck on.

“You like that?” he groans, his gravelly voice even huskier than usual. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Barreling towards the edge in the grip of your cunt, Zoro loses himself. He surges forward, feels his earrings slap against the side of his face, and captures the cook’s stupid lips with his own. Zoro bullies his tongue inside as the cook moans, opens up, and lets him in. He can’t get deep enough, can’t taste enough of the smoke and wine and lust to sate himself.

When you scratch your nails down his chest, blunt nails catching on his old, worn scars, Zoro snaps. With a thick growl, he cums so much that it pushes his cock halfway out of you. You convulse, leg muscles going stiff as you find one final peak before he pulls out.

Everything is a blur. Zoro’s heart and lungs are screaming for rest, and he drops his head to your stomach to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” the cook swears softly, like he’s half asleep.

Your nails rake over Zoro’s shortly cropped hair as sweat drips down his temples. “You were amazing.”

As the rush fades and Zoro comes back to his senses, his entire body buzzes. There aren’t words for it, the mixture of shock and relief he feels cradled against you as the cook reaches over to the bedside table and lights a cigarette. The world has shifted a little on its axis. You couldn’t have planned this, and not in his wildest dreams could Zoro have imagined any of it.

What the hell just happened?

[smeddiemunson]

(part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Gareth, in a feat of truly impressive self-restraint, lasted all the way through their band practise before asking.

The four of them packed into Eddie’s van. Gareth had ultimate dibs on the front seat since he’d known Eddie the longest, despite being in different grades. 

“So,” he said, breaking the expectant silence. “Steve Harrington?” 

Eddie groaned and let his head thunk against the steering wheel, not even flinching when the horn sounded. “Please don’t.” 

“Nah, man. It’s all good,” Jeff soothed as he leaned through the gap between the front seats. “We’ve not got a problem with it, but Harrington? Really? Not exactly your type.” 

Eddie laughed humourlessly. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Gareth turned in his seat to share a loaded look with the two sat in the back as Eddie started the van. They were planning to find out the all of it.

“And you guys just don’t have a problem with it?” Eddie asked once they were well on the road to Loch Nora. “I know you don’t exactly have the best memories of him from school.”

Eddie tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t even match the tape that was playing quietly. He was nervous and Eddie hated being anything other than completely sure of himself. 

“You’re right, we don’t have the best memories of him, but the guy saved your life, Eddie,” Gareth reminded him gently. 

It was the worst phone call he’d ever received in his life. He couldn’t imagine getting another one like it. Wayne on the other end, breathing shakily as he told Gareth that Eddie was in the hospital, that he wasn’t waking up but that he was going to be okay and that he thought Eddie would really like it if his best friends, his brothers, were there when he woke up. 

It had been hard seeing Eddie like that, small, frail and paler than usual, no rings or battle vest, no Eddie. Steve and Wayne had been sat at his bedside, both just staring into the middle distance, when they had filtered into the room. Gareth remembered so vividly the sinking feeling that he felt at the quiet. Eddie hated the quiet, he was never quiet. 

And maybe it had been the wrong thing to do, to interrupt Steve and Wayne in such a way, but Gareth knew Eddie. Wayne, for all he tried, never really understood his nephew and Steve was clearly a new development.

So he started talking. He talked about school, about the assignment he was working on, and he talked about the girl that worked behind the counter of Camelot, and he talked about his mom chewing him out for almost crashing her car. Jeff and Grant, who knew exactly what he was doing, picked up the thread when it sounded like he was running out of steam. 

He just couldn’t stand to let Eddie exist like that.

Gareth owed him that much. Gareth owed him everything.

Eddie who had stood on lunch tables and made himself the centre of attention, the target, when Gareth couldn’t fight off the tears after getting an F on his history midterm. Eddie who got them their first paying gig as Corroded Coffin and pushed them all to take their music seriously. 

He joked about them being his sheep, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yeah, man,” Grant doubled down. “We can’t hate him anymore. Without him you wouldn’t be here. And you trust him?” 

“With my life,” Eddie confirmed with conviction. 

“Then that’s good enough for us. It’s all water under the bridge,” Jeff concluded. “Now turn that fucking music up, I don’t want to cry in the back of your shitty van, Ed.”

Eddie cracked the music up with a blubbery laugh and all four of them yelled along with Ozzy for the rest of the drive.

The door to the Harrington house was opened before they even got out of the car. Steve stood there, excitement buzzing around him.

"Ed," Gareth stopped him with a hand on his arm before Eddie could scamper off. "Do they know about you?"

Eddie shook his head. "Only Buckley."

Gareth nodded once and jumped out of the van. He was still too short to climb out normally, and at seventeen, he didn't have much hope for a late growth spurt to help him out with it.

“You been waiting for us all this time, Stevie?” Eddie teased as he slammed his door shut.

Steve laughed, stepping out the door with bare feet on the porch so he could accept Eddie’s hug. He didn’t have a shirt on, pink scars on full display, and short yellow swim shorts on. It was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie still had the brain cells to flirt.

“We could hear you guys coming all the way up the street.” He explained as Eddie let go of him. “Ozzy?”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Jeff muttered from his place at Gareth’s shoulder. “How is Ed not seeing this?”

“He had to do senior year three times, dude.” Grant fired back from Gareth’s other side, but still not loud enough for Eddie or Steve to hear. “Steve could plant one on him right now and he’d still find a way to make it a just friends thing.”

Steve, having finally managed to pull his focus away from Eddie long enough to see his other guests, waved them over. “Come on in guys.”

Gareth made sure to share with Steve what he hoped past for a friendly, macho and athletic half handshake as he passed him to go through the door.

“Thanks again for having us. You really didn’t have to invite us,” Grant said, using the good manners his father taught him.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “No way, man. I’ve been trying to get Teddy to bring you guys over for ages. He talks about you all the time.”

“You talk about us, Ed?” Gareth asked with a shit eating grin. 

Eddie pushed at his shoulder, sending Gareth stumbling towards the open french doors. “Yeah and I’ll talk about Tammy Thompson if you don’t shut up.” 

Jeff and Gareth snickered together. They knew all about Gareth’s benadryl induced dream about Tammy Thompson because when he told them he was still half high on the same benadryl.

Gareth huffed but didn’t say anything. He didn’t doubt that Eddie would follow through with his threat if pushed. 

Out in the garden, it seemed that the party was already in full swing. There were scattered cans, Robin and Nancy were giggling together at something, and s portable stereo playing The Cure. 

Steve smiled shyly. “We got started without you.” 

His voice seemed to draw the attention of the other four people. They all stopped in the middle of their conversations. 

“Whoa, dude,” The guy with long hair that Gareth didn’t recognise said to break the silence. “Your cult looks super culty.” 

Gareth froze. Jeff and Grant did too. 

But Eddie, determined to always surprise them, just laughed. “Not a cult, my man.” He kicked his shoes off by the door (surprising how little care he paid them since he sulked for a week straight when Jeff accidentally scuffed them) and started making his way over to the sun loungers. “This the legendary Corroded Coffin. Gareth, Jeff and Grant.” 

He pointed them out each in turn then shucked off his shirt and started working the intricate handcuff clasp of his belt. 

Gareth pretended he didn’t hear the strangled noise that came from Steve’s throat. 

“And guys, this is Argyle. You know everyone else.” 

Gareth waved politely but awkwardly and it was returned by a chorus of ‘hello’s.

Once Eddie had divested himself of his jeans, the black swim shorts he had forced underneath them sitting starkly against his pale skin, he dipped back in his jeans pocket to pull out two perfectly rolled joints.

“I brought party favours!” He waved them in front of Argyle’s face how he would sometimes play with the stray cats that skulked around Forest Hills.

Grant groaned. “Eddie, you know I can’t afford weed right now.” 

Eddie scoffed at him. “These’s ones are on the house, Ad-Grant-age. This is a party after all.” 

Steve, somehow having forced himself out of the trace that Eddie’s torso had put him in, was the first to start moving. “You guys can change inside if you want. There’s bedrooms upstairs or the bathroom just past the kitchen. I’ll get some more drinks. Can we switch this tape?” 

The rambling did nothing to hide the redness of his cheeks. If anything it just brought more attention to them. 

“Your tapes are shit, Steveo,” Robin informed him happily. “But this one is also awful, so yes I will change it just for you.” She ignored Jonathan’s annoyed hey and beckoned Steve to follow her. 

Eddie settled on the sun lounger next to Argyle, already having pulled a lighter from somewhere. 

Gareth took that as his cue to drag Jeff and Grant inside to change. 

Jeff, as soon as they were out of hearing range, asked, “When has Eddie ever given us free weed?” 

Gareth shook his head. “I’ve known about this crush for less than a week and I’m already tired of it. We have to do something to get them together.” 

Grant narrowed his eyes. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

He pushed them both towards the bathroom. “Get changed, our work starts today.”

(part 4)