#but I spent too much time on the buildup

[danses-with-dogmeat]

R is for -- Raul Tejada

Ah, Raul, what an absolute legend for beating MacCready in the polls. I couldn't believe it, but once again, I am not complaining. I love him, I love writing for him, and just... these types of prompts for him make me feel all giddy.

Gramps deserves some lovin', what can I say?

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Raul x F! Six

Dialogue: “Don't stop."

Word: Relief

Rating: NSFW (but not super explicit)

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1.4k

“Really? Wow, I can’t believe you remember all that…When it was, what, over a hundred years ago or something?” Without putting too much thought to the action, Six leaned her head against her companion’s shoulder as her eyes stayed transfixed on the smoldering fire they’d prepared.

“Well, more like 200." He let out a dry sort of chuckle, and the movement jostled Six's head slightly. "Doesn’t seem as long ago as it was, though. And what can I say? Memories like that... They stick with you. Family, you know?” 

“I don’t actually.” She was quick to answer him.

“O-oh, right, sorry ‘bout that, boss.” Raul stammered, and Six felt him tense. 

“No, no, sorry, I meant that more as a joke.” Six laughed a bit, and she felt Raul’s shoulders relax from their previous stiffness as she kept her head leaning on him. 

“It may sound bad to say," She continued, "but… I feel like I don’t really need to be sad about not having a family.” Six seemed to say it without thinking, the words just flowing out freely like Raul’s ears were a natural sort of irrigation path. “I mean… I have you.” 

Raul shifted as he looked down at his companion, and though she was still staring ahead, into the glowing coals of their leftover fire, he could see the truth of her words shining through in her expression. 

“Me?” He asked, and it came out as little more than a breath. 

“Yeah, Raul.”

He smiled at the way she said his name, feeling like a giddy colegial again, even after so many years.

“I feel like, with you, I have everything I need.” 

He could only blink at that, unsure quite how to respond to something so sweet, directed at him. 

It's been awhile...

Six shifted against him, sitting up and turning so that they could meet his gaze. 

“And… I’m sorry, for everything that you’ve lost, that you had to leave behind. But I hope… I hope that having me in your life makes it a little easier.” 

She looked away now, and-- was that un poco de rosa rising to her cheeks? 

Raul felt… captivated, his eyes unblinking as he took in the lovely sight of his partner–

His boss, he had to remind himself. 

There is no way she could see me that way. Románticamente. She just said she sees me as family. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, mija.” He said, in placement of everything he truly wanted to reveal to her. 

This... this is más fácil.

What she feels for him now; how she depends on him, how she views him, it should be enough. 

After all this time though, time on his own… Raul felt ready for something more with this woman, but if it meant losing what they have? If she refused him? Maybe, like the few others he’d thought of pursuing in the past hundred years or so, she’d turn him away, maybe with that same hint of disgust upon her face, that quality of ‘what were you thinking?’ in her voice. 

Raul didn’t think he could handle something like that, couldn’t go back to his measly shack and his workbench, todo solo. Not now, that he knew what it was like to be with her. 

Sure, he complained and he sassed, he still worked and was in danger a hell of a lot more than he had been on his own, but… He was living, now. Not just wallowing in his memories, living in the past, or living in a prison– in more than one way– like when she found him. 

“Really?” Six breathed, and he felt the spill of warm air over his face, just now realizing her close proximity to him. 

How come she hasn’t flinched yet? Most women flinch– most gente, even– can’t stand to be so close to someone like me. 

“I feel… Just the same, only, well…” 

Raul could see the way her heart picked up written upon her face. Six was about to tell him something that would change everything, but… 

She never quite had the chance, as something possessed the ghoul, some confidence her words had forced into him, something her closeness brought about, and he leaned forward the couple inches it took to press his lips to hers. 

A small noise escaped her, surprise, he hoped, and not– 

Disgust, revulsion, fear, anger. Sólo elige uno, could be any. Or multiple, even. 

His own fear was dashed from him, though, as Six wove her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. 

Sparks flew behind Raul’s closed eyelids as he felt her press so wholly into him, as she tilted her head and her soft, perfecta, lips kneaded over his. His, that he’d been so self-conscious about, that he feared might even hurt her, with their roughness. If it did though, Six made no mention or motion of it, and before he knew it, Raul found his– equally bruto– hands sliding over her waist, pulling her body closer to his, delicately weaving his fingers over her loose-fitting sleep shirt, lifting the fabric ever so slightly to graze his warm fingers over the smooth skin of her torso. 

As one exploratory hand moved to caress her back beneath her shirt, Raul felt Six gasp against him, her body tensing beneath his touch in a way that jolted him out of his mindless bliss, back into reality. Without another thought, he pulled back and away from her, his hands and lips both vacating her body with rash haste. 

“Mija, Six… I…”

Does an apology even begin to cover this?

Maldito idiota--

“Shh.” She filled the space that he'd made between them without hesitation.

No, alternatively, Six’s hands never left their place over Raul's shoulders, and even now, they sought to pull him closer, her fingers insistent where they pressed into the thin fabric of his jumpsuit.

“It’s alright, Raul.” 

She’d whispered his name this time, and despite all his cautionary thoughts, Raul couldn’t stop the tingle down his spine from reaching another place, one he was more ashamed of, as he felt his jumpsuit seem to tighten below his hips. 

“Don’t stop.”

Raul heard the words, and then, Six’s lips were back on his. 

Even the coals of the fire had darkened and cooled now, and the pair were utterly lost in one another. Months of buildup, of feelings unspoken and actions un-acted upon, and all of it being released on this one fine, cool night beneath the stars. 

Raul’s mind only came back to him when Six’s fingers set upon the zipper of his mechanic jumpsuit, pulling it down without an ounce of reproach, and he couldn’t find it in himself to stop her. At this point, Six knew what she was doing, she wanted this, as much as he did. 

And mierda, but that was a wondrous thought. 

So, he allowed her to tug the fabric from his arms, to haul it all down, down, until his chest was exposed to her. Only then, did she pull her lips from his. 

Breathless, Raul opened his eyes, seeking any semblance of apprehension or disgust from her as she saw his ravaged skin in its gross entirety, but no such expression crossed her face. 

No, only that same such wonder that he felt as he looked at her, as he thought of her. She drank him in, like a clear, blue oasis in the middle of the blistering heat of the Mojave, and her lips quickly followed suit from her eyes. Tentatively, but more for his sake than her own, it seemed, Six kissed down his neck, then to his chest, as her arms smoothed over his skin in a reverent sort of way. A way that made him want to worship her in return. 

The touch was… shocking, to say the least, but the weight off his shoulders, the fear, it was all lifted away as she pressed her hands to his chest, encouraging Raul to lay back on the rough blanket they’d laid upon the sand, and continued her cariñoso actions over his skin. 

Raul allowed himself to close his eyes, to soak in the feeling of her touches, unabashed and unashamed. More than he could say of his own views of himself. 

It was aliviando, to forget his own biases, and to free himself of what he’d thought she might say or do when he told her the truth, when he made it clear how he cared for her. 

It wasn’t something he was used to, but perhaps, that too could change. 

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout npc #fallout new vegas #fallout nv #new vegas #fnv #raul tejada #fallout raul #courier six #Spanish speakers: I accept feedback 😅 #and I wanted this to be spicier #but I spent too much time on the buildup #oh well #🤷‍♀️ #still #it's nice and cute <3

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

#arts #shen qingqiu #svsss #listen im not saying that ive spent a cumulative half a year reading this fic and then trying to make an arts for it #and then getting frustrated and stopping because i couldn't figure out how to make sqq shimmery enough #but like. im not NOT saying that #this is the FOURTH time ive started something for this bitch it haunts my fucking dreams and yet the opalescent glittery sqq evades me #perhaps you o unlearned fool look at this and say hmm that's too many colour layers and glowy effects but oh how wrong you are #if it doesnt make you literally fall over yourself at how otherworldly and radiant he is then there is room for improvement yet #perhaps you look at this and you think Wow!!! this gives me literally NO ideas what this fic is about #well Let Me Tell You. i have no fucking idea how to summarize this fic #its not often the tags in a fic give me pause but i saw this and as i read the tags i was increasingly just like What #but i have no idea how to describe it. the tags arent NOT accurate but i was SO unprepared for what happened in like an extremely pos way #if i were tagging this i think i would give it the no archive warnings apply label if that matters to you #the author seemed they wanted to leaned towards over caution rather than risk missing anything re tags because This Is A Weird Fic #but oh my fucking god #i am gripping you by the shoulders i cannot stress enough how charming it is #brilliant characterization especially with airplane in the first scene #and also so much fucking funnier than i thought possible for the general setting summary tags and buildup #its just. ough. its good

[elipoms]

how to make changes to your life when you know if something doesn't change you will explode. + being so used to holding back on everything even a slight change seems wrong

#dude who has multiple disorders involving impulse and spent so much time stopping himself from making bad decisions he doesnt make any #at all #mentally i know i need to like. let the pressure buildup release but im too scared to do through physical action #and i dont want to crazypost but not doing anything is making this worse #feeling massively dissatisfied with life and stuck. kind of want to run straight into a door. #also NOT looking forward to having to testify abt my dads abuse in court soon #i just want a little glimmer of sunshine #ok. i ended up venting on tumblr. i guess. if you read all of this ill blow you a kiss #but just dont think abt all this too hard. ok? ill be ok. maybe. probably #eli.txt

[awritessomething]

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤| pierre gasly x fem!reader

part one requests

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | As winter break started, Pierre found himself unable to stay away from his favorite reporter.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut, cheating, swearing, oral f!receiving, doggystyle, protected sex, dom!pierre, sub!reader, hair pulling, spanking, needy!pierre, handjob, phone sex(?), masturbation m!receiving, not much buildup, no aftercare.

With it being only such a short amount of time into winter break, Pierre had not expected himself to be yearning for his favorite reporter friend. His time away from her during the season was always tolerable as they had their sessions almost scheduled. After each race.

Yet what was to happen with no races? They hadn’t been participating in their affair for long enough to know. Now, Pierre was thirsting for her. It was embarrassing how often he found himself checking her socials to see new pictures of her that could possibly hold him off until February. Of course, that did not work.

Pierre spent what felt like an eternity holding himself off from texting her. Almost every night he found himself thrusting up into his one hehe, his phone in the other as he looked at her Instagram pictures from the summer.

He found some sort of release in shoving his cock into his girlfriend and tuning out her moans to imagine the other woman’s. That only worked for so long though. Eventually, as expected, he ended up calling her up. His girlfriend was out of town just for a little while. A day or two.

He was in her voicemails, begging for her to pick up. Each voicemail was nastier.

“Hey, it’s me. Wanna come over?” He sounded slightly out of breath. That was the short content on the first voicemail.

“It’s me again. Please call me back, I needa hear or see you.” His voice was almost whiny. He was all but begging for her attention.

“Please- I cant last all winter break without that pretty pussy. Come over. My girlfriend is out of town.” Now the soft squelching sound of his hand against his cock could be heard. Eventually she called him back and just the soft greeting that she muttered made him spray his cum up onto his abdomen and chest.

She promised to come over and as promised, she did. Wearing a pair of very loose sweatpants, a t-shirt, and some lingerie beneath, she drove to his house. She pulled up about a block away and walked, the hood of her jacket going over her head. Her hands were shoved into her jacket, only removing them to text him to say she had arrived.

Pierre nearly dragged her through the door, desperately grabbing at her hips. She bit her lip and came inside, pushing her jacket off of her body and letting it fall by the door. The next thing to go was her shirt. Pierre was only in a thin pair of boxers. In his opinion, she was wearing far too much.

Her hands were on Pierre’s chest, but let him push them off as he shoved her onto the couch, apparently too impatient to take her to the bedroom. Pierre dropped to his knees, ripping off her sweatpants. Her breath hitched as her legs trembled slightly from the slight chill.

Pierre’s eyes widened momentarily at the sight of the lingerie she wore for him. Neither of them could really breathe. He forced himself to breathe. Her hands went to his hair, making him look up at her. His hips bucked forwards, connecting briefly with part of the couch. He let out a strangled moan but then lurched forwards. His teeth nipped at the fabric of the panties, dragging them off.

“Cant believe it’s only been 3 weeks. Missed this so much.” Pierre muttered as his hands gripped her hips and tugged him to his face. Her eyes widened and her grip tightened on his hair. Her hips bucked up and her clit hit his nose.

Pierre’s tongue danced along her folds, teasing the hole of her pussy before beginning to press into it. She squirmed on the couch, moaning out the French man’s name. His fingers dug into the skin of her hips, not allowing her to squirm any longer. Her hands loosened on his hair, unable to even think enough to try anything.

His tongue pushed its way into her hole and swirled for a moment, taking in as much of her essence as possible before retracting and having it move back up to her clit. His lips locked on the pulsing bundle of nerves, sucking at it desperately. Her eyes landed on his face and she saw how he seemed to be on a whole other planet. His nose was pressed against the hood of her clit, tongue swirling over her clit.

For just a short second, she was able to think coherent thoughts. She focused on what he was doing with his tongue. The shapes were unfamiliar. Not circular or star-like like how most men would do it. Pierre was doing something else. Her head fell back in pleasure as she tried to think of what he was doing.

P

That was the first thing that she was able to catch onto. The letter didn’t make her think of much seeing as she could hardly even think as it was.

I

Nothing. The short line on her clit didn’t make her tiny of anything again. Pierre looked up at her now as he continued to work on her sex.

E

Now she was catching on. Pie? There was a very slim chance that he was doing just the dessert at such a time.

R

R

E

Pierre. Pierre had spelled his name on her clit. She twitched under his touch and desperately pushed his face away from her pussy. His brows knit together in complete and utter confusion. That had never before. He glanced up at her.

“You ok?” Pierre asked, pressing a soft kiss to her clit before straightening up.

“Don’t wanna cum on your tongue.” She whispered. His breath hitched. His hands gripped back onto her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. For a moment, all that could be heard was the creak of the bed as she was yanked so she was on her hands and knees. Pierre pushed a hand into her hair and pulled back, bending her almost in half.

“Jus’ on my cock, hm?” He breathed against her ear. She let out a dirty moan from the sound and feeling of his voice on her skin. He scoffed at the sound and his other hand was brought down onto her ass. She jolted forwards and cried his name.

“Pierre!” She gasped, legs trembling as a red mark was visible on her ass cheek now. He gripped it with the same hand, knuckles going white. He reached over her and grabbed one of the condoms he had set on the headboard of his bed. He slipped it onto his cock with ease.

“Patience.” He growled. He shoved two fingers into her cunt, fingering her for just a moment before he used her wetness as lube. Jerking himself off for only a short second, he pushed inside. She nearly collapsed from the feeling of being filled right to the brim for the first time in weeks. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Pierre yanked her hair again, using her hair to pull her back to meet his thrusts.

Each thrust was deep and rough, her ass moving from the force. He watched where her body moved and moved one hand to grip onto her waist. His grip was bruising, but there was no complaints. There was absolutely no way that neither were going to last very long. It had been a while since either got laid.

Pierre’s hold on her hair tightened slightly. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head from the roughness of the man. Neither cared that it was wrong that they were doing this. All that Pierre could think of was how good it felt to have her walls around him again. All that she could think of was how good it felt to have him slamming against her g-spot with each thrust.

“Pierre…” her voice came out choked. His lips were against her neck, nipping at the skin that would surely be covered by her hair or just about any shirt.

“What is it?” He breathed against her skin. Her back arched from the feeling of his hot breath against her ear.

“‘m gonna cum.” She whined. He groaned right into her ear and then leaned back. His thrusts were harder and deeper now. Pierre let go of her hair and put both hands on her hips, forcing her to move back to meet his thrusts. Each one knocked every little bit of air from her lungs. In any other situation, it would be terrifying, but not now.

His grunts were deeper and more frequent at this point. He was nearing his finish. One hand moved to go underneath her, toying with her clit. It only took a quick pinch to make her cry his name and cum around his cock. Her velvety walls tightened impossibly around him, squeezing his cock through the thin condom. With a guttural groan, Pierre also finished.

“Fuck… that was so good.” Pierre groaned as he pulled out of her. Both of them shook just momentarily, but then he immediately went to pull off the condom and get back into his boxers.

“You feeling better?” She asked, head tilting as she could still see his cock hard in his boxers. Pierre nodded.

“Much. Thanks for coming over.” Pierre thanked her now. She gave a small smile.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. Pierre sat back down beside her. She was putting

“Still hard?” She asked as she was putting on her clothes again, tugging on the sweatpants and her t-shirt. Pierre glanced down at the bulge in his boxers.

“It happens when you’re here.” He said as if it was the most normal thing ever. She shrugged and reached down into his boxers, starting to stroke his cock slowly. “Ah- wait, what are you doing?”

“Taking care of it.”

Her hand moved quickly after a moment of just warming him up. Pierre’s head fell back and he gripped onto the sheets, biting his lip to stay quiet. His cock was sensitive from his previous orgasm. His abs flexed and his hips thrusted up. Pierre’s face was scrunched up in pleasure as he was already trying to fight back his orgasm, which was approaching at an embarrassing rate.

Pierre’s hand touched her wrist, attempting to push her hand away.

“Too- too fast.” He groaned. His eyes screwed shut. She pulled her hand away from him to stop and look at him, concerned.

“I’m sorry. Are you ok?” Pierre was now scrambling to get her hands back on him. She took half a second to think. He wasn’t asking her to stop or anything, he was just talking to himself about how fast his orgasm was approaching.

She continued stroking his cock. Pierre’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. She looked from his cock up to his eyes. Pierre had never been so needy, but he was looking absolutely flawless like this. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were red from biting them.

Pierre’s hips bucked up a few times, fucking himself into her fist, and then he came. His cum sprayed up on his abdomen and chest. She let out a soft gasp and smiled as she watched him writhe.

A few more strokes was all it took, but then she pulled her hand away from him. He took a moment to catch his breath.

“Thanks.” Pierre grumbled again and pulled his boxers on again, reaching over to his nightside and grabbed a tissue, wiping his cum off of his chest. She nodded once again, then wiped off her own hands.

“See you in a few weeks.” She said as she stood up and stretched her arms over her head. Pierre watched her.

“Bye.” Pierre gave her a wave and then she left. Both knew that neither would be able to stay away from each other for that long.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #formula1 #f1 #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly smut #formula1 smut #f1 smut #pierre gasly

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

#book review #the saint of bright doors #vajra chandrasekera #sff

[catgirlredux]

Technosymbiosis

Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:

I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.

I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.

It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.

That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.

I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?

Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.

I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.

I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.

“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.

“She? She who?”

Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.

“43.7. Well within safe limits.”

She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."

"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"

The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”

“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?

“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.

"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?

Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”

My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!

“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.

“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."

I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.

“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”

She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”

I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.

Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...

What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?

I could barely look her in the eye.

"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."

Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.

"We'll try not to. No promises."

*****

They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.

My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.

Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.

I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

#cheetah writing #empty spaces #mecha #mech #cyberpunk #robotgirl #scifi #scifi story #original short story

[bas-writes]

your blind date is waiting for you...

A suitor is awaiting for @anon-germany who as her dream date wanted to spend a cozy day at home. I hope you will spend lovely time together!

gender neutral reader | ~850 words | modern AU

For how long have you been asleep?

You're conscious now but your eyelids are still heavy, and the harsh sand-line feel under them pushes all ideas about opening them far away. It's hot and drowsy and a little bit uncomfortable-enough to have you squirm in place but not that much of a bother to have you get up or just change your position. There are more bodily needs asking for attention, but nothing is urgent, so you let yourself bask in laziness, melting into the surface as if you were one big marshmallow.

When you finally peel your eyes open and judge the surroundings, you remember you fell asleep on his couch. You met his place after work, since neither of you were in the mood for a proper date, ordered some pizza and browsed Netflix for some white noise to your dinner. It was unrolling like a typical soon-to-fuck date but even if you were already on that level of relationship, exhausting day and tons of greasy food did excellent job with keeping your thoughts as far away from the gutter as possible.

Besides, Smoker just...isn't this type of a guy. If he had sex in mind, he would just tell you outright. He has never shied away from the topic and has always been pretty forward about treating your slowly unrolling relationship as something that eventually will lead to intimacy. He's just not there yet, it seems-and you're fine with it. There's something about deliberate progress that has you even more entertained than passionate rush. The atmosphere builds up slowly, the tension has barely started to settle, and the temperature barely tickles at your cheeks. When the right time comes, you both will be boiling and starved. Deliciously torturous premise.

But this moment, in the middle of the night, soaked in the cold-blue light of tv, is as far away from the promising buildup as possible. You're stiff and confused, barely connecting the lost dots, worried about a bit too full bladder and itchy numbness in your feet. You're wrapped in a blanket, overheated and cold at the same time, as it slid down your shoulders and upper part of your back. Your legs are tangled with it and bent under a weird angle: the culprit behind your uncomfortable state. You try to roll to the side and move them-but something holds you firm and stubborn. The more you struggle, the harder you're pressed and kept in place.

With a groan, you manage to lift yourself on your elbow and look over your shoulder. Smoker, sound asleep, is curled in the opposite nook of the sofa, your legs scooped in his lap and held by both of his arms, so close and dearly as if you were a comfort plushie. His shirt is half open, hairy chest shamelessly peeking at you, and both of the sleeves are rolled up, far over his elbows. His head leans back under a weird angle (you know he's going to complain about an aching neck later in the morning) but he's snoring content, a bit of drool dried at the corner of his mouth. When you wiggle experimentally again, he frowns and pulls your legs back into their place with such determination that his muscles flex.

"Babe," you try to speak through a dry throat. "Will you at least let me go to the toilet?"

Smoker wrinkles his nose, like a bunny, then mumbles something without a trace of sense. When you repeat and writhe in his arms again, he finally jerks awake, tense at first, his gaze restless, until he spots you and remembers the situation. He relaxes immediately and melts against the back of the sofa.

"Shit. Sorry" He wipes face with both hands, trying to keep eyes open, not really effectively. "What time is it?"

You fish for your phone in the pocket of your jeans.

"Past 2am," you almost groan. You've been sure it's only been a short nap, not half of night spent tangled on the couch. "Sorry, didn't want to wake you up. Just lemme sneak to the toilet-"

You're back in no time, full of overwhelming relief, just to witness Smoker occupying your space. He's fallen to his back and sprawled himself all over the sofa, the blanket kicked to the floor and held with one hand. Doing your best not to laugh aloud, you tiptoe closer and try to untangle it from his fingers. Pulling motion has him awake for a brief moment, his hand lets go of the blanket just to grab yours instead and guide you down, right over him.

You hesitate only for a moment before caving in and following his invitation. You straddle him, then lie down on top of him, cozy after just a few adjustments.

With his eyes still closed, Smoker throws the blanket over you two, then wraps arm around your middle, with the same steady hold he kept when guarding your legs in his lap, with the touch that has you asleep again in no time.

#smoker x reader #smoker x y/n #smoker x you #smoker imagine #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #bas writes #op #smoker #blind dates #gender neutral reader

[fawnfictions]

Saw the thing of the monkie trio with reader who falls asleep in random places and.... can I ask for the same but with Red Son?

Platonic is fine but..... maybe also a lil bit romantic? :3

sleepier findings

— red son x gn!reader

ofc ofc ;P

i'm actually happy you requested red boy for this, this'll be fun hehe

;; romantic, fluff, no warnings.

RED SON

- the first time he finds you sleeping in some weird location, he sputters and his brain short circuits.

- what... what are you doing, sleeping in a GUTTER?

- he is IMMEDIATELY picking you up and taking you to either his house, or yours.

- don't worry, if yours is closer, he has a spare key ;))

- he's very concerned about your wellbeing, though; similarly to MK, he'll be worried that you aren't sleeping properly, or that you lack the proper vitamins that you need.

- prepare to be bombarded with questioning when you wake up.

- listen,, he just wants to be certain that you're okay <//3

- will scold you if you're sleeping somewhere public,, like if he ACTUALLY found you in a mf'ing gutter, he'd lose his temper a little, "You could've fallen into the Spider Queen's lair! And you're clothes are all dirty—you don't know what's touched the gutter!"

- after a while, he'll start keeping a closer eye on you, and checking up on you in case you've put yourself in danger.

- if you fall asleep in bad places a little too many times, he'll make you promise to be more careful.

- but, the times he finds you in safer places, like in Pigsy's Noodles or in his own house, and he's a lot calmer about it.

- call him weird for it, but he likes to stare at you as you sleep; you look so peaceful, and he adores the little expressions you unconsciously make.

- if he's been in his workshop all day, where you've kept him company off to the side, and he turns around about to call it quits for the evening and you're asleep?

- he might give in to the possibility of cuddles.

- ONLY at times like these, though; he's got a reputation to keep up as the Demon Bull King's son, and he can't be caught slacking like that ❌❌

- either way, he'll sneak a kiss on your head, though.

- if anyone catches him doing it and points it out, he'll fluster SO BADLY and nearly drop you.

- cue him yelling, causing you to stir, and shutting himself up in fear of waking you.

- he will go off at anyone who dares to even threaten waking you up, you need your sleep? you're GETTING your sleep >:(

- he'd be a great cuddle buddy, though.

- but he's reluctant to—Red Son hesitates with PDA in general, he's going to be very unsure about any sort of cuddling.

- it's easier to convince him if he's been busy all day, or if he was particularly annoyed about something/someone.

- he's very warm, given that he's a fire demon, and it is WONDERFUL for winter, horrible for summer.

- you'll wake up hot and sweaty in the worst ways, but you'll fall asleep like a baby.

With a sigh and a wipe to his forehead to rid it of a buildup of sweat, Red Son admired his work. He had spent all day tinkering in his workshop, busy on producing a vehicle to counter the Monkey King's little successor.

As much as he cherished inventing as a hobby and a skill, without you to keep him company, he'd definitely be far from completing it; easily growing bored when working on the same part for hours. Your wilful chattering and teases were keeping him sane, albeit that he constantly comments that it 'distracts' him.

Speaking of you, he realised that you hadn't spoken a word for the past ten minutes. Whilst you may have simply gotten distracted by another of his creations, he knew you well-enough to be doubting the chances of him turning around to you being anything but conscious.

And, as expected, he whipped his head around from where his back was facing you, attention caught on closed eyes and light breaths.

Lo and behold, your body—on the floor, curled up around the leg of a chair that he kept down here on the, not unusual, occasions that you would join him. The position didn't seem particularly... Uncomfortable, as your head was supported by the cushioned seat of the chair, but Red Son couldn't imagine that the concrete floor would be as soft.

Whilst tutting at your state, he stepped towards you. Leaning down, Red Son wrapped his arms under your legs and across your back, supporting your head in the crook of his neck. He couldn't lie; he loved carrying you, it boosted his ego to hold you like the innocent mortal you were.

He briefly gave a light kiss to your forehead, smiling down at your peaceful expression and holding back coos at the quiet snores you let out. He continued to the door, pushing in open with his foot and electing to finish up and close it later on. He had more pressing matters to attend to, at the moment: you.

You, who had softened his heart enough to lead to him carrying you towards his own bedroom with the intent of sneaking a cuddle in with you. A light blush dusted his cheeks, somewhat embarrassed at the prospect of snuggling to you whilst you were already asleep.

It wasn't as if you hadn't consented to it; countless times had you awoken, playfully scolding Red Son for not cuddling up to you to 'keep you warm', or to 'protect you from the bed bugs'.

Therefore, as he gently placed you atop his mattress, stealing another kiss from your forehead, he moved to the opposite side and pushed himself close to you. Red Son pulled the blanket up, ensuring the both of you were equally covered and that you seemed comfortable enough.

His face only grew hotter; carefully gathering you in his arms. Unconsciously, you grasped his shirt in your sleep, shortening the distance between your bodies until he was pressed up against you. He barely held himself back from stuttering at you.

Accepting his fate, albeit never planning on rejecting it, Red Son wrapped his arm over your side and felt you nuzzle your face into his chest. The exhaustion he felt from his hard work, matched with the peacefulness you seemed to radiate, he, too, found himself drifting to sleep. With red cheeks and a genuine lift of his lips, Red Son slipped out of consciousness with you in his arms.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #red son #red boy #red son x reader #headcanons #scenarios #fluff #— fawns fics

[splaede]

AFTER DARK. Armin Arlert (CH. 3)

☰ pairings: Armin x Reader, Slight Eren x Reader

┌─ ✮⭒｡ story summary: Armin was tired of being seen as an innocent, goody-two-shoes, little flower boy. Instead, he wanted to be seen in a more romantic and…sexual light. You just couldn’t turn down a sweet boy like him, so you agreed to hone his charms and teach him special…skills.

And he turned out to be much more powerful (and hotter) than you'd ever expected.

└─ ✩⭒｡ story #tags: fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, friends w benefits, drama, jealousy, hurt/comfort, manipulative armin, virgin armin, loss of virginity, childhood friends, lots of tension, nerd armin, and then he glows up, love triangles, unrequited love, gaslighting, lots of buildup

☰ CHAPTER THREE. armin's transformation

┌─ ✮⭒｡ chapter summary: Armin takes you out.

└─ ✩⭒｡ chapter warnings: very subtle gaslighting

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

You were mid-home-from-work routine when you received a text from Armin. As you unloaded your belongings from your bag, you picked up your phone from the table.

Lately, it seemed as if Armin had been talking to you quite a lot—more than he already did, no less.

Armin: Are you free later?

Ah, typical question. Since it was summer, the time spent with your friends was no longer limited to the weekends, minus the time spent outside of class hours and whenever your schedules didn't conflict. Even with your job, you were much more available compared to the academic year.

Despite having seen Armin almost every day for the last decade of your life, you never hesitated when it came to seeing more of your friends.

You: im free

just got home from work

Armin: Okay, sounds great

Do you want to hang out?

I want to take you somewhere

You: of course i do

where?

Armin: It’s a surprise

It’s really important and I need your help

I’d like for you to come along

You: armin this is really suspicious

but sure

surprise me

Armin: I swear it's nothing suspicious

You: is eren or mikasa coming?

Armin: No

Just you and me

I’ll pick you up from your house

Maybe sometime in the next hour?

You: okay sounds great

and whats the dress code?

Armin: Dress code is very casual

Please don't worry too much about it

You: i trust you armin...

see you

ill start getting ready

Armin: Tell me when you're ready!

See you!

Just the two of you? Just what was he up to? Not that you guys hadn't hung out alone before, but it was almost always the four of you as a group. With recent light of his insecurities and crush on Annie, you began to think it had something to do with that.

Then where could he possibly take you? Where would you even fit to benefit him in this situation?

You remembered the conversation from last night. He probably just wanted to finish it. After all, you were the one that offered to continue. But it felt like a hefty job, and you were unsure if you were suited for the task.

It wasn't as if you were obligated to help him. Still, you just couldn't help but want to—you felt like you needed to. It was hard to come by people like Armin, who was nothing but kind and considerate towards you. Now that your most dedicated pillar of support had finally come to you for help, it was time to repay the favor. You were afraid to fail him when he had already done so much for you.

Still, part of you was excited. You would do anything in your power to win over his crush.

You'd brush it off for now, though, since you needed to get ready. 

Armin's car had been parked within a short walking distance. From your door to his, there was only the scuttle of your shoes on the cracked pavement and the distant sound of whirring cars.

"Hey." He flashed you a welcoming, warm smile.

You scooted into the passenger seat, mirroring his smile. "Hey, Armin."

As you shut the door, you couldn't help but breathe in the familiarity of his car. It was the usual: light air conditioning, quiet music, and that friendly fragrance of his car seats. A mix of something woody and rosy—his cologne—and the minty-ness of the cup container filled with that gum he seemed to always chew.

Armin was never unkempt, always clean, and smelled of his body wash, a warm vanilla scent—a scent that reminded you of home.

You mentally backtracked. You were glad he wasn't a mind reader, or else he'd find out you had been shamelessly smelling him and his car.

"Is that Eren's sweater?"

His voice broke you out of your thoughts, and he shot you a long glance as you buckled your seatbelt.

You looked down.

Oh.

You nearly forgot. The centerpiece of your outfit was none other than one of Eren's sweaters that he had given you yesterday. How could you have forgotten? The sweater hanging off your body was a blatant reminder of your sort-of feelings for him, which you couldn’t help but convince yourself were platonic rather than romantic.

Despite the hot weather, you threw it on, determined to wear it even if you suffered from heatstroke.

"Maybe it is,” you replied with a shrug, tone teasing. 

Armin only responded with an airy chuckle. The car was moving now, a subtle reminder that he had brought you here for a reason. Before you could even ask, a notification on your phone chimed, ringing loud throughout the quiet interior.

Texts from your group chat.

Eren: mikasa and i are getting something to drink right now

you guys wanna join?

you can come meet us there

i'll send the address

we're also getting dinner later so come along

i'm paying

You blinked, rereading the text.

Mikasa and I are getting something to drink right now.

Mikasa and I.

Right now.

Oh.

Had they been making plans in private, only deciding to ask the group chat as a last-minute decision? The two seemed to already be together, after all. You knew that not everything had to be a four-person activity, but knowing that the two were alone together felt strange. You couldn't shake off your uneasiness.

No, no, you were thinking too hard about it. In fact, you were alone with Armin right now. Eren and Mikasa had their own lives and their own choices, and it was all just in your head. This was normal—you had done the same before.

Were you jealous?

You watched the front window view slow from moving buildings to lone traffic lights as yellow flickered into red. You then looked at Armin, who was swooping back his long hair and adjusting his glasses.

"Eren just texted. He and Mikasa are getting something to drink right now and dinner later. He wants to know if we can join,” you finally said.

Armin's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, drinks...? Eren and Mikasa are...?" He paused, trailing off.

…Together?

Armin spared you a pitying glance, and despite your effort to mask it, he read the disappointment from your expression.

"Don't worry, Y/N, it's the usual. We always go get milkshakes together. All four of us. Maybe Eren was already texting her, or maybe he was driving near her place and decided to drop by. He's done this before with all of us." Armin extended his hand over the console to yours, where he placed his fingers on your wrist and rubbed circles on your hand with his thumb. "Don't think too much into it, okay? It could just be all in your head." 

You nodded.

"We might not be able to get drinks right now, but we can catch them at dinner if that's okay with you." He smiled reassuringly.

You thought it was ironic. The thought of Eren and Mikasa off on their own and leaving you and Armin out worried you, but here you were, alone with Armin and heading off to who knows where. You could only laugh at yourself.

Speaking of which...

"Armin, you haven't told me where we're going."

A cherry, tantalizing smile inched up his face.

"Sorry, you're right. I haven't."

Armin tilted his head towards you, turning ever so slightly until you could see his pretty blue-eyed smile.

"We're going to a barber shop."

You waited for him to finish, raising a brow.

"I'm going to get a haircut."

Your eyes widened.

"You're—what?"

Instantly, your eyes darted to his hair—long and clean and fair on his shoulders. Never once was it tangled or dirty, only silky and faultless as it always seemed. You suddenly found yourself threading your fingers through his locks.

"Wait, are you serious?"

All of this suspense, only to find out you two were going to a barbershop. Even as you pondered the reasoning behind the dramatic wait, you couldn't help but laugh at the silliness of it.

"Yeah! I am. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I just wanted to tell you in person rather than through text." Armin replied, bashfully craning his neck away from your hand that was still in his hair. "Hey, that tickles."

You retracted your hand, laughing, but your thoughts were still swarming with the fact that Armin Arlert wanted his hair cut. Armin Arlert, whose blonde tresses had always framed his face and neck.

"I can't believe it. What type of haircut are you getting?"

One of his hands left the wheel and clumsily felt for his plugged-in phone on the console, handing it to you. You took it without a thought.

"I saved some pictures on my phone if you want to look. You know my password, right?"

You hummed in response, pressed in the digits of his phone password, and swiped around until you found his camera roll. His recent photos consisted of various sunset shots (or sunrise, since you knew Armin was an early bird) that were taken from his bedroom window and the aforementioned hairstyle pictures. A good handful of them, too, all in different angles and lighting.

Wow, Armin sure was thorough for one simple haircut.

"I want an undercut, but I want to keep my hair up to my ears. Kinda like—"

"Kinda like Levi?" You smirked. You eyed him shrewdly, and if you weren't so caught up in your joke, you would've seen him mirthfully roll his eyes with a childish smile.

Armin paused to consider his words, and after chuckling, he spoke. "I've been thinking about getting a haircut for a while now, but I didn't decide until last night. I searched around for some references this morning, and you were talking about him yesterday. You said...you said he was hot."

An easy, brief smile made its way to your lips. "His hair is only one of the many things that make him hot."

You found it cute that Armin had remembered your banter about Professor Ackerman last night.

Speaking of last night, you wondered if he was going to mention your conversation—hopefully regarding how he wanted you to help him. Right now would be a fitting time, wouldn't it? You and Armin, alone in his car. He poured his feelings out once here, so maybe he'd do it twice.

"If you think his hair looks good, then I hope it’ll suit me, too. I just...want a change for once. I'm sure a lot of people would agree."

You almost frowned at that. Growing up, Armin rarely came out of his soft shell, known as the small-framed and timid boy who was overshadowed by his best friend's tenacity when his brains were the only asset at his disposal. Although he seemingly had long grown out of that shell and pushed past that shadow, you knew better.

"Are you doing this for Annie? Armin, I know I've said this before, but don't ever feel like you need to change for somebody."

Him changing himself to fit someone else felt wrong.

"I know, but this is for me. It's only a haircut, nothing big."

Despite the guise of a smile he put on, despite the way he'd brushed it off, deep down, he was still the insecure boy you grew up with. But if he truly was as honest as he sounded and wanted this for himself, then you wanted it, too.

"If you say so. Then I guess you're right. Either way, I think you're going to look great. Annie is definitely going to notice how amazing you look."

When you turned to him, you didn't realize he was already staring at you. He hurriedly shook his head and shied away from your stare with a soft chuckle. His lips parted to say something, but you didn't give him the chance before you butted in.

"I still can't believe it. No more long hair. It was practically a part of you." You eyed him, or rather, his hair. "This is a big deal."

He let his fingers run through his locks, twisting and brushing the strands away. "Yeah. Everyone will be so surprised."

It seemed as if he wanted to say more, but you butted in again. "And thanks for always driving me, by the way. You're always picking me up, even if I have a car."

His one hand came to frantically wave you off while the other fumbled with turning the wheel. "No, it's okay. I'm always the one asking you to pick you up, anyway. I like driving you." He smiled.

Before you could thank him, it was his turn to cut you off.

"We're here."

All of your previous doubts about Eren and Mikasa and the initial shock of Armin's announcement flew out the window and into the sunny skies.

The anticipation was unbearable. The two of you were now parked in front of the barbershop, and Armin was about to get his haircut.

You were going to be the first to witness it.

All you registered when you walked in was the sound of the bell’s chime, and you then found yourself sitting knee-to-knee with Armin as you waited for his appointment, looking down at his phone while he swiped back and forth on his screen.

Armin stilled and tilted his phone towards you. "Do you think I should go with this photo?"

"Yeah, it looks good. Or better yet, you could show them a pic of Professor Ackerman."

His expression became a mix of what seemed like embarrassment and bewilderment before he stammered, "What?! No—no way, I'm going to look like a fool. Professor Ackerman is practically known by everyo—"

You gasped and instantly slapped your hand against his shoulder, or rather, what you thought was his shoulder, but instead, you smacked him square in the face. He jolted back in shock and didn't have time to blink before you redirected his head. "Look! Your barber is ready for you."

Armin stood up, glancing back and shooting you an incredulous look. You only sheepishly mouthed sorry to him in return.

You waited until he sat down before you took your eyes off him. Armin Arlert was about to cut his hair to the shortest length it's ever been.

Now, all there was to do was to wait some more.

In the meantime, you needed to text Eren back, which you had forgotten to do earlier. You saw that Armin had already replied, likely sometime after you walked in and before you two sat down.

Armin: Sorry, I was driving

I’m with y/n right now

We can't make it for drinks, but dinner sounds nice!

You: eren whats the address?

we’ll be there for sure

Hopefully, you would. Free dinner, right?

Minutes later, Eren responded.

Eren: [Current Location]

It looked like they were there already.

You quickly tapped on the link to his location and a restaurant named "Trost's Kitchen" came into view. You had only ever eaten there twice in your life: one time as a child with your family and the second time as a high school student to tease Jean at his part-time waiter job.

If Armin's session went by fast, then you'd be able to drive there with just enough spare time to eat before Eren and Mikasa finish their meals. You amused yourself with how they would react to Armin's hair. Shocked? Confused? Hell, you hadn’t even seen it yourself yet.

For the next few minutes, all you did on your phone was text and scroll.

No, scratch that, you had fallen asleep.

Someone tapped you.

You didn't realize how much time had already passed. Definitely more than those measly few minutes that you spent texting and mindlessly scrolling.

After groggily blinking, your eyes trailed up to find the culprit.

Before you stood a new man.

What was once silky, smooth hair down his neck was now a sleek undercut and cropped short to his ears—just how he wanted, and you could now see his jawline and the innocent skin of his neck. He still kept his bangs, though, which were blonde and neat on his forehead.

You must've been staring too long because Armin nervously looked to the side.

His hand suddenly went up to his face, clasping around your wrist. You didn't even realize that it was there. It had just subconsciously occurred to you that you should reach up and softly intertwine your fingers with his golden locks.

You never noticed how round his cheekbones were, how softened his cheeks looked, or how much of a sharp jawline he had.

Hair really could change a person, huh.

And to your surprise, you had overlooked something even bigger than his new hair. As you followed the undercut to the curve of his ears, you narrowed your eyes at the empty space. He wasn't wearing his glasses. Nothing sat on the ridges of his ears. No thick, black-rimmed lenses around his eyes—nothing but his wispy, blonde lashes that fluttered with each blink. He must've taken them off during the haircut.

Armin seemed to have worked up a ripe, dusky blush with the way you were gently caressing him. His ears flushed a sweet shade of pink, too, just like his cheeks.

"God, you look so good." Your hand withdrew from his head. "You're really attractive, Armin."

You took one more thorough look at his face.

He looked mature.

He looked...hot.

Armin couldn’t seem to decide between meeting your eyes or looking away as you gazed at him. His face reddened when he lopsidedly smiled and squeaked out, "Thank you."

Your hand interlaced with his and you beamed brightly. "Let's go. Have you paid?"

He nodded with a smile.

Then you two were out the door, and when you looked back, his glasses were already back on.

"So...why did I have to come again?"

His eyes flitted to his hand, enclosed by yours. "Um, moral support, I guess...? I don't know. I just felt like you should be the first to see it. I wanted you to be here because it made sense with our... agreement ."

The sky had become a myriad of pretty oranges and yellows, but the blues barely peeked out from behind gray clouds. It made the sunset a little too murky, too pitiless, and too sullen for a summer evening.

"About our agreement..." By now, you two were fastened into your seats and out of the parking lot. "How did you want me to help you?"

He spared you a glance. "Truthfully, I'm not sure. I know you have experience, so however your past lovers got you to like them, apply that to me and Annie."

"So, are you and Annie close?"

"No, we're not that close."

"Do you at least talk to her like you talk to me?"

Lines between his brows formed as he drew them together, his vivid blue eyes flickering aside in confusion. "What do you mean...?"

You shook your head and dismissed him with a wave. "Nevermind."

Surprisingly, Armin didn't press on. You didn't, either. Instead, you turned to your phone.

You: on our way

It wasn't long until you reached Trost's Kitchen. It only took a couple of minutes that had passed by way too fast because you were busy jamming out to songs after he gave you the aux.

The two of you stepped out. It was warmer than you expected, especially after the comfort of the car's air conditioning, and the sunset had long faded away into the night.

You: we're here

Neither you nor Armin exchanged any words on your stroll into the restaurant and merely enjoyed the comfortable silence that you two always seemed to slip into. You were met with the shade of the portico and the chime of bells as Armin opened the door for you.

The bustle of conversation and clank of silverware greeted you at once. You briefly raked your eyes over the rows and rows of tables.

"Okay, wow, it's really busy here," you muttered.

You wanted to send one last text before you deemed yourself too clingy. By now, Eren would've already replied like he usually did on outings like these. Even if he did frequently ignore your messages, you knew that he wouldn't put his phone down until everyone had arrived.

You: please tell me you got a table for four

As soon as you sent that text, Armin nudged your shoulder.

"Y/N? Look..."

In a far corner of the dining space, you saw a woman with short, black hair that you knew all too well and a man with messily tied up brown hair that you knew even better.

Mikasa and Eren. At a two-seater table.

What was only a downward tug on your lips deepened into a frown when you watched them get touchy and enjoy themselves. Had they always been this touchy?

"Kinda looks like they're on a date," you noted.

Armin’s eyes didn’t stray from them when he asked, "You okay, Y/N?"

"Yeah. Let's just get a table."

To your luck, there weren't any available tables near them. At this rate, it'd be a miracle that you'd be seated anytime soon. With the line of people in the reception area and the rows of occupied tables, you almost considered eating somewhere else.

"You might just be overthinking it. It's okay, Y/N, I promise. It just...looks like what you think it looks like."

You gave Eren and Mikasa's general direction one more gander before you allowed Armin your full attention. "Nah, I don't think you're seeing what I'm seeing."

His lips pursed into a thin line. "No, I see. I'm sorry. Do you want to go to a different place, then? I'll pay."

You thought about the texts you had just sent. Wouldn't it be weird to just disappear? You were disappointed, but you didn't feel like interrupting the two at the table. Not that you had much of a choice, anyway—not with packed guests and the long wait. 

"I don't know. We came all this way and I told Eren we'd come." you sighed. "But it's better if we find another place. We can tell the others later."

Before you, Armin extends his hand, and all it's doing is insinuating you should leave. "Okay. I'll make it up to you.  Let's go, then."

He was all honeyed words and lopsided smiles, so you didn't hesitate, not even a bit, to take his hand. As you're leaving and talking, you let him draw you closer to the sound of his calming voice. 

Under the ghostly evening lights of the restaurant front, you clutched onto the sleeve of Eren's sweater with your free hand as Armin pulled you away with the other.

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

☰ taglist: ✩⭒｡ @rinsie @tengensgirlfriend @ela-dahe @his-brats-fantasies @genderfluid-anime-goth

#armin x reader #armin x you #aot #snk #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #armin arlert smut #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #armin arlert #eren yeager #aot smut #angst #nerd armin #attack on titan x reader

[centrally-unplanned]

I played Needy Streamer Overload, which was a lot of fun, with an asterisk. NSO is a Lifesim Management game for a batshit up-and-coming streamer, where you as her 'boyfriend' allocate her time between streaming, resting, and content inspiration/development to hit 1 million followers. The writing is very on point for actual streams culture;the topics and comments and all that are very true-to-life, while its zany edgecore presentation is hilarious. And the UI is full kino:

Vibes - and also, spoilers, not just a cutesy aesthetic, as the player is not in fact a real person so the digital viewport is ludonarratively cohesive, +1 point.

However, it also pissed me off for specific me reasons!

So, these games tend to go into two buckets. One is the engine builder - managing the lifesim is both involved and The Point of the game. You work hard to optimize and achieve the goal. The second is narrative device - the lifesim elements are more about narrative choice than challenge, and either can't be failed or are trivially cleared. You approach playing those 2 game types differently.

NSO presents itself like the former - its mechanics are pretty involved. Managing Followers, Stress, Affection, & Mental Darkness, all on a clock, while unlocking ~10 different streaming content topic progression trees, its a lot to track. Not saying its crazy hard or anything, but its what you spend your time doing. You will be asking yourself questions like "yes I could have sex with her for the third time this week to lower stress and boost affection so I can burn that affect buildup on the Sexy Stream lvl 2 to sync my highest topic bonus with my streaming streak bonus before I need to end it for a rest cycle, but I can only play that card so many times, is day 13 too early?". That is fun, and where your focus lies. On my first playthrough I tried to hit the 1 million target, barely succeeded, but burned out Ame's stats so much I got a short, pretty-much-failed ending.

So on my second playthrough I tinkered around and stumbled on a soft infinity engine, where I could push Ame's stress to the limit in the opening days to get her follower count to the point where she would unlock "follower milestone celebration" streams that I could bank, that did not increase stress but would count towards a streaming-every-day streak bonus, and never take a rest day to get that bonus insanely high. I got several million followers with low stress, low darkness, I thought I did a good job.

And I got a short, pretty-much-failed ending.

Turns out this game has 30 endings, and the lions share of the long, involved ones are from you completely fucking up. You will get a way more interesting ending if you make Ame-chan overdose on LSD and she trips her way into breaking though the illusion of the internet. You want to raise her darkness high as hell for half of them. You can found a cult, you can induce all sorts of violence against her or others, whatever you want. But the game didn't tell me!!

It instead presented me with a solid optimization puzzle, which I spent like 10 hours doing. I shouldn't have bothered! It doesn't really tell this partially for surprise, but if we are being honest its because they expect you to google it, and they expect you to watch streamers unlock 25 of them after you do 5. Which is how modern games are made, but personally I don't love relying on that. I do think games are at their best when they self-teach a player the right way to engage with it.

But I respect that some people would see the discarded scraps of a tryhard faildaughter that is Ame-chan and immediately push her into doing conspiracy theory streams while smoking weed. I am just not someone you can plunk an engine in front of and expect me not to try to tinker with it. This is 50% on me.

#needy streamer overload

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 4: The End of the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.,

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, the reader faces the consequences of her actions and faces some hate from Robin, era-normalizes homophobia, no use of YN, wet dreams and reader being horny on main, allusions to a bi!reader, kinda voyerism?

A/N: First of all, I wanted to express all my gratitude for the love everyone has shown me and my work! It feels so wonderful to know that others are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. This chapter was so challenging but also really rewarding. Initially, this was going to be much longer and it would cover the entire rest of the tour, but I didn’t want the pacing to feel rushed so I split this into two parts so we can also delve a little deeper into the rest of the tour dates. Also, I love circa Season 3 Robin who calls people out on their shit.

wc: 5.9K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎵

April 11th, 1984 Cincinnati Ohio

“Hey! Hey!” You hear calls of your name from deep in the corners of the chaos that is backstage before a show. You’re too busy fighting to secure the buckle on your stupidly impractical heels to look up and instead, you listen as the voice calling your name gets closer and closer until it takes the form of the heavy pair of lace-up boots that appear in front of you. Your gaze follows the trail up the boots to the attached legs, torso, chest, and finally to the head of wild curls belonging to one Eddie Munson. “Yes?” You say primly as if this is your first time hearing him. He rolls his eyes in response, but the gesture is more teasing than anything.

“I was thinking that maybe we don’t even do a bridge in ‘Runaway with Me’. What if, instead we do one final chorus with a larger buildup?” You halt mid-shoe-struggle to glance up at him and consider his idea. “That could work,” you say, straightening out to eye level, giving yourself a break from your crouched position.

“We could build a crescendo, maybe bring in some horns like Robin’s always talking about,” you offer.

He nods excitedly, “Yeah, some horns would be sweet! We could also do some heavier synth.”

As he’s talking, he kneels and gently begins to secure the strap of your shoes for you. This gesture and others like them have recently begun to spring from the guitarist. The two of you have naturally been spending more and more time together writing and through this time spent together you’ve come to realize that Eddie is kind below all that bravado and snark. It’s a kindness you recognize, one that’s been bubbling below the surface waiting for someone to lure it out by working past his walls. As it would turn out, spending a few nights a week writing did the trick and after nearly a month, the two of you were approaching friendship.

“Thanks,” you smile, once he’s secured both shoes, “I was struggling there.”

He gives you one of those full-body shrugs you’ve come to associate with him lately and says, “It’s nothin’. Didn’t want you wrinkling your pretty dress.”

You brush off his flirtatious words as just an attempt to get under your skin. He’s still Eddie, after all.

“Maybe we should finish the song tonight, then,” you suggest, fingers smoothing out your skirt instinctively.

“And miss the afterparty? No chance. Argyle says that the club we’re going to downtown has go-go dancers.”

“Oh, right, the afterparty. I forgot,” you exclaim, unconvincingly.

“That’s bullshit,” Eddie deadpans, “you just don’t want to go.”

The other thing you’ve learned about Eddie these past few weeks is that he’s weirdly perceptive.

“I hate those parties,” you whine as the two of you amble towards the front of the stage, “I’m stuck having people gawking at me while the rest of you are off having fun.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix, why don’t you ditch the gawkers tonight and you and I can get up to some shenanigans?”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge with a raise of your eyebrow, “I don’t see how watching groupies throw themselves at you is any different than watching them throw themselves at Steve.”

“Where are these groupies that you speak of, because I promise you no one is throwing themselves at me,” he guffaws at the mere thought.

You roll your eyes, “I see you taking a different girl home every night and I wouldn’t want to mess with your batting average. Besides, people will see me with you instead of Steve and they’ll start talking.” “Listen, I appreciate your concern, but my batting average is rookie-level, at best,” he fiddles with the strap on his guitar excessively before swinging it over his shoulders, “and as far as rumors go, not likely. No one in their right mind would think anyone, much less you would choose me over Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You roll your eyes at his self-deprecation. “That’s not a nice thing to say about yourself, Eddie. Also, you know Steve hates when you call him that.”

He smirks in response, “That’s exactly why I do it, princess. So, what do you say? If you come to the afterparty and we have a good time, we skip the next writing session and if you find it absolutely abhorrent, we’ll… skip the afterparty in St. Louis and buckle down to write. Deal?” *** You end up taking Eddie’s deal if anything, because you don’t want to alienate the closest thing you have to a friend right now.

Ever since Jonathan found out about his brother’s successful operation, he’s been making up for lost time, partying and drinking with Argyle every single night. Nancy’s been preoccupied with trailing behind them and making sure they don’t end up waking up in a hotel lobby fountain like they did back in D.C..

Steve, on the other hand, has withdrawn from you since Atlanta, and while he acts the part of doting boyfriend in front of the crowds and pleasant friend in front of the rest of the band, the connecting door between your hotel rooms has remained resoundingly locked. Naturally, Robin had been avoiding you too.

This is how you ended up sitting next to Eddie Munson at a seedy club somewhere in downtown Cincinnati watching girls dance in cages and listening to him argue with the bartender about which regional hot dog was the best.

From across the room, Nancy catches your eye and flashes a sheepish smile before Jonathan drags her to another corner of the room, drink in hand. Occupying a separate corner, you spot Steve and Argyle in a cloud of women and smoke downing what appears to be their thousandth shot as onlookers cheer on.

You wish it was that easy for you.

“What do you wish was that easy?” Eddie turns suddenly, angling his entire body your way.

You swallow down the embarrassment of having accidentally voiced your thoughts, if only because Eddie’s smirking at you like he knows you’ve been caught.

“You know, walking into a room and not having to worry about doing the wrong thing and immediately making everyone hate you. I wish that was easier.”

He laughs at this, a banging-on-the-table type of ordeal, and you withdraw into yourself at the flash of the callousness you had previously associated with him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he waves, “It’s just that, you could probably spit in everyone’s face when you walk into a room while insulting their mothers and they would still love you. How could anyone not? You’ve got that thing.”

“That thing?”  

“Yeah, like,” he gesticulates his arms wildly as if he could catch the words he was looking for between his fingers, “magnetism? But also endearing which is extra annoying. It shines off you, almost?  Like…if the rest of the world is silver, you’re this big chunk of gold.”

He ducks his head suddenly, embarrassed and his words mean so much you nearly do the same.

“Thanks, Eddie,” you say instead, and because it is Eddie, you have to add, “although, no one’s ever called me a ‘big chunk’ of anything.”

“Yeah well, someone’s got to keep you humble, right?”

You roll your eyes but even that doesn’t wipe away your smile, in fact, it only grows.

***

ROBIN:  Of course, I remember that night! I spent the entire time comforting my best friend while he watched those two make eyes at each other.

It always blew my mind what she could get away with that the rest of us couldn’t. It had only been a month since she rejected Steve on the basis of wanting to keep things professional and here, she was, practically attached at the hip to Eddie—the one guy who hurt Steve the most to see her with—like it’s nothing and the rest of us have to pay the consequence! How was that fair?

***

” So, what do you say? St. Louis after party?” Eddie quips an eyebrow as the two of you stumble down the hallway of your Ohio hotel room, many hours and drinks later.

“I don’t think so, Munson,” you say, far too resolutely for someone who is clinging to the wall.

“What? I thought you had fun! That was fun! Didn’t you have fun?”

His large brown eyes turn a bit desperate at his question. Truthfully, the night was good—not necessarily the exciting endless nights of your teenage years on the Strip—but Eddie did put effort into making it an enjoyable night for you. He kept the drinks flowing and brought you the best of Argyle’s stash of magic pills. He even got into one of the Go-Go cages after losing a drinking game and gave a truthfully hilarious performance. He was so focused on getting off the hook for writing in St. Louis that he ignored every groupie that tried to approach.

Still, you could not shake the hollowness in your heart or the weight of everyone’s attention.

Stopping at your hotel room door (at least you think it is, you’re not quite sure) you turn to put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you, for working so hard to give me a good night, I appreciate it, but we’re writing in St. Louis. We have to, we’re already behind.”

Placated by this, Eddie nods, smiling, before reaching up to grasp your wrist lightly, the one that’s resting on his shoulder.

“Well, as long as you had some fun—”

The ding of the elevator drowns out the rest of what he was going to say and the two of you jump apart in time to catch a glimpse of a very pissed-off Robin propping up a very out-of-it Steve. Eddie rushes forward, reaching for Steve’s other side, but before he can help her, Robin says, icily and resolutely, “Don’t. You’ve done enough,” causing Eddie to flinch back.

This uncharacteristic snap from Robin has left the two of you stunned, standing in place and far too drunk to know what to do so you both watch, unmoving as Robin struggles comically to get Steve down the hallway to the door next to yours.

Steve, for his part, is glassy-eyed and completely unhelpful to Robin, in fact, you’re certain he’s leaning his entire weight on her. When he makes eye contact, you smile, awkwardly and he turns completely away from your gesture.

“Shit, Steve, where’s your key?” Robin asks, patting away at his pocket in a way only intimate friends could do.

Steve shrugs dismissively in response, “Lost it,” he slurred.

His voice spurs you into action, “Here,” you gesture to Robin, “I can let you in through the inside door.”

The brass player grimaces in response, and you can see her mouth get ready to tell you to fuck off but Steve’s weight on her slight frame gets the best of her, and huffs in forced acceptance, “Fine, whatever.”

You hold the door as the two of them stumble in, a gangly, uncoordinated four-legged monster.

Eddie lingers on the other side of the doorway, Robin’s glare enough to stave him off.

The two of you share a smile, and it looks like he wants to say something but a crash in your room demands your attention.

“Thanks for the night out, Eddie,” you say partially because you must and partially because you don’t recognize the look in his eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You puncture your question with a slight tilt of your head, gesturing towards the cacophony inside.

He nods, understandingly, gulping down his words, and instead offers, “Yeah, sounds good, see you tomorrow.”

You shut the door, ready to accept whatever destruction Steve has inflicted in retaliation, you’re certain, for his broken heart. You deserved it, after all. Any other guy (and in fact, every other guy you had been with before) would’ve probably told you off angrily by now, and, as nice as Steve seemed, it was only a matter of time before he did too.

To your surprise, he is at your vanity, fumbling about with your various pots and compacts and bottles of perfume.

Robin is trying to pull him away, albeit feebly.

“Stop it, Rob,” Steve whines, slapping her grasp away, “I miss the smell.”

***

ROBIN: Pathetic. It was pathetic.

***

STEVE: No, sorry, I don’t remember that happening.  

***

Robin realizes now that she is in no place to deny your offer of help so between the two of you you manage to get Steve undressed and put to bed. The already Herculean task is made even more difficult by Robin’s refusal to acknowledge you in any capacity, but it gets done.

“You know, I don’t mean to hurt him,” you mutter, pulling the duvet over Steve’s shoulders.

“Right,” Robin responds, not even looking up, “guess it’s just another one of those things you’re just naturally good at, huh?”

You sigh, frustrated. Maybe it’s the alcohol still circling through your veins, maybe it’s the need to appeal to Robin, whom you had previously had a trouble-free relationship with, but you start to talk.

“Listen, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to be with Steve…it’s that I don’t know how.”

She turns wide-eyed to you now, “You don’t know how to have sex? They have books for that, you know.”

“No, no it’s not that,” you say, and then quieter, after making sure Steve was still passed out in his nest of pillows, “I’ve had sex before. Plenty of sex, with other people—”

“Sure, that sounds super convincing.”

“I’ve just never been in a relationship before. I don’t know how and I’m not sure if I’d be very good at it.” You divert your gaze now from Robin, blushing at your revelation.

“What do you mean? What about Jason Carver? You dated for like six months.”

You fiddle with the blanket bunched at the corner of the bed.

“No, we didn’t. Those were just lies spread by Starcourt to sell more records. I didn’t date any of those assholes. It was all set up.”

Robin lowers down to sit on the edge of the bed opposite you, by Steve’s feet.

“So, what? Everyone needs a first. Is Steve not worth trying for?”

“Of course, he is, Robin! But other people are relying on us not fucking this up and I already know that I will.”

“So, that’s it then? You’re too scared to try just because it doesn’t come easy?”

You pluck angrily at a loose thread and mutter, “You just don’t get it.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t. I have to spend my entire life hiding who I love from the world and here you are, getting the opportunity to love someone—and not just anyone but, like, one of the best guys in the world—and have that love be celebrated by other people and instead of choosing to at least try to make it real, you’re sticking to what’s fake because that’s all you know.”

Words block your throat, and your eyes sting with unshed tears.

“I’m gonna go now,” you exhale, shakily before dashing out of the door into your own room. You wait before your certain Robin has left before letting your tears flow.

***

ROBIN: What I said was totally harsh, but I don’t regret it. She needed to hear it.

***

April 13th, 1984, St. Louis Missouri

“So, what’s going on with you and Harrington?”

Eddie wastes no time in asking as he is ushered into your current hotel room.

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying your hardest to sound convincingly confused.

With his guitar case, he gestures towards the door that connects your room to Steve’s, “Every time I come over now, that door is closed.”

You shrug in response, “Dunno. He probably got bored of me.”

Eddie scoffs, unconvinced as he begins to settle on your small couch for a night of writing, “I doubt that Harrington could ever be tired of you.”

You know what he wants to hear—what’ll get him off your back.

“Well… maybe I got bored of him.”

***

STEVE: What do I remember about St. Louis? Well, for one, the hotel walls were really thin.

*** 

Eddie didn’t ask you about Steve after that, instead, he diverted his attention entirely to showing you all that he had written between Cincinnati and St. Louis. It was a lot. Way more than what you were used to from him. Something had changed recently with him, a crazy wave of creativity that had kicked his songwriting into overdrive. The interesting thing about it was the consistent romantic undertone in most of his songs. It made you curious about what one-night stand could’ve possibly bewitched him to the point where he was writing verses upon verses about her. You try not to think about Eddie’s possible muse too much and try to focus on being grateful for her instead.

The two of you sit on your too-small couch, bodies flush against one another at nearly every point. You lean closer to the guitarist and cheekily pluck the pen out of his hand and scribble some lyrics in his notebook.

“How am I supposed to decipher any of that chicken scratch?” he teases.

Your head snaps up from the page, with the full intention to tell him off but you’re awestruck by your proximity. You’re close enough to see the scar next to his right eye and the flecks of gold in his quickly widening pupils. That partnered with his musky scent of fir trees and tobacco leaves you gaping at him like a fish. Eddie Munson is pretty, you notice. Very much so. Sure, you weren’t so blinded by his arrogance and unpleasantness to not realize he was attractive, but before you had always seen him as hot. He was a guitar player, after all. But now, up close, knowing him, you see the softness of his face and the warmth of his eyes and it’s all quite disarming.

Realizing you had been staring for way more than could be considered appropriate, you snap backward into the farthest corner of the tiny couch putting a sliver of space between the two of you. 

“My handwriting is perfectly fine,” you argue, weakly.

And just like that, the moment slips through your fingers and it’s just you and Eddie again, writing songs and teasing each other like nothing happened.

Three hours later, you are finally happy enough with the progress that was made to release Eddie back into the wild. You escort him to the door and the two of you linger in the threshold. His fingers drum against his guitar case, restlessly and he seems like he’s going to say something.

After an unusually awkward moment of silence between the two of you, you decide to move things along.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsals?” you offer, rolling your ankle against the stiff, carpet floor.

In response, Eddie gulps and nods sharply, but doesn’t quite turn to walk away.

Instead, he pulls lightly at one of his curls, like you see him sometimes do while he’s deep in thought, and says something that takes you completely by surprise, “I like writing with you, you know?”

He starts walking backwards, now, eyes still on you but retreating quickly down the hall.

“I like writing with you too,” you respond, softly, too softly, but by the ear-splitting grin on Eddie’s face, you’re certain he heard.

***

You’re not sure how it started. Maybe it was because your nerves at being around Steve for the first time properly since Cinci had made you extra fidgety or maybe it was the feeling of Eddie’s heavy stare tracing the thin straps of your top that had sent a bolt of energy through you, (or maybe it was the hit you’d taken from Argyle’s stash) but you had too much energy to burn at rehearsal.  You started dancing a little more than usual on stage—nothing complicated, just a little two-step here and there, maybe a twirl but, by the third song, you had noticed that Steve was beginning to mimic your movements so that the two of you moved together on stage. After that, you played around with it, a little more, not taking it too seriously, but treating it like a game of Simon Says while also trying to guess each other’s next move.

When the song ends, the two of you are a bit more out of breath than normal, but you’re smiling just the same.

“Woah, did you two plan that?” Argyle asks, in awe.

“No,” he chuckles out, “just messing around, I guess.”

“Well, whatever you were doing you should try it on stage tomorrow night, it was cute,” Nancy says decidedly from behind her keyboard.

Sheepish looks are exchanged between you and Steve, and you shrug at him.

“Sure, why not?”

***

ROBIN: There was a lot about the band that was fake, but none of that ever bled into how we were on stage. Even when things were the most difficult between us—I’m talking about when some of us couldn’t even look at each other—all that went away when we were on stage. Especially with our two lead singers. During that first tour, when Steve had confessed his feelings and she left him totally heartbroken, that didn’t affect their chemistry at all.

I remember that day in St. Louis, during rehearsal, they were messing around together, doing this silly little dance during All About You and it turns into this whole choreographed bit. We didn’t have a fancy set production or even a coordinator back then, so all the little dances they did, that was all them.

People went crazy for them, and it became a thing that people were expecting us to do. 

EDDIE: Listen, I think we can both admit I was never the frontman type like Harrington—I’m too hard to swallow and my singing voice ain’t all that, plus all that attention would make me go nuts—but seeing the two of them, up there, dancing, and smiling and singing to each other like there was no one else in the room? Can’t say that was easy for me, no.

STEVE: You know, part of me started to hate performing? Well, maybe not hate, but it was difficult. The crowd would go crazy when we interacted, and the more we danced with each other, the more we shared a mic or got really close, the more the crowd cheered. So, we did those things a lot throughout the shows. And sometimes, when she would reach out and touch my face or look at me with those eyes, well, it felt real almost like we were the only two people in the room and we weren’t pretending, we were just being. And then we would get off stage and go back to being strangers.

It’s the almost having something that always hurts the most.

***

“Hey, where are you going?”

The show is over, and the crowds are long gone, and the venue is deserted. It’s late but, for most of the band, the night is just beginning. While the rest were getting ready for another night out, you were gearing up for a long night of songwriting with Eddie and were just about ready to find him and head to the hotel when he breezes by, arm wrapped around some unknown girl, without as much as a glance in your direction.

Your question catches his attention, and he stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around.

“Eddie,” you continue, “I thought we agreed we were going to write tonight.”

“Sorry, change of plans,” he tosses over his shoulder and then continues on without further explanation.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘change of plans’? We made a deal,” you charge behind him.

“Yeah, well, that was before Arabella told me about this bar downtown that—”

You don’t even let him finish.

“No offense, but I don’t give a shit about who Arabella is or what she told you, we have a deadline to meet!”

Eddie stops at this and his date, who you now realize is probably the Arabella he was referring to, takes the moment to fully glare at you. You shoot her a half-hearted shrug in place of an apology.

For his part, Eddie is regarding you like he’s thinking over a math problem or trying to figure out a particularly tricky chord progression. His expression changes, however, as soon as he spots the rest of the band approaching behind you.

“Raincheck?” He offers dismissably.

 You cross your arms and scoff. Truly, who the hell did he think he was?

“Go fuck yourself, Eddie.”

You give him no chance to respond before you turn around and stalk off in the opposite direction, not caring that the exit is in the other direction.

You walk past the others as you do and reactions to your outburst range from full guffaws (Argyle, Jonathan) to awkward grimaces (Nancy) to something right in between (Robin). Steve, on the other hand, looks almost angry and while you’re not sure who that anger is directed at—you have too much of your own to worry about it.

 “Hey! Don’t be that way, we can write another night, I promise!” You hear Eddie calling out behind you, and suddenly this has become a full-on scene, but you keep walking.

He calls out for you again, this time you pick up on the light desperation coloring his voice but again, you don’t dare turn around. He calls out your name one last time and this time you do respond—by flipping him off.

***

ARABELLA CHEN (FORMER GROUPIE): I remember that! She was kind of a bitch, to be frank. You know, back then I tried not to hang around girls too much, they were always so much drama.

EDDIE: Why did I blow her off?  Hm, not sure. I wasn’t doing any drugs back then so I can’t blame it on that. You know what? It was probably because I was...God, what’s the phrase? Oh, right. A jealous immature asshole.

***

You head to the hotel on your own that night, feeling annoyed and only a little bit lonely. You try to do some writing, but you're so wound up that it's no use, so you end up calling it a night early.

You are too wound up to even sleep and you spend the majority of the night falling asleep only to stir awake at the last minute, your energy too high to let you rest. You’re no longer angry and annoyed, though, mostly you're hungry.

You commiserate over the fact that Robin usually was your late-night snack supplier but obviously, she was no longer willing. And because Hopper had blown up at Eddie and Argyle for ordering $650 worth of room service in Nashville after getting a wicked case of the munchies which left you no choice by to shop the hotel vending machines to possible quiet your hunger.

The sad, barely-stocked machines were nestled at the end of the hall in a small separate room that also housed the ice machine You're scanning the rows of candy bars and chip bags trying to find something that was from this decade when the aggressive shrill of the elevator pulls your attention.

There's a cacophony of clumsy noises coming from the elevator. From where you're standing, you can see the occupants stumbling out, a flurried mess of limbs and hair. Eddie and the girl he had had on his arm. The one who had told him about the awesome bar or whatever. Arabella. It was a stupid name, truly. Like a fancy dog or a part of the royal family.

Likely, they can't see you from their spot, or maybe they could but they weren't so preoccupied trying to get Arabella's tongue all the way down Eddie's throat that they didn't. You stayed frozen in place as you watched them stumble to his room, fingers interwoven through hair and hands wandering underneath fabric. Eventually, Eddie hoisted her up and she wrapped her long, golden legs around his torso and you caught a glimpse of her nearly non-existent panties.

Finally, they clumsily stumbled into his room and you were able to escape from your hiding spot, snacks fully forgotten.

You tried to go to bed after that, hoping that the anger and annoyance you had felt earlier in the night had finally dissipated. And while those feelings had quieted, something else equally white-hot through the night you come to realize when after startling awake for the thousandth time you recall fragments of your dream. First, you remember Eddie, and then the girl he was with Arabella. And then you remember the rest. Hot, bare, skin-on-skin, and open-mouth kisses flood your memory, and you can't help but blush. You had been having a dirty dream about your bandmate. A bandmate that you had just had a very public fight with and to top it all off the girl that he chose to spend the night with over you also made a guest appearance in said dirty dream.

Yeah, that was fucked.

You sit up, blankets pulling around your waist and try to blink away the shame and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

It's not a big deal you tell yourself. Everyone has dirty dreams they're not proud of every once in a while. So, what if yours was about Eddie? It was probably an indication that you hadn't gotten any action in a really, really, long. Given your contractually obligated fake relationship, was that truly a surprise?

Your halfhearted attempts to go back to sleep are only met with visions of dark hair and long, ringed fingers exploring supple, rounded flesh.

When you finally decide it's no use, you get to writing instead.

***

The next day during sound check, you avoid Eddie. Partially because you’re still annoyed at him for blowing you off, and partially because the dream you had about him was still far too fresh in your mind you couldn’t count on yourself not to blush in his presence. He was not getting the message though, because he seemed to trail behind you the entire time. Not too close where it was obvious to the others, but close enough that you, the person who was actively trying to avoid him, noticed.

Eventually, you have no choice but to acknowledge him when he all but corners you as you’re leaving the restroom.

“Did you get the…things?” he asks lamely.

“What thing?” you ask, trying to gently push past him.

He looks nervous now, and a bit ashamed, but almost in a cute way like a chastised puppy.

“You, know, the things—” you continue to stare at him, blankly and he has no choice but to elaborate— “the flower things.”

Oh. That was him?

“Oh,” you respond, “That was you?”

It his turn to look befuddled now, bordering on mortified, “Who else could they have been from?”

“I don’t know,” you respond nonchalantly, “I kind of get flowers all the time.”

That was true. Back when you were going on fake dates for photo opps with every warm male body at Starcourt, you were receiving so many thank-you bouquets and charcuterie baskets you had run out of flat surfaces to put them on.

So, this morning when there had been a loud knock at your door, you had been more concerned about telling off whoever decided it was okay to bang on your door in the early hours of the morning (11 AM) than figuring out who sent the obnoxiously large bouquet that had been waiting for you when you opened the door.

“Plus, there was no note,” you add with a shrug.

“Well, of course, there was no note, the depth of my remorse and shame regarding my behavior last night is far too vast to fit onto a measly 3x5 piece of paper. I wanted to apologize in person, like a man.”

***

EDDIE: It was my first time getting someone flowers. I didn’t realize there was a note you had to write.

***

You stare at him, arms crossed and expectingly.

“I’m sorry I blew you off last night to go to a bar downtown with a mechanical bull and I am even more sorry about how much of a dick I was about it. Even though the mechanical bull was a lot of fun, it would’ve been even more fun if you were there. If it’s any consolation, I got knocked off the bull almost immediately. It was humiliating. I deserved it though after the way I spoke to you and if you’d like me, I’d like to make it up to you tonight. What do you say? I’ll buy you a bottle of that wine you like and we’ll have a hot and heavy writing sesh.”

It's at this point that you realize how close the two of you were. Eddie had you essentially caged against the wall, clearly trying to prevent you from slipping past him like you had all afternoon. The proximity along with hearing Eddie say “hot and heavy” immediately brought back memories that you were trying to avoid.

“Maybe,” you croak, as you duck underneath his arm and scurry around him, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the heat of his body. “Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.”

***

EDDIE: She didn’t get back to me that day. Or the three days after that. She avoided me like the plague, actually. I had thought that the flowers and the heartfelt apology would’ve helped smooth things over a little but I guess I hadn’t realized how much I hurt her feelings.

Of course, I was kicking myself. I was sure that I had wrecked my chances. I told myself it was my fault for ever believing that I could ever have a chance with someone like her. I was ready to accept that it was all over before it ever even began.

And then the strangest thing happened.

***

April 20th, 1984, Pontiac, Missouri

It wasn’t like you were an overly sexual creature. Sure, you enjoyed sex, and you had sex a healthy amount of time, but you had never felt like if you didn’t have sex you would die. Until now.

Maybe it was all the time on the road that was getting to you. Maybe this was some weird psychological thing and your brain associated hotel linens with sexy rendezvous. Maybe being in a (fake) romantic relationship made you crave sexual intimacy as well. Whatever the reason was, you could not shake this growing hunger that burned in the pit of your stomach, and it was starting to affect you outside of just messing with your sleep.

Not only were the dreams happening more often now, but they were no longer just about Eddie. You had them about former flings, and old crushes, Steve was starting to become a frequent player. You think you may have had one about Nancy once, which was very surprising but not unwelcome.

You weren’t proud to admit it, but you saw Steve’s treasure trail once and had to spend 20 minutes in the bathroom splashing water on your face. Something very similar happened when Eddie wore a muscle tank to rehearsal.

You had tried handling the issue yourself and while you were able to get the job done, it always left you wanting more.

If you kept having dreams like these, you were eventually going to run out of bandmates you could look in the eye without blushing.

It wasn’t like you could hook up with someone random either. Outside of the obvious reason, it was too much of a risk for your relationship with Steve, both the fake one and the very tender one you had behind the scenes. Steve was the obvious choice to help resolve your issue because of the mutual attraction but you are certain if the two of you started having sex, no matter how casual you could claim it would be, feelings would start to develop sooner rather than later. He was too easy to like for that not to be the case.

You could’ve just ignored it and hoped it would go away, really, you could’ve. In fact, that would’ve been the sensible thing to do. Hell, you could’ve discreetly found a shop to purchase a vibrator and maybe this whole thing would’ve been resolved. But no, instead, you end up in front of Eddie Munson’s hotel door somewhere in Missouri about to set off a chain of events that was going to impact you for the rest of your life.  

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

Taglist:

@rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter @mystargirl-interlude @brinleighsstuff @thegaysaretired @nothing2-see @harrysvirgogf @Prior-antidote @stardustofyesterday

#steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #jonathan byers #eddie munson x yn #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x f!reader #steve harrington x f!reader

[visceravalentines]

I wish you would write a fic where….

Sinclair bros. gang bang tbh

Alright Nonnie, here we are. I've been wanting to write something like this for a while but the maximum number of people I've ever had sex with at the same time is one (1) so it was kind of daunting to tackle three at once (heh). It got away from me a little bit on the buildup but I hope you like it! Happy to write more like this in the future so if you want me to give it another shot, lmk.

The Sundress

Poly!Sinclairs x Hinge!AFAB!Reader

Smut, group sex, oral, voyeurism, praise kink/dirty talk, no pronouns used but reader wears a sundress, gets called "doll" and "pretty"

This morning you decided to wear a very particular sundress.

You found it at a thrift store on a solo venture into town. It was cute, had a tiny floral print and ruffles on the straps. It wasn’t completely your style, but there was just something about it. It fit your frame perfectly and at the same time, it was both scandalously short and devastatingly low-cut. You wondered if it was too much as you gave the skirt a little twirl in the dressing room mirror. There was a time when you wouldn’t dare wear something like that out of the house for fear of the attention it would attract.

Now, however, the only attention that existed in Ambrose was much more than welcome.

You went ahead and bought it. The thought of each of your boys’ reactions made you giddy and a little smug. You hung it in your closet and waited for the right day to come along to bring it out:  a day when you felt especially sexy and particularly devious. A day when things had finally calmed down after a long and busy week in which you all barely saw each other and most definitely had not spent any quality time together.

That morning, you took a few extra minutes getting ready. The stars had aligned for your little plan. Your hair was gorgeous. Your skin was glowing. You looked like a snack and felt like one too. You practically pranced down the stairs despite admonishing yourself to play it cool.

Bo and Vince were at the breakfast table, enjoying a leisurely morning after the hectic week. Bo had his nose deep in a Clive Barker novel, absently sipping his coffee. Vincent was chewing on toast and sketching.

“Good morning,” you say cheerfully, pulling open the fridge and leaning forward just a little to see if there was any orange juice left.

You hear Vincent stop chewing. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you watch him hit Bo in the arm, his eye glued to you.

“What the hell d’you – oh my.” Bo’s eyebrows shoot up and he immediately places his book facedown on the table. “Well good mornin’ to you, doll.”

You flash them a sugary smile as you pour yourself the dregs of the juice. Vinny’s eye is wide as a saucer. Bo is actually licking his lips. “Did you guys sleep well?”

“Sure did,” Bo says. “What d’you have planned for today?  Anything…in particular?”

You perch on the edge of the table, skirt sliding up beneath your ass just a little bit. “It’s supposed to be real hot today, so I figured I’d go through and water all the flowers one more time.”

Vincent is scribbling absently back and forth over his half-finished sketch. “Good plan,” he signs. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright. I can manage a hose, you know.”

“Yeah I bet you can,” Bo murmurs.

You smile at him. “What do you have on the list today?”

Bo talks and Vinny signs at the same time.

“Nothin’ much – ”

“Basically nothing – ”

“ – just gonna clean up around the station a little – ”

“ – probably going to do some inventory of art supplies, super boring – ”

“ – definitely gonna be, y’know, a little bit lonely….”

“ – could use some company for sure….”

A giggle almost escapes your lips. “Well, maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” You hop off the table, adjust your skirt, flounce to the doorway and then turn around. All eyes flick back up to your face. “Hey, when does Lester get back?”

“Lester?” Bo says flatly.

“Late, I think, very late,” Vincent signs.

“Oh, okay. Good to know. Bye guys.” You give them a little wave.

The morning passes with a shocking number of chance encounters. Something is broken in almost every building you visit, and Bo simply must fix it today. Similarly, Vincent informs you he needs to do a spot check of wax figures to make sure they’re holding up alright, and wouldn’t you know it, there are flowerbeds nearby every single one.

Watering flowers is hard work, and you can’t possibly be blamed for the sheen of sweat that glistens on your face and arms, nor the number of times you are required to bend over a planter box, nor the fact that you filled the watering can too full and splashed a little water on your bodice and Bo missed his aim with a hammer and smashed his thumb.

When the heat of the day rolls around in the mid-afternoon, you decide to break for lunch and head back up to the house. The twins are nowhere to be found. You are halfway up Main Street when the rattle of a familiar truck engine reaches your ears.

You turn around and beam at Lester, who is quite literally hanging out the driver’s side window. “Hey stranger!”

“Hey yourself,” he says, parking the truck in the middle of the road. “You look – well, now – that is a mighty fine dress.” He blushes.

“Thank you!” You give him a twirl.

His mouth is actually hanging open. He quickly closes it and swallows hard. “Y’know, I would…I’d offer you a ride, but…how ‘bout I just walk you home instead?”

“I would love that.”

Lester climbs out of the truck and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He is remarkably clean, nothing but a few bloodstains below his knees. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Don’t you need to move the truck out of the road?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Nobody comes here anyway. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just watering flowers. It’s hot today.” You toss your head, fan yourself.

“You’re damn right. Been workin’ up a sweat, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Geez.” He cannot take his eyes off you. “Where’re Bo and Vincent?”

“I’m not sure. They’ve been hanging around all day, but I haven’t seen them for a minute.”

“Yeah I’ll bet they have. You’re prettier than a field o’ phlox, honey.”

You squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Les.”

He stops at the edge of the yard. “Hey listen. Lemme go change outta these clothes, then why don’t you and I sneak over to that lil meadow on the east side o’ town?  Do a little catchin’ up.”

“That sounds lovely.” You start towards the house.

“Ah-ah, why don’t you wait here?  I’ll just be a minute.”

You frown innocently. “But Lester, it’s hot.”

“Well I’ll grab you a drink and bring it back out with me. I jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sidetracked is all.”

“Okay I guess.” You shrug your bare shoulders.

“Be right back, sweet pea.” Lester kisses your cheek, immediately turns bright red, and practically leaps up the front steps and into the house.

Today has been quite the success so far, you think as you kick at the edge of the lawn with a sneakered foot. You’ve been in Ambrose and involved with the Sinclairs for a good while now; it’s nice to know you can still fluster them when you feel like it.

You wait around for a fair few minutes before the front door opens and Vincent steps out, beckons you. “Hey angel, why don’t you come inside?  I’m almost done with lunch.”

“Aw Vinny, that’s so sweet of you. But I told Lester I’d wait for him to finish changing.”

“C’mon, you know he’ll be a while. He’s got no concept of time.”

“You’re right about that. I am pretty hungry.”

You climb the stairs, step inside. Vincent shuts the door. Your eyes fall on Lester, who hasn’t even changed yet, standing next to Bo, who has his arms crossed over his chest. Vincent comes up behind you, weaves his strong arms around your waist, holds you against him. You furrow your brow in mock bewilderment. “What’s going on, guys?”

“You’ve been a regular little cocktease all day, that’s what,” Bo says.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“It ain’t fair,” Lester pipes up.

“Prancin’ around all day lookin’ like that.”

You can’t help but smirk and shrug. “Sorry.”

Vincent drops his hands to your hips, pulls you a little closer. You feel a half-established erection pressing against your ass.

“Well, lucky for you, we’ve all come together and decided on a solution,” Bo announces, moving leisurely toward you. “You wanna put on a show, darlin’?  We’ll let you put on a show.”

A thrill shoots through you. “Well I suppose that’s only fair.”

“More’n fair, I think,” Bo says as he squares up in front of you.

The first press of Vinny’s lips to your neck sends chills down your back. Bo takes your chin in his hand and bends to capture your mouth. You feel Vincent suck at the thin skin behind your ear, relishing the salt of your sweat.

Already your brain begins to fray with the input of so many sensations at once. You put one hand over Vincent’s, grip Bo’s shirt in the other, and have almost forgotten there are three Sinclair brothers when you feel a gentle brush of fingers on your left thigh, then your right, and then Lester’s hands are beneath your skirt and sliding your panties down. You wonder where he can possibly fit in this arrangement for only a second before you feel his tongue on your sex.

A hopeless moan escapes your throat and Bo breaks your kiss. You open your eyes and note with satisfaction that his face is flushed beneath that smug expression.

“I sure do love seein’ you flustered, darlin’.”

“Right back atcha, sugar,” you say.

Oh, but he does love a spitfire. He seizes your lip with his teeth, running his thumb over your collarbones. Vincent slips the straps off your shoulders and continues his adoration of your skin. Lester, ever the dark horse, already has you unsteady on your feet with long, slow licks. You weave your fingers through his hair and arch your back as Vinny’s deft hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress to cup your breasts.

When you cannot possibly hold yourself up any longer thanks to Les’s ministrations, they disentangle themselves for a brief, heartbreaking moment so you can weave to the couch. You ease yourself back against Bo’s chest, let him hold your wrists in place around his neck, all but trembling with anticipation as Vincent positions himself at your entrance.

“Now darlin’,” Bo murmurs in your ear, “I don’t want poor Les feelin’ all left out here. So why don’t you keep your eyes on him while Vin makes you feel real good, alright?” You nod desperately, lock eyes with Lester, who winks at you. Bo cups your jaw, thumbs your lip. “An’ I’ll be right here, makin’ sure you know what a good job you’re doin’, what pretty sounds you’re makin’. Does that sound okay, doll?”

You open your mouth to respond and Vincent, ever the opportunist, picks that moment to ease himself into you, all the way, an inch at a time. The whine this elicits from you is positively wicked and you hear Bo chuckle against your temple.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so much fun.”

As Vincent picks up the pace, hands running over your legs, you do your best to keep your gaze fixed on Lester, whose hungry expression leaves you feeling a whole new level of naked. All the while Bo pours a steady stream of praise and filthy commentary into your ear, rutting against your backside as his twin draws a series of sinful sounds from your lips.

Eventually Vincent trades Bo and Bo trades Lester, and you have the unique and genuine pleasure of experiencing the techniques of each one of them in quick succession. Somewhere along the way you are lost in oblivion, your body electric, lavished in kisses and caresses and admiration from all sides.

When at last you are spent and so are they, Bo brings you a glass of water, Lester plants a tender kiss on your brow, and Vincent carries you up to bed.

And that sundress sits in a heap on the floor, forgotten for now, until the next time you decide to capture your lovers’ attention.

#poly sinclairs #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #house of wax fanfiction #bo sinclair fanfiction #vincent sinclair fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #asks #anon asks

[sand-boxed]

echo is such a good character. theoretically at least. actually the definition of wasted potential hes the most interesting member of cf99 and hes barely in the show im sobbing.

i wish there was actual buildup to echo leaving or something showing his dissatisfaction with being in the batch. like something about having to kill his brothers, or even with the whole being sold as a droid thing which i know its a haha funny bit but that shit was actually so fucked up ???? we dont talk about that one enough that was so insane of hunter 😭😭 if u think abt his backstory then it makes more sense but theres barely anything in his behavior that suggests conflict with his own goals and the interests of his team by the time he leaves. ig its also one of the issues is that the show doesnt have enough time. maybe echo should have left later on in the show or something but i can also think of some midder episodes that are just hunter and omega but again that could have been replaced to give this guy or wrecker some actual characterization. no shade to them ( kinda bc most of the best episodes are the ones where theyre not there) but save some for the rest of us bc they dont need half the show do they

also istg they (writers and the batch ) forgot echo used to be a "reg" i feel like its so strange for the batch to be all pissy abt reg clones and have a weird superiority complex early on in the show when like. echo is there he was once one of them and now hes not. theres so much the writers could have done to tackle echos feelings abt being othered by the reg clones and inadvertently ostracized by his team. theres so much he probably sees different from thebatch bc of their separate upbringings where echo was part of a collective and the batch were singled out as individuals. does he view killing other clones in a different light bc he was also the type to follow orders blindly once??? how does he feel abt the chips as a pow that spent around a year unable to control his thoughts, having his mind stolen from him??

something i wanted for his character was for him to have a connection pre-citadel that he loses during his time being frozen bc he would have to cope with that loss and adapt to the batch at the same time. yes this is another excuse for me to talk abt fives but who else. echo doesnt talk to anyone except him in basically every scene b4 the citadel. echo feeling messed up abt it bc just all of a sudden his world has been turned upside down and all he can do is move on. thats absolutely terrifying to think about bc the war has taken away most of everyone hes ever known. there was no goodbye, nothing for him, they were just here one moment and gone the next for him. too bad we dont get to see any of it lmaoooo

#star wars #echo #tbb echo #rant post #yapping #the clone wars #the bad batch #aspen articulates #pls tell me if u feel the same way #im gonna go insane #sigh #want to talk to the showrunners so badly

[blue-cheeseinmyoffwhites]

Who do you think would confess first, Buck or Eddie?

I am a firm Eddie chooses/Buck is chosen believer, but I am also a Buck needs to choose for himself idealist. I do believe both parties are aware of their feelings towards each other, but to whoever will vocalize it first, I’ll have to go with Eddie.

This would be the first relationship he isn’t chasing simply because he “has to”. He had to marry Shannon because she was pregnant. With Ana, he forced himself to date her because he wanted a picture perfect family again, but he never actually loved either women, which ultimately resulted in failure. If he really does love Buck, then this would be the first time his love would be real.

Buck probably wouldn’t want to mess up whatever he & Eddie have now, which as we know is very special to him. But, I don’t want him to have some sudden epiphany when it happens. Buck has spent too much time just winding up in relationships with little to no buildup. If Eddie were to confess, I want Buck to be in a place where he understands Eddie feelings already as well as his own, and understand that this isn’t just some hot hookup like all his other relationships. Eddie is inviting him to a family. Something that Buck has always yearned for. And what better family to be a part of than his favorite people in the entire world. This way, Eddie can actually pursue a relationship he wants and not have to run away at the end, and Buck will no longer be the clinger because someone is actually choosing him unconditionally.

#man I really need an ask tag #how about #ask blue #yeah that’s it #now let me go update all of my asks #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie 911 #buddie 101

[2af-afterdark]

I purposefully waited a little before posting this so hopefully people have seen the big reveal of Aster and Morvay in the Sunburst Fever event (either by playing or by people online). I just want to share a few feelings about the entire scene.

First: Please... please give me cards of these forms. I am begging on my knees. We are constantly denied Aster and Morvay content because they aren't clan members (which is still bullshit because they are still characters in the game who Eiden spends time with and they supposedly build a bond/relationship with him so it would be nice to see that buildup the same way we see it with the clan members), but having some cards of these forms would be a nice treat. I want to see how these forms change (or don't change) the way they act or how others interact with them. I want to see them recounting their past. I shamelessly want to see them being extra sexy.

Second: These forms are the result of having enough essence from Huey, the man who made them. They have a confirmed three forms so far, each one consuming a different amount of essence for them to maintain. This form consumes the most essence and is the equivalent to having a fully charged battery. Eiden literally cannot support these forms. This is the result of Huey's leftover essence flowing into them. It is a reminder of just... how far apart Eiden and Huey are in power level. Huey made Aster and Morvay like this, which means he likely supported them in these forms constantly. Eiden still struggles to consistently maintain their middle forms and they can easily get low on essence. We hear all the time how much Eiden doesn't live up to Huey and we've seen it with his trouble to maintain the crystal, but this is more personal. These are his friends. These are the people he loves and trusts, staring him in the face, and showing him that he cannot provide them with the same quality of life that Huey could. This is in spite of the fact that Eiden still has more latent essence than other laypeople. It's just not as much as Huey.

Third: This scene makes me so sad and angry. We have seen several times that both of them are sensitive to Huey's essence signature (and it makes sense since they were created by him), but this time... they straight up couldn't even recognize him. Even after they were defeated, they still didn't see Eiden for who he was right away. Eiden needed to touch them to break through the fog of Huey's influence. That makes me so sad, because, even after all the time they have spent together, it is like Eiden is always living in Huey's shadow and his individuality falls away if even a hint of Huey appears. And I am angry because everything we hear about Huey paints him as an asshole, including to his familiars, but they are still devoted to him when push comes to shove (willing or not is another matter, see point 4). It's heartbreaking to watch the relationship they are all carefully cultivating be broken so quickly because of a monster who seemed not to care about anyone beside himself and his plans.

Fourth: Aster and Morvay do love Eiden and Eiden loves them too, which is why this sucks so much more. They were the first people he met when he started/got whisked away to his new life. They were his first support system and they are arguably his most loyal one. Or, they are when Huey isn't still pulling on their strings like puppets. Every time they sense Huey, it is like a switch flips inside of them and they are compelled to act in his favor. Being near his essence makes them act differently in a way that seems to override their own freewill or choices at times. I need an arc for Aster and Morvay to break through the fog, because this is just getting sad and terrifying. It is clear they do not have complete control of themselves. They deserve the opportunity to leave Huey behind, especially because they have Eiden now. He's not a replacement. He is someone they care about and they should have to ability choose the present with him rather than being controlled by Huey's past.

Closing Thoughts: The reveal of these forms just gave me a lot of emotions. The events wasn't about them, but their presence says so much more than the rest of the event plot. It just breaks my heart to think of the implication these forms unearth. Thank you for reading my incoherent thoughts.

#2af » playing games #nu carnival #nu carnival spoilers #nu carnival aster #nu carnival morvay

[whoopsieintheuniverse]

Headcanon Time!

Chrollo headcanons idk TW: sex mention like once

Mouths along to books when he reads. He only does this when he’s alone, really, but sometimes if he’s deep in thought or deep into the story, you can see his lips moving along with the words on the page.

I don’t think we really understand the magnitude in which this man steals. The auction was a walk in the park. Chrollo will take anything that isn’t nailed down, just to really see if he can. He gets his thrills from stealing.

When the Mona Lisa went missing? It was Chrollo. The Holy Grail actually has been found, and it has also spent two weeks as Chrollo’s toothbrush holder.

Chrollo uses malaphors all the time. He thinks they’re funny and way more fitting than the actual idiom. His favorite is “We’ll cross that bridge when we burn it.” “He’s a wolf in cheap clothing” is a close second.

Chrollo is multilingual, but he doesn’t let anyone know this who doesn’t know already. A common way to find out that Chrollo speaks different languages is to either see him flipping through a book whose title is in a different script, or to be out on the field with him.

Shizuku found out the boss could read different languages when they were stranded during a mission and Shizuku needed a restroom. She couldn’t read the signs, but Chrollo could.

Loves classical music, does not play often. He gets inclined to play and listen to music when he is upset, so when he gets the urge, but nothing is wrong, he just ignores it to avoid alarming the troupe members. Might hum under his breath.

No sweet tooth but can cook and bake something fierce. Cookbooks, along with religious texts, were some of Chrollo’s first books.

On that note, Chrollo remembers books cover to cover. He remembers favorite passages, but never marks them or highlights them. He thinks if anyone picks up his books and sees what his favorite parts are they’ll assume (or know) too much about him.

Chrollo in a relationship is a masterclass of experimentation on his part. He wants to know who you are, how and why you tick. You might not learn a thing about him, but he’ll know everything about you.

He likes to mess with your emotions. He wants to see how you wear them, especially in comparison to himself and other people he’s been with.

That tiktok trend where people tell their parents and grandparents a favorite celebrity died is a good example of something Chrollo might do just to see what you’d do. Might hide your dog and say he sold it. Would break your mother’s urn, it may or may not be a fake.

Likes kissing. Thinks its far more intimate than sex and will work you up with kissing and then just leave you if you let him. He was just in it for the smoochies.

Sexually, Chrollo does like the buildup and teasing before sex more than the actual act as well. Big on foreplay.

Bi man. You cannot and will not change my mind.

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #chrollo hxh #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #Headcanon #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter headcanon #chrollo headcanons