#Linda of the Sun Beams

[cute-sucker]

now you knew that rafe was trouble, that wasn't the issue.

 yet you liked the way he always seemed to know what you wanted. the bag you had been looking at for ages? yours. the cute puppy you always had wanted? yours. did you want that small top in every colour of the shade of pink? yours. 

you liked the way he treated you. as if you were his little bunny, and you acted the part, coming to his office for his lunch, his heavy hand on your mini-skirt, and his hot breath fanning over your shoulder. you would beam at him, and he would smile smugly at you. people would sometimes look over to see you, a cute girl in his domineering stance.  

this was the dream life. he got what he wanted, a nice life with a nice girl. you were wife material, no you were dream girl material. you didn't care that he was a bit mean, or that he would get in your face sometimes. no, he was your dream man. 

after all, everything that he did was for you. the last time you had gotten in trouble with him, which ended up in a scuffle at a bar when a guy looked at you for too long. rafe hadn't asked you to change your outfits - some guys would have, after all, you were wearing a skimpy dress that bunched up at your thighs, and boosted your chest - no, rafe had simply told him to fuck off and to get some manners.

then he had told you to go to the car so he would deal with it. he had come back with blood splattered on his white shirt and a bruised hand. you had felt so bad for him, slowly reaching to hold his hand. sometimes he would brush you off at times like this, but instead, he let out a harsh breath, and let you hold his hand. 

when the two of you reached your house, he had parked the truck to a stop, his steely blue eyes searching yours. his hands cupped your chin, and you felt your heart skip a beat, as you desperately gazed into his eyes "y'know 'm doing this for you? being proactive. being your man. it's what you deserve," 

that had scared you, but you willed yourself to be stronger and nodded eagerly. it was what you deserved. 

as a kook, a trust fund baby, you knew you were going to get handed off to some man, some ravenous man that would take your body as your worth. when your father had told you that rafe cameron was going to be that fine man- you had cried for weeks on end before your blind date. 

your friends had told you he was a hottie, sure but one with a cruel facade. he blew past girls like a chain-smoker would to a pack of cigs. he had that frat boy feeling, and he was older. not too old, but enough for you to feel like a kid compared him. and now here the two of you were, tethering on the line of being engaged and you were scared? sometimes you would stand by the edge of the country club's pool to watch him laugh and scour the area for girls. you would always hide before his eyes reached yours.

but now you couldn't reject him. 

so, you forgot about that time. blocked it out. instead, you decided to throw a party with your girls, stems of cherries in your mouth, and a sweet facade laid out for you. your girls were linda and marry anne. you were the hostess, handing out the drinks, and trying to make sure everyone was happy.

finally, when things calmed down, you found yourself lying by the pool while mary anne recounted her story with the pool boy. the sun felt nice on your skin, as you felt yourself relax. 

marry anne giggled, nails sparking in the light, her bikini top itty bitty as she shimmered closer, "i don't know what to think of him. he's so innocent. nothing like the men we have to cater to. i liked it." then she blushed, "what! stop, don't give me that look."  

linda bit the straw of her drink, and shook her head, "you know what, i don't think the men are a drag, i mean c'mon you know she," linda murmured out dainty finger point at you, "she's had her fair share of men. and now rafe! how nice," she swooned fixing her blond curls.  

it was here that the two of them traded a look. a look that was unwelcome.  

you felt your eyebrows furrow, as you wiggled out of your position, and gave both of them a confused look, "what about him?" 

suddenly things went dead silent, as linda let out a sharp giggle, almost uncomfortable. you felt the hairs on your arm stick up, "guys! what about him?" now you were demanding, as marry anne gave you a pointed look, as linda continued to shake out her hair. 

"okay. well i think he's kinda of a dick? like remember that shit he pulled on in new years?"

you shook your head, sighing, "i thought you guys got over that." 

"he got mad at you trying to kiss a guy for new years! he was practically having sex with that disgusting girl down by the bay." linda blurted out, eyes bugging out of her head. you found your arms wrapped around your waist, feeling defensive. 

"well, i was kinda promised to him? y'know. i shouldn't have tried to kiss that anyway," you murmured out softly. at this linda let out a laugh, to which marry anne silenced her. 

"listen honey, i think you should be careful. promised or not. you have freedoms, and rights as a girl," marry anne continued, with a raised eyebrow, "and me for one- i would not be able to handle a man like that-oh-"

a hand snaked behind ur shoulder, and you turned around to face the person a beam on your face. "hey!" you giggled out before realising rafe was there. he was wearing that white shirt that made you go crazy for him, and while you wondered why he was there; he had a strange look on his face.

"mary anne, linda, nice to see ya guys. taking care of my girl? i bet you are." rafe muttered, turning back to look at you. you were practically ready to jump into his arms, a clear pout on your face. it was almost as if he knew that you needed him. 

you sighed, and leaned into him, before whispering something into his ear. "don't wanna be here anymore." 

at this, you saw rafe's eyes flash with anger, before grinning that snarky smile you knew so well. all of a sudden you were straddled on his lap, like a little girl as you played with his rings. he was inspecting lina and mary anne with a look of predators. "so, what are you guys talking about?" 

linda quickly blurted out, "nothing! nothing at all. y'know what, i think anne and i should go. gotta an appointment at 5." mary anne looked close to rolling her eyes, but nodded before getting into more discussion. their smiles looked fake, as they gave you a quick wave, and ran as quick as their heels could take them.

you found yourself lying in rafe's lap, completely tired. he was brushing out the baby hairs out of your face, before softly dropping a kiss on your forehead. you exhaled, wiggling closer to him. he was never like this. so full of love to share. 

"gonna make you mine, all right?" he whispered in your ear, before nipping at your jaw, "gonna give you my kids, a house full of them, and some better friends, bun. you're the sweetest." 

and just like that any thought of leaving him was gone. 

#obx fic #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #angst #rafe obx #fluff #drabble #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #bunny!reader #wifey!reader #i'm crying bc i feel her all the way #ok i kinda hate this but whatever #kook!princess #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x female reader

[chibsandchill]

See me

Fandom: Saltburn 

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader 

Summary: Each room in Saltburn is bursting at the seam with memories with you, and Felix remembers some of his favorite moments as he makes his way to his prize. 

Warnings: Felix, Mentions and descriptions of acts of violence and murder, NSFW content, MDNI, 18+, unreliable narrator (Felix), toxic relationship, obsessive tendencies, grammatical and spelling errors, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), Felix is a creep, themes of violence - self-harm and equivalent themes are prevalent through the imagine, some parts of their dynamic takes inspiration from Hannigram but with my spin on obsession

I am not responsible for your media consumption. Read the tags. 

MDNI

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It’s a cloudy day when Felix first saw you,

but with you came the sun, 

warmth, empathy, love. 

Oh, how he loved your heart. But, oh, how careless you were with it. It was a gift, 

one meant for him, 

from you. 

Then why did you waste it on those beneath you? You chipped away at it to mend sobbing students, tore at it until it bled and thick scars rose like mountains. You took on their pain with a blindingly bright smile, 

only Felix saw how their burdens weighed you down. 

The sun was meant to warm, to burn from far away, 

but they tore you down from your place in the sky so that they might leech your warmth until you are left barren. Their sorrows were cold as ice against you. 

They stole you from him. Piece by piece they ripped at you with filthy nails. You became known on campus as someone who’d listen. Who wouldn’t judge. How could you when you felt their problems as if they were your own? The more they spoke those words dripping with poison, the more they tainted the very blood in your veins with their darkness. 

‘Walk in their shoes’. 

You didn’t need to. You could walk in their skin, feel their emotions as if they were yours. Heartbreak plagued you, sorrow fell on you like an ever present shadow. The death of a family not yours turned your face gray and your eyes misty.

Until Felix put a stop to it all. How could he stand by and watch it happen? The slow destruction of a bright star, who burned so bright that all envied it. 

Jenny from history of art, Carl from math, Robert from physics, Matilda from psychology, Caroline, Jeremy, Han, Thomas, Harry, Derek, Henry, Linda, Nico, Mark, John, Hans, William, Frederic. All turned away at your door. 

“Yes, I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Oh, how they believed his lies. Sweet, sweet, Felix Catton wouldn’t lie to them. Surely not. 

But lie, he did. It spewed from his lips like honey. All to have his sun beam at him again. To wash away the taint of the others from your skin, your heart, your eyes. He would have you look at him with soft, relaxed eyes. 

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Your protector. Even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“Felix.” 

He hummed. 

Your eyes are heavy with sleep when you look up at him, but the affection is hard to miss. It makes you glow. Felix curled his arm further around you, bringing you closer to him. But even then it is not close enough. He aches. It’s a want deeper than skin, deeper than bones or even his soul. It was as if his very being was made of want, of longing so intense he was blinded by it. If God was indeed real then he had created Felix with a thread laced with obsession, with love transcending all else. 

Even thinking about you made his heart race, pound. 

“Can I braid your hair?” 

“‘Course.” He said against your skin. 

As if you needed to ask. All of him was yours. 

You try to sit up but Felix isn’t ready to break the contact yet. He feels like a battery, no matter how bizarre a comparison it is, constantly needing to be recharged so that he might survive when you part. He’s constantly cold without you, he feels empty; hollow. His hands are too light with the lack of you, he breathes too easy without the weight of you on his chest. If he could he’d carve his heart out so that you could carry it with you, for that was how he felt anyway. He’d gouge himself hollow so that he could fit you inside. Never to be parted again, joined together by shared blood, flesh and bone. 

It’s not easy with his hold on you, but you manage to shift so that you sit in his lap instead. It’s not ideal if you mean to truly braid his hair but Felix won’t complain. He pushed his head into your touch when your fingers hover over him. 

“Patience.” You half-heartedly scold him. 

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scratching just right against his scalp. With deft hands you untangle the mess you’d created during the night. There’s not much to braid but more than enough for you to wrap around your fingers and tug. The action pulls a low groan from his throat. 

He grabs your hips. Felix wonders if you’ve noticed how he’s caged you in. You probably don’t, as sweet and trusting a being as you surely wouldn’t peel back his layers to gasp at the thriving darkness beneath. With you he was his truest self. Could you see him? Would you run if he were to cast off the layers? Let you see him? 

Maybe you already could. You had seen the others. Even the empty ones, the ones who had gouged themselves hollow and shoved the essence of what they thought he wanted until it spilled from every hole in their body. 

Felix wasn’t hollow. He was bursting at the seams with life, same as you. And yet you stayed. Surely you knew. You had to. You and he were one. Two pieces of a whole finally reunited. 

He breaths in your scent, noses along your throat before allowing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. There’s a bruise there hidden on your shoulder blade. Late one night when you’d already fallen asleep he mouthed it into your skin with the moon as his witness, 

only, 

it had started to fade. 

He’d have to do it again. Closer. Marking you under the cover of darkness wasn’t enough anymore. An unspoken claim didn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t enough. He was beginning to think it never would be. He could bruise every inch of your skin with his love and his skin would still itch to do more – to prove himself more to you.  

Just as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of your ass the scene slips through his fingers like sand. 

He blinks it away. He’s standing in the driveway of Saltburn. Your favorite statue is left in shambles on the gravel with his blood splattered across the white marble. 

“What the fuck.” Felix’s hand shakes and burns with pain. His knuckles are split open. 

It had been a slip of a thought he had once when you first came to Saltburn and you’d taken to leaning on the statues, the furniture, walls, pillars. He’d wanted them all gone. He’d be your pillar. He wouldn’t crumble with age, would never make you think they stood strong only for the core to be riddled with holes from pests.

Felix was whole and strong, had made himself such, 

for you. 

He’d burnt the tendrils of influence his mother had dug into him since childhood. Torn the threads of her darkness right out of the tapestry. Oh, how she cried when she noticed. ‘Felix,’ she’d whispered, a rare show of emotion plastered across her face, ‘what have you done?’. 

She shouldn’t have worried about what he had done. No, she should’ve worried about what he was going to do. 

He watched you for weeks before approaching you. He noticed what made you laugh, what made you smile, frown, scowl. And so he took that too. Cut out the parts of himself that would drop the smile from your face and sewed on the parts that he lacked until he was left a patch-work version of perfecting befitting a Mary Shelley novel. Pus and blood seeped from the stitches. The sight was unseemly. So he waited until he’d perfected himself, until the stolen was assimilated, until it was like another Felix had never existed. 

Felix throws the heavy doors open and the maids scurry away from his sight. 

Duncan emerges from the pack. Even after all he’d seen, his adoration for Felix remained. “Welcome back, Felix.” 

He nods. 

And then he’s off. 

The route he takes is reminiscent of your first tour of the mansion. He’s even nodding along as if hearing himself introduce it all. The staircase where he “fingered” his cousin. As if. Your face had reddened with equal parts jealousy and sheer disbelief of ‘what the fuck’. 

One of the smaller sitting rooms. The green one. He fucking hates that room. But you love it. He went down on you for the first time there. Right on the couch with his granny’s ghost knocking down a shelf of antique plates over his head. The blood had driven you crazy. 

The thought alone made him hard. 

But this was also the first room you’d held him properly in. He’d been crying. 

“What's wrong?” You ask when he threw the door open. 

You’d been doing some summer reading for uni, but your fingers clutched the opening pages with strength that betrayed your pounding headache. 

“Fucking Ollie.” 

Your brows furrow “Oliver?”

Felix lay down on the couch with his head in your lap. You smell good. And you’re soft. 

“Yeah.” He sigh. “He was lying to us this whole time. Turns out poor Oliver Quick has both a dad and mum who loves him. Even siblings! They live in a lovely house in a picture perfect neighborhood.”

‘I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you!’

As if there was even a sliver of Felix that didn’t belong to you, that didn’t scream out for you every second you were apart. Had Oliver not been paying attention? Could he not see the need that permated him? It ran so deep, was so all-consuming that he couldn’t contain it all. He breathed desire, cried longing, even fucking pissed envy. Envy even over the very air you breathed, the clothing that hugged you, the sheets for the audacity to imply he wasn’t enough to keep you warm. 

You hum as your fingers drift down to cup his face. 

“He was in love with me.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” You joke. 

Felix’s eyes opened (he hadn’t realized he closed them). “You love me?”

“Of course.” You trace a scar on his cheekbone. 

“Say it.” 

“I love you, Felix.”

Even that memory fades, but your words linger. 

I love you, Felix. 

You always linger. Your kisses burn his skin and he wishes it left a scar so that he could look upon it and relive it all. 

The green room is abandoned quickly, and he’s off. 

“A blue room!” You exclaim, and to Felix’s displeasure you let go of him to take it all in. 

“Yeah. It’s… blue.” 

“What? No ghosts? No artifacts?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nope. Just blue.”

Felix sees himself leaning against the door while you spin around the room. It’s like a movie, almost. Only it’s his memories and he can remember every second he’s ever spent in your presence. Including this one. And the next one. 

The one where you’re on your knees.

You’re pressing soft kisses to the tip of his cock, pressing your love into every inch of skin you can find as if you wanted to stay there, to have your love replace the tar that ran through his veins. 

It’s odd. He can almost feel the tingles left by your touch, but he’s untouched. Felix’s hands form fists at the sight. Was it possible to be jealous even of himself? The envy boiling in his stomach certainly said so. He would not share you even with himself. 

Felix strides forward and sinks into the place his past self sits. He unbuckles his jeans and frees his cock from his underwear. If he were not so deep in madness he might’ve felt the cold of the room, but he was, and so he felt the warmth of your hands, the wetness of your mouth as you wrap your lips around his tip. 

He moans. He didn’t know what he liked the most about it. The vulnerability, the act itself, your presence, or that it left you with a part of him inside you. You’d kneel in front of him for as long as it took, but Felix would not have you be uncomfortable and so he slid a pillow under your knees. 

Your hands cup his balls. He twitches. You take more of him into you. It feels like heaven to have you wrap yourself around him. Wet, warm, silky heaven. All for him. 

Him. Him. Him. Him. His. 

You moan around him. It sends vibrations straight through him. It pulls a low groan straight from his chest, one that makes you moan. His pleasure is your pleasure, and your pleasure is his, and so the circle begins. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you begin bobbing your head up and down. You slurp. Electricity runs down his spine. It’s wet. Sloppy. Saliva drips down your mouth as you press your nose into his abdomen. 

Someone drops a plate somewhere in the house and the spell is broken. Not unlike a reflection in a lake is the memory distorted, wrong. You’re on your knees without the pillow. He’s standing above you, not sitting. Your knees are bruised and bleeding. You’re crying. 

Some small part of him, one that he’d allowed to fester for far too long, enjoys the scene. Enjoys the submission, thrives in the knowledge that it is not only he that longs and wants and would press and press until nothing remains if only to bring you a sliver of happiness. You smile around his cock. It’s not the pain that brings you to tears. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t him. It’s Elspeth messing with his head. It’s Oliver whispering his lies in his ear. 

He wants to vomit. Why would they punish him so? To make him see you hurt, 

to force him to see himself hurt you, brutalize you, 

humiliate you. 

Why, when he adored you, worshiped you. If there was a puddle he’d lay himself down to let you walk over him. He’d drown himself so that you would not have to dirty yourself. Like a tumor he’d performed surgery after surgery to remove what you didn’t like. 

And you did the same. 

The image is restored, but he’s already on his feet. 

He would wait no longer. 

Felix runs up the stairs but is forced to a halt by the moans coming from the king’s bedroom. Another memory? The door is already open. 

“Tell me your vows again.” 

You’ve got your legs up in the air behind you, head resting in your hands as you stare at him. 

“Dear,” Felix turns around from where he stood by the window. Your name sounds like prayer on his lips. “I’ve never been alone. People have flocked to me since before I can remember. But they didn’t see me. But you… you, I let you see me. It’s a rare gift. And it’s one that I’ve never regretted giving you. I’ve never felt more loved than in your arms. Do I need to continue, Mrs Catton?” 

You laugh. 

“Come to bed, Felix.”

The memory changes before he can enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress. The happiest day of his life. Gone in a blink. 

You’re no longer on the bed. You’re in his arms, crying yet again. There’s blood on his shirt. No finger graces your finger. Felix closes his eyes. He knows this memory. KNows very well what he’d have to endure to get back to you. 

“Y-you killed him!” You shudder. 

Felix shushes you. “There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Not this time." 

Truly, there wasn’t. You saw much, but Oliver was so good at pretending to be someone else that he even fooled himself into believing his own lies. And so, you thought nothing of it when Oliver offered you his bottle of wine. Had no idea of the drugs that he’d shoved in there. 

“Are you scared of me?” Felix asks you. His voice shakes. He remembers his own fear, how his stomach churned. He could write a thousand words and not even chip at the surface of the emotions he felt. A thrill at the thought of you finally seeing the deepest deepest parts of him? Disgust that he’d slipped and revealed a crack in his mask? Such fear that it clung to his very bones, stopped his lungs from working and had his own eyes water with tears? All true. And yet all of them are false. There wasn’t a single emotion he could place, they all blended together to form a concoction of heart-wrenching pain and fear. 

The memory fades away. He doesn’t remember the rest. All he remembers is how it ended. 

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his thrusts. His hands are cradling your face, kissing away the tears of pleasure. You push your legs up higher on his back where you’ve hitched them, your own hands pressing against his own face to bring him closer. He’s inside you but he’s not close enough. 

Felix leans down to cover your whole body with his. You squeak at the change. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back with a moan. 

He moves a deft finger down to press down on your clit. He experimented with pressure, directions, even spelled out his own name with your pleasure. Felix feels as though he’s on fire, but still he wants more. He wants to be closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. 

You clench around his cock, and he stutters. 

The love in your eyes makes him falter, before he drives into you faster than before. The bed squeaks, one hard thrust away from breaking. Fitting. So is he. Your right hand moved up his cheekbone, past his ear and to the back of his head. Your touch is gentle, barely-there pressure as you guide him down to slant your mouth over his. His heart aches with love, adoration, you. You’ve made it your home. 

Yet again he is denied release as the memory is gone. The room is empty. 

“Fuck.”

It’s not graceful the way he stalks out of the room. No more interruptions, he thinks. 

The last door in the corridor. Yours. And his. Your marital chambers, as Duncan would call it. Old fashioned bastard. 

He pushes it open without as much as a knock. And there you are. 

“Felix!” You cross the room in seconds and then you’ve thrown yourself in his arms. “We missed you!”

Your rounded stomach presses into him. He rests his forehead on yours, pressing long, soft kisses against your lips, even as you giggle and try to move away. When you do, he chases after you. He’s not done. Never done. 

His legs feel like jelly, his soul is on fire, 

but he finally found you.

In a house full of memories and vengeful ghosts he found you. 

And you saw him, as you always do, and he’s tugged back into bed with the comforting weight of you pressing him down into the mattress. 

And he’s almost content. 

Almost. 

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn smut #saltburn x reader #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton imagine

[kwonzoshi]

Here is my contribution for Day 2 of Wille’s month. The prompt is ‘Summer.’

@youngroyals-events.

He didn’t know how he did it but Wilhelm managed to convince his parents and the royal court to let him spend the summer with Simon. Of course Malin had to be there but if there was one thing about her, she knew how to be discreet, and was always down to help him surprise his boyfriend. He exited the sleek sedan as Malin grabbed his enormous suitcase that held every single thing he could possibly need for his vacation. He fixed his hair before knocking on the door, smiling as Linda greeted him. They embraced and exchanged pleasantries as she welcomed him in, letting him know that Simon was back in his room playing his online games with Ayub and Rosh.

He made his way down the familiar hallway after taking his suitcase from Malin. He couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the sweetest boy he knew spew obscenities at the people he was playing with.

“Ayub, I swear to FUCKING god if you get killed one more time I’m forfeiting the game. I promise you.” A moment of silence followed by, “No no no Rosh you can’t defend his playing, not today. He’s fucking up our KD. He’s died THIRTY SEVEN times and only killed TWO… THIRTY SEVEN DEATHS!! TWO KILLS!!” Simon exclaimed, hands shaking. Wilhelm chuckled as he quietly stepped into the room, sneaking behind an unsuspecting Simon. He wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist and pulled him against his body, causing Simon to yelp.

Simon whipped his head around, jumping to his feet, “WILHELM?!” he said, shock covering every inch of his face “What?!” He yanked his headset off, completely forgetting about the game or the anger he felt towards Ayub’s shitty playing. That anger was replaced with surprise, joy, and love. “What are you doing here?!” He asked, his face immediately breaking into a smile that could outshine the sun.

Wilhelm beamed back, reaching a hand out to grab Simon, “I convinced my mom to let me spend the summer with you.” He said quietly as he pulled him into his arms, Finally… he thought to himself, inhaling Simon’s scent. He continued speaking into Simon’s neck, “Part of the deal was that Malin had to come with and we have to travel with the royal driver but…” he planted soft kisses on Simon’s jaw as he spoke, “we…”, the kisses traveled up his cheek “have…” then up to his ear, “the entire summer together.”

Simon’s head fell back, as his body shivered. “Wait…” he said, barely above a whisper, “we-” he cleared his throat but that did nothing for his head, “we’re spending the summer together?” Wilhelm pulled back to look into Simon’s eyes, a bright smile on his face.

“Yes,” he responded simply, allowing his hands to toy with Simon’s curls. “Weren’t you the one that said that you didn’t want to have yet another boring summer? I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen”

Simon smiled, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, “Yea.. that was me. So… what’s the plan, then?”

Wilhelm wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close once again. He leaned forward slightly, “How does…” he whispered in Simon’s ear, “...Paris, sound?”

Simon jerked back, his chocolate brown eyes frowning up at Wilhelm’s honey ones. “Paris?!” He repeated, dumbfounded. “Yo-you’re taking me to Paris?”

“Oh, käresta, I’m taking you all over Europe, we’re just starting with Paris,” Wilhelm kissed Simon’s furrowed brows, “You better start packing, we leave in the morning.”

“Wille, you know that I can’t just… up and leave.” Simon said, brows still furrowed. “I have to get a job and with Sara being gone, I can’t just leave my mom by herself.”

“Simon… you should know me better than to think I didn’t have a plan in place for this.” Wilhelm responded, gently cupping Simon’s cheek. “After everything that’s happened, I made sure to make arrangements for your mom’s safety. That was priority number one. She’s had a guard tailing her day in and day out, even if she didn’t know it. I’ve made sure she’s safe.” He let his thumb caress Simon’s cheek.

“Really?” Simon said, unable to hide his surprise as his brows raised.

“Yes, really.” Wilhelm gave him a small smile. “I also already talked to Linda and she’s okay with you going. She said that with the settlement money, things will be fine. She doesn’t want you to have to keep sacrificing your summers if you don’t have to.” At Simon’s glare, he raised his hands in mock surrender, “her words not mine, I swear. She also wants us to get her souvenirs. Magnets, keychains and all of that corny stuff.”

Simon’s expression softened, excitement slowly creeping in. “She’s really okay with this?” Wilhelm nodded, resting his hands back on Simon’s waist.

“Now, get to packing and get excited cause we’re going to the city of love.” He planted a soft kiss on the tip of Simon’s nose before pulling away.

Simon laughed at Wilhelm’s emphasis on the word love, shaking his head as he stepped out of their embrace, grabbing his suitcase from under his bed. Wilhelm watched as he packed, admiring how neat Simon was. For the first time in a long time, Wilhelm was looking forward to his summer vacation and it was all because he was going to spend it with Simon.

They made their way through Europe, just as Wilhelm promised. Starting with Paris, where they ate croissants , eclairs and kissed under the Eiffel Tower, then making their way to Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany and Italy. All in that order. Wilhelm spared no expense for Simon, buying him everything he asked for. Simon had never been spoiled like this and he was letting himself enjoy as much as he could. Not that Wilhelm allowed him to protest. They had the best time traveling together, buying the corniest souvenirs for everyone and making unforgettable memories.

#willemonth2024 #young royals #yr #wmday2 #wilhelm #prince wilhelm

[punk-in-docs]

🕷Power of Suggestion🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader, one shot 

5.3k words

Summary: His seer dark eyes drag across the courtyard crowds, the preps, the band kids, the dweeby nerds. Like he’s searching for something amongst the bubbling crowds of many.

His eyes find their way to yours and it’s a clap of lightning that stuns and stings.

Because he smiles right at you

Or;

You see Eddie at school after he gives you a lift home. There’s definitely something you need to resolve. It’s mind over matter and there’s something you’re both after. 

“Trig is kicking my ass. I got a D on my last paper. I swear to god, Mr Taylor actually like fucking hates me.” Linda whines as she plucks another chip from your open packet in front of you. Flipping open her pink framed sunglasses. Purple bangles clack on her arm.

“Can’t help you there. I’m useless at trig.” You sighed in agreement as you reached for your fruit cup. Ripping off the lid.

“But maybe you shouldn’t keep blowing off his class to make-out with Jonny under the bleechers. Just an idea.” You point out. Picking over your fruit with the little fork.

“God, you sound like my mom.” She throws a splinter of a chip at your knee.

You grin. Pop the plastic straw of your juice box in your mouth. Clicks right between your teeth. Suck on it all smug.

“Glad one of us does.” You beamed. She huffed and set herself out on top of your table. Hitching her acid washed denim skirt up a little, and laying down so she could work on her tan.

Wiggling her off-the-shoulder pink top down her neckline even lower. Her legs dangling off the table, swaying as she laid there basking, like she was at the beach. And not on lunch break.

It’s one of those days in school where it’s all stuffy humidity and too bright buttery sunshine. The breeze block grey hallways inside stay cool, but outside the heat is vicing.

You decided to take your lunches outside for today. You’d found a spot on a table, swallowed in the shade of a pillar.

Linda was the opposite. Out there for the whole school to see. Skirt hitched up. Soaking up the rays. Which really said it all.

Where you sat you could both listen to the track team warm up for training on the field. Must be sweating bullets by now in this heat.

She didn’t want any lunch other than a diet soda. Watching her figure apparently.

She just bitched her usual, and picked off your plate. Stole your chips and still found the energy to give you a whole earful of shit about ditching her at the party.

She hadn’t shut up about it. In fact. She’d only just stopped scowling your direction.

As if she had every right to be pissed at you, and not the other way around. It made for a pretty tense pickup when you bounced your rusting yellow capri into her driveway this morning.

She stomped across her lawn and got into your passenger side with a grimace slapped on. You threw the keys at her head which she narrowly caught.

Where the ever living fuck were you? We were looking for these for over an hour.

You’d grinned.

Yeah, well. Turns out I had spontaneous plans too.

The resulting glare she gave you could’ve blistered skin.

As you let her steal more of your lunch, you flick idly though your English homework. Book report. Rereading it for the thousandth time, tapping your pencil against the table. You were pretty wired when you finished it last night. Too much coffee, you suspect. You want to check it doesn’t read too jittery.

Whistles blast from the field, cheering team mates and friends comes bubbling across from the bleachers. The air is all wet grass baked dry by sun.

A couple of Jocks who walk past your table wolf-whistle and make typical jeering comments seeing her tanned legs all laid out on the table top. Tiny skirt so far up her toned thighs.

She flips them the bird and they laugh all the more.

“Blow me, sweetheart.” One of them leers.

This causes her to huff and sit up. She rips her shades down and gives them her most scathing stare. Under her pretty packed blue eyeshadow and peachy pink blush heavy on her cheekbones, her eyes were set to her particular brand of pure ice-cold loathing.

“I don’t work with small equipment.” She grins all sickly at them. Heavy emphasis on her last word.

“Yeah we heard about that.” One of them smirks suggestively. They lumber away to the track field. Sniggering with each other.

“Those guys are such assholes.” She comments with a derisory sniff. Laying her head back down. Mushing her blonde curls.

“They’re wearing letterman jackets.” You state. As if that should speak for itself. Not looking up, keeping hunched over your lunch and your ever-mounting pile of homework.

She twists to turn around and look at you as she slips back on her glasses.

“We get it. You hate jocks.” She says like she’s bored of your well deserved hatred of them.

“Only ones that stand or breathe.” You glean sarcastically.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so picky. You’ve not exactly got guys lining up.” She slings one of her thoughtless jabs at you.

You’re used to them now. The acid slice of her insults land on your numbed ears.

“Because dating and boys has to be the most important mark of my personality?” You ask. Flicking through your book. Knowing full well her answer will be in the positives.

“You need to stop being so square and pop that cherry, babe. Trust me. Don’t wait til you’re in college.” She points her manicured finger at you. Like she’s handing out some sort of sage bullshit wisdom. Warning you off with a wag of her fierce fuchsia pink fingernail.

You might aswell sit and talk to the trash can against the far wall at this point. It might be a better listener.

“Thank you for that pearl of wisdom. But I’m still fine with having a jock-less existence.”

She giggles suddenly. It sounds completely evil. “Suit yourself. But Jonny does this thing with his fingers-”

“No! No, and no.” You wince. Talking over her. “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

You throw a balled up piece of spare paper at her head. It bounces off her forehead. She throws it back, offended. Sails it cleanly over your shoulder.

“What is even your type anyways? Science nerd? Someone from band?” She digs.

Hell no, you think to yourself.

“My ideal type of guy is, none of your business.” You turn a page and smudge out another typo.

“Come on. You do every piece of homework annoyingly on time, or you’re home alone, or in the record store working overtime with your hippy nut-bag of a boss. That’s all work and no play.” She points out. Tapping her toes where she lays.

You smile at her description of Sal. The eternally grouchy hippy-rocker who ran the store where you worked. He was a walking cliche in his leather trousers and a suede vest that drips fringe. Tie dyed bandanna fused to his head.

Proud owner of Nirvana Records. Scraping by on pennies cause kids came in for all that new wave poppy shit. The name of the business he interestingly plucked straight out of one of his acid trips in the 60’s. When he was selling t-shirts to score shrooms at Woodstock.

“Hey. I’m not always on my own or working. Don’t forget the terrible make out parties you drag me to kicking and screaming.” You add.

“Heaven forfend you actually kiss one guy before you’re a freshman in college. I’m just trying to shake some fun into you, babe.”

You bite back a smile chewing on the end of your pencil in a vain attempt to hide it.

You hadn’t told her about Eddie.

His big hearted act of chivalry taking you home, and the furtive doorstep kiss. You weren’t prepared for the screechy judgemental outcome that would be hurled your way like a category five hurricane if she knew.

Didn’t stop you thinking about him all night though.

Wrapped up in your bed, under your sheets. Still a little drunk, mind swirling along with the whirling distortion of your bedroom ceiling.

When you closed your eyes, you were tugged back to that moment alone on your lawn with him.

It was imperfectly perfect. The way it caught you off guard. His chapped lips. The thin film of sweat over you from the humid night. The way your hair felt just frizzy, and wrong and just, not you.

The goofy and very real unguarded stuff you’d been laughing about in his van. The flirty look he aimed your way when he held out his arm to you to get your number. That dazzling grin.

You were buzzed and there was this heady charge like crackling dry static between you. Had been since you stumbled across each other in Kyle’s garden. Like that hot chalky sky blooming over a dry prairie before lightning scrawled.

You couldn’t get those big beautiful puppy eyes out your head. The way he smiled so wide and pure across at you, with the streetlights threading a funky warm orange through his crazy hair.

The way his hands had felt with those rings on clutching your shoulder through your jacket to steady you, or holding your hand.

You kept wanting to reach up and touch your lips. Recalling that vivid skipping spark that lit you up like the Fourth of July - all fireworks and pops and zinging rockets - when you thought about every second of his sweet, brushed kiss.

How hard you burned when he kissed you right back.

You wondered what would happen if it got dirtier- you wanted to yank him close by his denim lapels and taste that cheap beer on the bed of his tongue.

Feel his hand across the back of your neck to clutch you in deeper. Sink your hands in that fluffy rioting hair. The soft of his tongue against your teeth. Make him groan and melt. Make him want to push you up flush against the side of his van and get frantic with it.

The thought of making out so dirty with Eddie made your thighs clench tight. Filthy messy kisses with too much spit and wandering hands. Greedy and breathless and gasping for more. Starving.

You blink back into life when you realise she’s still whining at you. The drone of her voice meets your ears once more.

“We all know you’re well on track to Indie State for Art like a proper little Miss goody-two-tits…“

You snort at her words.

“But seriously, live a little before you get sad and old, and your ass starts to sag.” She offers up.

“You should be a poetry major.” You tell her with thinly veiled amusement.

She knows you’re not going to take any of this venomous ‘advice’ seriously. But that doesn’t stop her from pestering you constantly with it. Hailing you with the jagged shrapnel of her opinions.

“You know I’m right.” She hummed at you. Satisfied with herself.

“Well. You better let me get back to my homework. I got a hot date at the library with my physics paper. Then I’m gonna go full academic recluse. Wear nothing but a ratty bath robe. Only exist on Slim Jim’s. Maybe get ten cats-“ You tease.

“You joke about it- but that could actually be your Friday night.” She mocks.

“Don’t call me when you’re a mad old art professor with greying frizzy hair and those ten cats. I’ll be in Monaco with one of those guys from Wham.” She dreams.

You roll your eyes and return to your work.

She returned to basking in the sun. Which really said it all.

“Oh, before I forget, can I copy your answers for that paper in Mrs Rodriguez’s class on Wednesday?”

The irony is just too great.

“Seriously?” You seethe at her. Slamming your pencil down.

She shrugs. “I didn’t have time to study.”

“The party was Friday. What were you doing all day Saturday and Sunday?”

She smiles. Moves hair off her neck so you could see her myriad of blue-black hickies swelling to grape purple. Salacious look on her face. “Worth every minute of ignoring homework.”

“Good grief.” You sigh. Shoving your book towards her. It’s not worth her tantrum to refuse.

“Have it back by Tuesday or I swear to god, I will hurt you so, so, much.” You threaten.

She puckers an air kiss over at you. Talk about sweet and fucking sour.

Over the din of the sunny lunchtime crowds buzzing around the courtyard, one particular group of high schoolers stand out from the rowdy rabble din of the table they’re occupying across the way.

It’s the cluster of Hellfire shirts you see first.

You recognise some of them. The kids. There’s Lucas Sinclair, the skinny but sweet new guy on the bench with the basketball team. There’s Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother with the shaggy mop of black hair and fine bladed nose. They’re crammed around the table with schoolwork, and sheets of paper. Revving up for a campaign, no doubt.

Henderson with his riot of curls and cute science themed base ball caps, and that adorable pudgy smile. There’s a couple other guys too. Older guys. Jeff, and Greg? Gary?You weren’t entirely sure of their names.

And it’s then you glimpse the familiar manic trappings of one gorgeous metal-head at the beating heart centre of it all.

Your heart does some crazy wild stunt on seeing him again. Pounds and wracks your ribs like it wants out.

Eddie is sat on the table, feet on the bench seat, king of the heap. Surveying his D&D lackeys. The empire of his sins.

He’s got a half chewed green apple in one hand. That infamous metal navy lunchbox nudged against his black jean thigh. No jacket and denim vest on him. Just his Hellfire shirt ending at his elbows.

Henderson says something to him. Eddie slyly grins. All snake eyes and wide white teeth around a snapping bite of his apple. Playfully yanking down the brim of Henderson’s hat over his eyes. Spins him away with the force of it.

He chews on his apple again. Leaning forwards, toes tapping on the bench in his dirty reeboks, elbows clasping to his knees. His seer dark eyes drag across the courtyard crowds, the preps, the band kids, the dweeby nerds. Like he’s searching for something amongst the bubbling crowds of many. Looking-

His eyes find their way to yours and it’s a clap of lightning that stuns and stings.

Because he smiles right at you-

No sense of self-preservation or censoring any expression he feels. He must be braver than you cause he just wears it. Wears everything out in the open, studded on that messy-edged battle vest of his.

He’s so used to people being- prickly with him. They just don’t know quite how to handle him, and they just fire out scathing insults, or edge away. They don’t get him.

Only you did. And he’s not been able to stop thinking about you ever since.

You lived in glorious perfect - torturing - technicolour behind his closed eyelids the last few nights. He ran back over every touch. Every graze of your eyes falling on him. The feel of your lips, light caught in your bouncy hair, and how his dick fucking throbbed with need when you pressed in and kissed him back.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t shy and recoil from his touch. You sat there, eyes flicked fully forwards to glimpse all of him. Laughed at his jokes, didn’t make snide remarks about his music. Kissed his cheek like you were afraid to peel open and show more of yourself to him.

You got him hooked. Because now he definitely wants to glimpse more.

He sees the way you avert your gaze and look all jittery when he smirks at you across the tables.

And how he fucking adores it.

Your breath catches in your throat. You twitch your hand where you’re holding your pencil. Some weird jerky gesture of a two fingered wave back.

Ok Lame. That was so lame goddamnit-

You can’t help the way your smile quirks up. Your cheeks absolutely blaze with it. Stomach all melting and gooey slippy with the sensation of a heady new crush.

Your heartbeat punched into your belly like stomping recoil. Possibly even hitting a tad lower- because despite your best level-headed efforts you are just as composed of raging hormones and lusty need as any other teenager. And this wicked menace of a cute guy, is making your internal compass slam haywire from point to point.

You’re crushing on him. Hard.

Super hard. Times ten- No, scratch that. Times a hundred. Turn it up to eleven.

Those big bright eyes, edged with such wilderness. He’s got a path wound around around his little finger, and you’re treading it without question, without caution. Who knows where you’ll end up. It’s exciting as hell.

But it appears you both want to follow that path. See where it ends you-

You wet your lips and avert your gaze to your work. Stuck between squiggled ink lines in your book. Not sure where else to look. Worried you’ll get good and lost in that magnetic chocolate gaze of his. Never able to wander free again.

Out of nowhere a sudden gust decides to snatch at the loose paper leafs of your homework. Twitching and yanking it out from your textbook.

Dragging it across the table, threatening to tumble it over the dusty scraping rocks of the grey courtyard.

You slam your juice carton down to the table, and awkwardly untangle yourself ready to chase it across the fucking track field if the wind got up.

“Shit.” You slap your hands to the sheets on the table. A couple slip off the other side, spilling off side and slouching to the floor.

You’re bent in half practically flattened across the top of the table, hands skating and slipping for it.

Another hand joins yours.

Nearly slid on top of your own. Familiar silver rings on very familiar fingers. Capturing the papers that had just managed to escape you. Bat tattoos fluttering over his forearm. Along with some barely faded inky digits that makes your stomach just swirl all giddy with recognition.

You look up and Eddie is grinning that gleaming smirk down at you. All grin dimples, and creases by his eyes.

Getting a hand on the pages and sliding them back towards you. Hands for the barest second brushing over yours. His touch is so hesitant. Kind.

He’s expecting you to spurn him away in front of everyone. That’s what usually happens.

He’s waiting for it now- in front of your friend, with him, you’ll shrink, brush him off. Be curt. You’ll send him away scorned. Call him a freak like they do, and this time that little dagger of a word really will cut deep.

But no. The heavens have cracked open for him. You’re smiling-

Smiling directly at him-

“Slippery little suckers, huh?” He beams. The half chewed green apple is still in his other hand.

You could collapse forwards in a complex burning implosion of embarrassment and giddiness onto this table. You really could.

“I mean I hate Physics as much as the next person, but sudden abandonment seems an extreme.” You smile. Nervously wetting your lips.

His smile grows and he laughs a little, and you actually think you hear harps. Dear sweet god.

“Hey Pencils.” He greets all sweet. Hair falling fluffy around his face. Eyes twice as bambi brown and melty as you remember.

“Hey, yourself.” You return gently. Maybe one day you’ll just stumble into him without needing to be rescued like some weak maiden. Or have your schoolwork scraped off the pavement and handed back to you.

“Looks like you’re saving my bacon again, Munson.” You insist.

Gratefully taking your work and slotting it deep inside a heavier book. You trap the suckers there. Though you can’t say you’re sorry it brought him over here. Your fingers brush his again and you really can’t be held responsible for the way your brain goes twitchy on the blink.

“They don’t call me ‘Eddie the Merciful’ for nothing.” He grins. Opening his palms outwards to present himself all wide and flailing.

“Patron saint of saving drunk girls at parties and their grades in Physics.” You smile. Clutching at papers. Scooping them back in.

“Saint huh? Damn. Don’t know about that one, babe. I’m more familiar with the term anti-christ.” He shoots you a clever look that’s all dipped in flirt.

He likes how honest you are. And he really loves how you seem more like, you, today.

Gone are those wannabe Whitney Houston neon threads he saw you in at the party. Knowing full well you borrowed them from the Malibu Barbie currently sunning herself next to you.

He watched from across the tables, the way your bangs fell into your eyes. When the jocks walked by they leered at your her sat there prostrating her legs. Didn’t even take the time to see you.

He did.

Smiled to himself when he really should’ve been listening to whatever-the-shit Henderson was saying to him. He watched you lob a ball of paper at her thick head when she doubtlessly got annoying.

Your hair is all long choppy layers, Something echoing a Farah Fawcett shag and today it’s not fluffed up all poofy with products. Sleeker. You’ve just tied it back to keep it off your face.

You’re wearing a pair of tight bootcut jeans with a brown leather belt and sneakers. A brown and red plaid shirt that looks all soft and worn and he suspects is a hand-me-down cause it’s a tad too big. You got the tails tied around your middle.

He smiles when he sees the Nice N Sleazy Stranglers tee underneath. Charcoal and paint smeared across the knees of your jeans and splattered like lost little stars on your shoes.

In all the commotion, Linda only just bothered to sit up. But now she definitely went to the trouble of raising herself up to sear a scowl in his direction.

She lowered her baby pink sunglasses and flicked her eyes derisively over him like he was mangled roadkill.

“Lost your way to the losers table, Freak?” She spits with venom. Words punching like nails out a gun.

Eddie almost swaggers to look at her. Challenge accepted.

“Came over for a splash of that sugary-sweet attitude of yours, blondie.“ He tilts his head at her.

Does this thing where he widens his eyes a little. Playing on the way people thought he was satanic. You understand now; It was all part of his armour.

If he slots it in place and punches and kicks back to keep people at arms length. Perhaps then, their nasty knife-tip words will never slip underneath that steel plating that so protects him.

An integral part of his Munson doctrine. He was designed to unsettle. To mislead.

“Turn around and keep walking. We don’t need any reefer today.” She wafted her hand at him as she laid back down. Acting like she was Lady Muck dismissing a servant.

You want to drop your science textbook on her face. And it’s weighty too. Could make some serious dents.

“Sure? I got some good shit that’s great for mellowing out bitchiness.”

He snaps another bite into his apple. Those brown eyes shift all needle sharp. Amused. “Few hits wouldn’t hurt.” He speaks through chewing.

You don’t try very hard to bite back a smile.

“What’s your problem, trailer trash?” She scoffs. Sitting up. Disdain scuffing her tone.

“No problems here, Barbie.” He grins all chirpy. And it’s lethal.

“Just helping out a damsel in distress. Kinda my bag these days.” And his gaze swivels on back to you. Flutters his brows.

She looks between the two of you. The tension between you is singeing the air. Blistering at the corners.

“What am I missing here?” She asks you.

Cause Eddie doesn’t technically exist as much more than an atom spec on her popular radar.

“Eddie was nice enough to give me a ride home from Kyle’s party after you ditched.” You defend for him.

She looked vaguely ill with the mere idea.

“Surprised you didn’t become his latest victim.” She snipes.

“You are really growing on me, blondie. You single?” He plays around.

“Got a fresh tarp in the van that could use a little O-negative splashed on it.” He widens his eyes again. Makes that devil smile with a curling tongue at her that could rival Gene Simmons.

He leans on the table. Bent over. Elbows rested together. Hands twined still holding his apple. Acting like he’s making a pass at her. His theatric way of defending himself.

She frowns as she looks at him invading her surroundings like he’s rotting meat attracting flies. Contaminating her air space.

“Jackass.” She lashes out.

He crunches his apple again and grins as her as he chews noisily. Crushing shiny flesh and creamy fruit with those pearly whites.

“Is that the only way you can pick up chicks, Munson?” She digs at him. “Trap drunk one’s in your van.”

“Yeah. And If I make the knots tight enough they can’t get away from me.” He teases all devilish. Staring her down. Unblinking.

“Knock it off, Linda.” You try and barter with her bitchiness. But when has that ever really worked for you?

Eddie turns his head sideways back towards you. Content to ignore her insults. You can see the glint of mischief sparked to light in his eyes. Shaded under the brim of his hair.

God, you like him so much. How do more people not like him?

“Why did you let wannabe Ted Bundy drive you home?” Linda demands off you. Holding up a hand to block his face from her sight. Excluding him.

Her memory surely can’t be that short.

“You were otherwise busy being Linda Lovelace upstairs.” You shoot her a look. Your finest and sharpest. She clams up. Thank god.

Eddie smiles. Impressed with your bluntness.

“You were right. Maybe this place isn’t my kinda scene.” He insists.

You chuckle. “Hey. No fun in warning ya.” You throw at him. He smiles at your challenge.

“Ruthless. It’s kinda hot, actually.” He purrs at you. Definite flirting happening that time.

Linda scoffs and lays back down. Though you’ve a feeling she’s watching you guys closely through her fake ray bans.

“Ignore her. She likes it. She’s just crabby cause she’s on a diet.” You tell him.

The way he had to bite his tongue to fight off a comeback has you sharing a knowing look.

She flips you both the bird. Pink nail polish glinting at you. Rattling those bangles on her wrists again.

“I actually, uh, needed your advice with something, Pencils.” He speaks up. Standing up straight and sways around to lob the last of his apple into the garbage can behind you. It bounces off the wall and clunks to the trash. Jackpot.

“I need some new tapes. Maybe even some vinyl. Was gonna swing by the record store at some point. Y’know but I just couldn’t decide what night I should go...I’m thinking maybe Tuesday or Thursday…?”

He’s fidgeting. Twirling hair around the skull ring on his finger. Dragging it in front of his mouth.

He’s asking when you’ll next be at work.

You have the wild urge to kiss him again. Taste that apple tang, no doubt mingled with cigarettes, off his lips. Yank him in by a fistful of his Hellfire shirt. Have him press you up against the edge of this table. Haul him in by that guitar pick chain if you had too.

Who the fuck cares if the whole school sees you lock lips with him. You just wanna kiss him. Like, a lot. A ridiculous, unhealthy amount.

“I mean, both are solid choices. But… personally speaking… I’d go for Tuesday. New stock delivery after three. Open til late.” You smile. Hooking your hands in your back blue jean pockets.

Message received loud and clear; See you then.

He grins. “Perfect.”

You think you’ve just scored a date. Of-sorts.

You smile. The more you talk to him, the more you keep wanting to just gravitate to this funky beautiful guy.

Linda’s looking at you like she can’t believe what the actual hell is going on. The clanging school bell peels out the end of lunch and people start drifting away for the next class.

Somehow his palms are itching to feel you again. He’s near you and talking to you and it isn’t enough. It gnaws at him.

He wants to touch your waist, your hair. Stick his face in your neck and see if you still smell as good and fruity-sweet as he remembers. Your scent that had made him swoon. Cup your neck like a sacred chalice. Drink your lips like he needed you to live.

And isn’t that just mad- if only he knew. Just exactly how much of an echo his thoughts had in common with yours.

“Duty calls.” He smiles at you as he half turns away. He gestures to his group.

“Sadly. Welcome to my nightmare.” You admit. Starting to heave up your books and your off shoulder bag. Heavy with textbooks and notebooks. Your Walkman and headphones too. The Clash with Guns of Brixton is your audio sustenance for today. It feeds you better than any dry book.

“Gotta be honest, I don’t see a long future in this-“ He nudges at his chest and points to the school building. Meaning himself and his relationship with grades and graduating. Which was famously one sided.

“Toxic love affair?” You ask.

“Seems to loooovvveee screwing me over.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. Smiles like it’s something out of his hands. A joke at his own clownish expense. He makes you laugh.

“You should find an alternative affair to enjoy.” You tell him. Nodding. “One that likes you back”

“Think that’s what I’m trying to do right now...” He says as he spins away and flits back. Walking backwards. Bandanna swaying at his legs. Flouncing incoordination writ into the rhythms of his steps.

You smile and clutch your books to your chest. Sweaty palms on dry hardbacks. Watching him weave away. In a strange distant way, like faintly dragged paper cuts, it almost aches. Seeing him go.

Linda was sat up, ready to leave and she snaps at him. “Bye?” Like it was painfully obvious.

He clutches a hand over his heart. Pretends to look infatuated. Backing away. “That cuts deep. I know you’ll miss me. Don’t cry too hard now, Barbie.”

Her glare is like something skimmed off a frozen glacier. Packed in bone cutting ice.

He shoots a cool wink at you before he goes. Flicks you a grin as wide as a skull sneer.

You just manage to see him off back to his table of Hellfire clad cohorts. Some of whom seemed very concerned at his absence. You watch his springy walk as he bounces over to them. Manic energy splitting his smile.

Dustin asks him what that was about. Pointing a thumb over his shoulder at you.

Eddie cups his back and says he wouldn’t wish to offend such delicate ears. Pressing a fingertip to Dustin’s nose in a way that made the younger boy screw his face up and wave him away.

He’s crowded with questions and a few curious turns of heads and eyes swim over your direction. You hear him speak to his younglings as he shrugs on the second skin of his jacket and trusty vest. Flips his hair out the collar. His rings flash silver in the blazing sunlight.

“You wouldn’t understand Wheeler. It’s called game, man.” Grinning with his tongue cheekily tipped out between his teeth. Ruffling the kids hair.

Eyes roam to you over the crowds rudely cutting between you both.

Eddie’s expression flashed across at you, and it was so sincere it made your breath catch. He smiles again and you can’t wait. Tomorrow night cannot come to you fast enough.

The rattle of bangles is sharp and sudden to your left. A firm nailed hand grabs your elbow. Poison perfume and rave spray floods your nose. Linda reels you in.

“What the fuck? Why the hell does fucking freak Munson have your phone number written on his arm?”

Oh. You just smile and smile.

 ~

🕷Interested in some more? Why here it be🕷

#eddie munson #eddie my boy #EDDIE DESERVED BETTER #EDDIE MY BELOVED #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #Linda being her usual bitch self y'all #stranger things #stranger things season four #season four #reader x eddie munson #flirting #more flirting #its kinda cheeky #lot of dialogue in this one #making out in the next piece forreal

[ayo-buck]

wilmon childhood friends tree house au fic!!

i've been obsessed with this fic idea that @grapehyasynth posted a while ago about simon and wille being neighbors and childhood friends and finding a safe space in simon's backyard treehouse as they grew up together, posted here, go read it and also all her other amazing yr prompts

i've been working on a fic for it!! it's not quite finished, it's at 4k words right now and i think it'll be 10-15k when it's done (it was supposed to be short LOL) but i wanted to share a lil sneak peek of the beginning because i'm really excited about it!!!

i'm hoping i'll be finished with it in a week or two but enjoy this snippet

"The tree house is just how Wille remembers it.

The makeshift ladder is still made up of exactly seventeen wooden planks, one after another nailed haphazardly into the wide trunk of the oak tree, the same number he and Simon had counted years ago. Each is warped and weather-bent beneath his hands as he climbs upwards, finding the nail that is still loose in the crooked fifth step and promises to send him scrambling and falling back onto the green grass of Simon’s backyard if he doesn’t skip past it. At the top, the edges of the fourteenth plank are still rough enough to scatter his fingers with splinters, if he didn’t know better.

Wille reaches the top rung of the ladder, muscle memory maneuvering his arms and legs through the opening of the treehouse with no trouble. He ducks his head to avoid the makeshift beams of the low roof and breathes in the familiar smell of dry, unfinished plywood.

As if to welcome him back, a ray of sunshine filters through the window to his left, illuminating the dust that has risen up into the air, disturbed after far too many months of stillness. Past the honey-yellow light and through the window, he can see the picket fence that separates his parents' yard from Simon’s, and beyond it, the clean, white siding of his childhood house, interrupted on the third floor by the window to his old bedroom, the curtains drawn closed.

The sun stretches and rests to Wille’s right, just below the other window of the tree house, which overlooks the home that Simon grew up in. Wille has memorized the sight of its flat roof, Linda's garden of bright flowers that line the edges of the foundation, and the stone path that leads up to the green, flapping screen door. Simon’s bedroom is somewhere just down the hall and off to the right of that door. From inside, Wille knows, there is a perfect view of the tree house window.

So, when he finds the gnarled, knotty walking stick leaning in the back corner, the faded and wind-beaten red bandana still tied tightly to it, he stands it up in the window, and he waits.

He waits, sliding down against the back wall, trying hard to ignore the quick beating of his heart and the flutter in his stomach. Instead, he stretches out his legs, watching how far out his feet now reach, the soles of his sneakers almost bumping up against the opposite edge of the tree house.

It had been years ago now that he had sat in this exact spot and felt so small, and these wooden walls so big and tall around him. For so long, his world was narrowed down to this space, to the moment he finished his climb and reached the top of the ladder, his lungs breathless and his cheeks streaked with dirt, always dreading when he was forced to lower his feet back onto the ground. Back then, away from the tree house, the rest was merely the in-between, hardly important enough to be remembered.

It had been years since, but it felt like only yesterday he had been that young and that able to pick and choose what was important.

Wille hears shoes scuffing against the tree trunk, growing closer.

He had been young and his world had been small, but he had never been alone in it.

Curly hair peeks over the entrance of the tree house first, followed by bright eyes and a soft smile, and then all the rest of the boy who was once Wille's best friend is climbing into the treehouse.

Wille pitches forward, wrapping his arms around Simon before he can second guess himself. "Hi, Simon."

Simon's own arms are warm and tight around Wille as he laughs into his shoulder. "I can't believe you remembered our signal." Simon pulls back, and Wille is all too aware of Simon's hands slipping from his shoulders as they lean away from each other. "You could have just texted me."

Wille scoffs at even the suggestion.

He can still remember the afternoon they had sat on the floor of the tree house, knees nearly brushing as Simon had pulled from his back pocket the red bandana he had stolen from Sara's room. He'd ducked his head and said, "we can hang it in the window so we'll know if either of us is in here and wants to hang out."

That red bandana, and eventually the walking stick, too, which Wille found walking home one day, became the reason he would rush back from school and up the stairs to his room, throwing his backpack onto the floor and peering out his bedroom window. On the weekends, he sat at his desk with his head resting on his chin, tapping his pen off-beat against his school notebooks and sheets of homework, staring out at the tree line, waiting for the flash of red. When it appeared, he was out of his house and halfway across the lawn before anyone could stop him.

There were the days, too, when Wille was the first to duck into the empty tree house first, and found himself wondering why his heart thundered so hard as he propped their signal up and hoped it wouldn't take Simon too long to notice.

The red flag began, like most everything between them, Wille supposes, as something innocent. An invitation to hang out, to say, hurry up! I have a story to tell! or come see this cool thing I want to show you!

But somewhere along the way, unexpectedly, it grew to mean more. It was a way to send words that couldn't otherwise be shared between them. To silently offer up the things that were stuck in their throats. To say, I'm sorry. I miss you.

I need you here.

To Wille, it grew to mean everything.

"Of course I used our signal," Wille says. "Why wouldn't I?"

#young royals #yr fic #this beginning part might end up edited more #hope i can have it finished soon!!!

[helix-studios117]

Halo Reloaded: Meeting The Parents

The balmy summer evening on Harmony IV seemed to cling to the air with a lazy, almost cheeky insistence that today, of all days, was perfect for a garden party. It was the kind of day that was warm enough to make you appreciate the shade and cool enough to make you thankful for the sun—a Goldilocks climate that Linda had always praised, but which now made her sweat more than usual. Beside her, John strolled with an unshakable cool that would've been infuriating if it weren't so darn attractive.

Linda's grip on John's hand was iron-clad as they approached her parents' house—a picturesque little cottage with ivy creeping up one wall and a front garden that was a riot of colors. She looked over at him, his face as serene as a pond at dawn, and muttered, "Remember, my mom likes to test people with her 'mild' borscht. Just smile and claim it's delicious even if it tries to dissolve your spoon."

John's chuckle was a low rumble, like distant thunder. "Don't worry. After years of MREs, I'm pretty sure I can handle your mom's soup."

The front door of the cottage burst open as if on cue, and out barreled Linda's parents, her mother in a flour-dusted apron and her father wiping oil-stained hands on a rag, both wearing wide grins that somehow matched the garden's exuberance. "Линдочка!" her mother exclaimed, sweeping Linda into a hug that likely required a chiropractic adjustment afterward.

Her father, a bear of a man with eyes twinkling behind thick glasses, extended a greased-smeared hand to John. "And this must be the famous John," he boomed, his voice thick with a Russian accent that rolled his 'Rs' like they were downhill. "We've heard much about you, young man. All of it good, some of it unbelievable. You're not secretly an alien, are you?"

John’s handshake was firm, and his smile was genuine as he replied, “No sir, just a regular guy from Eridanus-II.”

As they moved into the garden, where a table was laden with dishes that smelled of dill and smoked meats, Linda's father continued, "We remember hearing about a young boy from Eridanus-II at the academy. Never imagined that boy would grow up to stand beside our Linda."

Her mother, wiping her hands on her apron, added softly, "Such a tragedy, to lose your planet so young."

John's gaze softened, touched by their concern. "Thank you. It's been a long journey, but meeting Linda... it's brought a lot of light into my life."

Linda glanced at him, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and relief. She chimed in, her voice steadier now, "Mom, Dad, John has been incredible."

Her father chuckled, leading the way to the table. "Well, anyone who's got our Linda speaking so fondly must be something special. Let's eat, and you can tell us more."

Her mother, while ladling out what looked like a vibrant red concoction into bowls, leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to John, "This is the mild borscht. Don't worry, I have emergency antacid hidden away just in case."

As they settled down, the conversation flowed more easily. Linda's parents were keenly interested in John's thoughts on the latest starship enhancements—a topic he discussed with enthusiastic detail, which delighted Linda's father, a retired engineer himself.

Linda’s father didn’t waste any time grilling John about his experiences. "So, John, tell us about these starships you tinker with. Any chance you could fix my old tractor beam back there? It's been a bit stubborn, like a mule with a hangover."

John launched into an enthusiastic explanation about propulsion systems, clearly enjoying the chance to discuss his work outside of military jargon. Linda watched him light up, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and love.

"Look at him, talking engines and excited like a kid in a candy store," Linda’s mother observed, passing around a plate of pirozhki as if she were dealing cards at a high-stakes poker game.

Linda, now thoroughly relaxed and amused, leaned back and soaked in the scene—her formidable, boisterous family slowly wrapping John in layers of affection and beetroot stains. Linda murmurs to herself, "Yep, he fits right in."

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #john 117 #master chief #halo au #master chief fanfiction #master chief fanfic #halo reloaded #helix studios117

[scrumptious-delusion]

If you're still doing fake titles, can you do "in forgotten whispers"?

I love your stuff, it's all so good

IN FORGOTTEN WHISPERS

fake fic title drabbles

summary: you ran, he let you. after being away for nearly two years you’ve decided enough is enough. you’re finally returning home to face the man you left behind and to make do on the promises you made him.

pairing: mechanic!steve rogers x female!reader

warnings: swearing, a little bit of ✨ spice ✨.

a/n: partly inspired by this song.

excerpt:

“He’s been out there for three hours.”

“Is he really waiting for her to come out?”

“How did she even walk away from him in the first place?”

Linda and Marie fall silent as you near, delusional enough to think that you - or anyone else, haven’t heard them.

Something that would be quite impossible considering the volume of their voices.

“Having a good first day, darl?” Linda asks with an exaggerated grin as you pass.

You nod, giving a polite smile.

Beside you, Evie remarks “Don’t you girls have a column to write?”

That gets the two of them hustling back to their desks, Marie declaring “On it boss!”

“You sure you don’t want anything?” You reaffirm as you reach the front door.

Evie nods her head, “I’m sure, enjoy your lunch break.”

“I’m just going to the bakery across the street, I’ll be right back.”

Her gaze flits over your shoulder, to the large windows along the front of the office, before meeting yours again. “Sure you will.”

She turns and walks away before you can respond.

Closing your eyes, you suck in a deep breath.

I can do this.

You push open the heavy front door and instantly get enveloped in the sticky summer heat.

Steve’s light green 1966 chevy pickup is parked along the curb in front of the newspaper’s office and he’s leaning against it with his arms crossed, a picture of patience.

When your eyes meet his, he pushes away from the pickup, arms dropping to his sides as he slowly approaches you.

Here we go.

You step forward, meeting him halfway on the sidewalk.

“Who told you?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “It’s still a small town babydoll, everyone told me.”

You nod, fidgeting.

Babydoll.

“So, uh, how’s the shop?”

Making a noise in the back of his throat, Steve steps closer, bringing his face inches from yours. “Is that what we’re gonna do honey? Gonna share ‘how are you’s’ on the street and pretend no one’s watching?”

So he’s also noticed how everyone in the office has migrated towards the windows while people in the street around you pretend to look busy.

“What would you prefer?”

You don’t realise how dangerous that question is until it’s left your mouth.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, Steve husks “I’d prefer you got in my truck, so I could take you home and fuck you senseless.”

Suddenly it’s not the beaming sun that has you sweating.

Our sex life was never a problem.

“That wouldn’t fix anything.” You croak in response.

“Oh babydoll, I’m gonna fix us, don’t you worry about that.” Steve vows, his hand moving from your hair to lightly cup the back of your neck. “You won’t want to leave me ever again.”

He’s leaned in closer while talking, and your lips brush his when you state “You seem awfully confident.”

Steve smirks against your mouth. “I just know my wife.”

#steve rogers x reader #mechanic!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers #drabbles

[odysseywritings]

There's Nothing Down Here For You

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(prev)

Christian turned numb and still in the darkness. His head lingered further away from his body, slithering and wriggling into the pit to find anything. The primal desire to move and live without thought took over and his listless tunneling continued. He didn't know what up or down were and just squirmed around in the earth.

Earth. Part of the title of a song from adolescence. Bits of the melody echoed in his mind as his grub head calmed down. Bittersweet feelings of a time that he could never return to physically but tattooed on him as a reminder of his journey.

He could feel dirt. If he can feel, he wasn't dead. And if he's alive then he can think. He can think and search around for the softer soil closer to the surface. Minutes of fruitless endeavors sunk him but it triggered a memory of being stuck on a tough question on a homework assignment. How his father sat down and helped him work it through.

Christian couldn't remember what the question was or even the subject. But he missed someone caring about his problem. He missed the unspoken love of sharing time and receiving help. He wanted more like that even if his father wasn't here. Christian hastened his resolve when he remembered love exists no matter when and where. That others can offer love and care despite flaws.

He remembered telling Erica about the awful thing about the moth and how she hugged him after seeing how distraught he was. He remembered an aunt. Aunt Linda, the one who taught him how to swim and give CPR to avoid another drowning incident.

Christian knew he had fucked up, but that he was an ordinary man, and ordinary people are just trying to exist in a confusing, lawless life. He knew that he did not have to be a doctor for absolving himself of sins and he could simply be one to prevent harm and pain. A child is not innocent or evil, he understood, but an animal that can talk. Even early adulthood was a difficult time for adjusting to losing loved ones and a way of life.

Christian could learn to live again and to live above the surface again. The soil softened and he could feel warmth of the sun. His dropping stamina weighed him down yet his hand punched upward and created a mound where a spotlight beamed upon him. Christian hid his eyes from the immediate brightness, yet he paused, breathed, and erupted from earth with his moth head returned and his arms grasping for air and freedom.

He climbed himself out of the pit and laid down on the warm grass to rest. The breeze cooled his mind, the green trees waved peacefully and vibrantly, and the flowers smelled of life. Christian closed his eyes to relax to songbirds, never noticing how unique each one was for species and purposes.

He scheduled an appointment for therapy, one for a prescription, and took time off to embrace a side of life he forgot about. He checked his phone contacts and texted each one to see how they were doing. Most of them did not respond. He'll give it some time. And he felt it was time to make new friends or fail trying.

Maybe making new memories would unlock older ones that reminded him of the fullness of life. And if not, he had the entire future to change his luck and explore opportunities he ignored. Healing himself led Christian wanting to heal others like never before when feeling this new freedom.

Out of curiosity, Christian checked the mirror and saw his regular face again. He was no longer his past.

#coming of age #magical realism #psychological #creative writing #writeblr #mywriting #njm

[takashimakato]

Long Haired Lady

(Paul and Linda Fanficton)

It was a peaceful morning in the McCartney household. The sun beamed in through the windows, casting warm light on the room and illuminating the wooden floor. The house was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or rustle of a critter scurrying about outside.

Inside the bedroom, Paul lay in bed, wrapped in the warm embrace of his loving wife Linda. The two of them had stayed up late the night before, cleaning up the house and getting everything in order. As a result, they were both feeling pretty content with how things were looking.

But as happy as they were, Paul knew that their peaceful morning was not destined to last. It was time for him to rouse Linda and get their day started. Gently shaking her shoulder, he whispered in her ear, "Linda, honey, it's time to wake up."

Linda let out a small groan and sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her long, messy hair cascading down her back, and her eyes barely opened as she looked up at her husband.

With a smile, Paul softly replied, "Good morning, Linda." He leaned in closer and softly kissed her on the cheek, making sure not to wake her up more than necessary.

As Linda stumbled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth, Paul followed after her, still holding her hand. Together, they cleaned up and got ready for the day, their rhythm synchronized as if they had performed this dance a million times before.

Once they were both ready, they made their way to the kitchen, hand in hand, where they were greeted by the sweet smell of coffee brewing. With a smile, Paul gently tugged on Linda's hand, drawing her closer to him.

"What do you want to make, love?" he asked, hoping it was something nice or nutritional and not just a lazy Monday cereal.

"Crepes," Linda replied, her voice low and sleepy. Searching for a recipe book that would possibly contain crepes, she quickly found it and picked it up, flipping through its pages. As Linda gathered the ingredients needed, Paul couldn't help but smile. He loved this life they had built together, and he was grateful for every minute of it.

Paul turned on the gas stove and watched as Linda poured the batter for the crepes into the hot pan. The smell of fresh crepes cooking filled the air, and Paul had to admit that it was one of his favorite morning scents.

As they flipped the crepes and added fresh fruits and whipped cream on top of them, Paul couldn't help but feel grateful for how far they had come together. It felt like just yesterday that they were living in a small flat in Liverpool, but now they had this beautiful home and a family of their own.

As they dug into the crepes, Paul turned to Linda and gave her a soft smile. "You know, I still can't believe we met at the Bag o' Nails club all those years ago," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "It feels like it was just yesterday, but at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago."

Linda smiled back at him, her eyes full of love. "I know what you mean," she replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "But I'm glad that we found each other when we did. I can't imagine what my life would be like without you."

They finished their crepes in comfortable silence, knowing that they had each other and that they could face whatever challenges came their way. As they washed their dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, they joked and laughed, grateful for this peaceful morning together.

#linda mccartney #the beatles #paul mccartney #the beatles fanfiction

[balladofsallyrose]

i was tagged by the wonderful @cowboyinthesand and @calicoskiesacoustic to post my top 9 album covers ~ thank you !! i had a lot of fun gathering these

tagging: @bbbrianjones, @perfectlullabies, @run-rabbitrun, @calliopekenobi and anyone else who wants to do this !! please do

night ride home by joni mitchell i've always loved the double exposure photography themed album, stunningly beautiful with the dusk/twilight settling in.

self-tiled by fotheringhay w/ sandy denny this album cover has always enchanted me, i love the band painted as a portrait, dressed in medieval clothing with the lovely sandy deny !! very regal.

hat trick by america this is actually the back flip-over cover for the album shot by henry diltz. it was an absolute shame this wasn't the chosen cover. I love when diltz tells the story of photographing the band, with the sun setting on one side and the moon rising on the other side as seen in the mirror the band is holding ~ just truly magical.

our favourite shop by the style council i love this 'i spy' themed cover full of a lot of innuendos and film/music/literacy influences of the band !! with collectable nick-nacks, the small faces with the rave magazine, paul weller has always got taste !!

barrett by syd barrett the bugs !! the insects scribbled on the cover ~ and from a distance they look so real, i absolutely love them.

ram by paul mccartney it gives tribal with the marker pens and patterned boarders + doodles, this was actually one of the first albums i bought, just such a quirky project he did with linda <3 an interesting period.

seance by the church this cover has always intrigued me. i swear this is simon (wonder what the story is behind this) i love the gothic makeup, the feminine elegance of the figure and how their dressed in a hood, graphically beautiful.

town and country by humble pie this wouldn't be a typical pick, but i love how comfortable this album feels. It has greg and peter at a london flat on the front (town), and on the back, it has jerry and steve dressed as folk-like travellers with steve beaming and sitting in a tree <3 (country) just subtly clever.

life in cartoon motion by mika this is very much childhood for me !! a lot of fond memories associated with this album, the artwork is so fun with psychedelic themes and storytelling !! very vibrant and fun.

[mollerson]

Performance Jitters

Avery was a prima ballerina and had been dancing since before she could speak. Her mother had big dreams and projected those ambitions on her daughter. She could keep up with the older girls in the class and had many chances to perform in competitions. However, during the debut of her adult career, while these were considered the last few weeks of high school life, she came crashing down as her ligaments tore during her performance at Swan Lake. The catastrophe incident occurred on the final night of the showcase, and one last turn changed everything. Her knee was destroyed. She had lost her ability to walk and dance on the same day as her dream.

Her village of Broomhill held fundraisers and charity walks in hopes of helping the young girls fund expensive yet very experimental treatment in Turkey, hoping to reconnect the ligaments together without any lasting effects. Over 2 years, the doctors poked and prodded Avery; she was their personal lab rat to test the latest experiment. After 2 years of continuous trips to the hospital, Avery was told that they were no longer going ahead with the operation. Avery's heart sank, and she locked herself away in her room, away from her family and friends. She was caged in a room of hopes and dreams that twisted into nightmares the longer she looked at them.

Falling into a deep depression

Pill after pill 

Session after session 

Losing dance was losing her entire personality. Becoming hollow and wooden, stiff to any notion of affection. A few years passed, and Avery was almost 19 years old and not passionate about finding any good in this world. Her therapist suggested finding an alternative path, like singing or a hobby to fill her time with. Her mind would always wander during that session to dance in ballet performances in France.

Her mother, Linda, suggested going out for a walk, motioning to the sun beaming outside. Avery shrugged, and a cold expression formed on her face. Her thick wool jumper, where the bottom had been tugged and pilled enough that the material was stretched. Grabbing the crutches next to the breakfast table and avoiding the pool of mushed bananas that her baby brother Jamie had thrown onto the floor.

Her house had quite a few alternatives to accommodate the need for crutches, the sofas in the living room were pulled back to create more space and the stairs to the second floor now had a chair lift for when Avery became tired. While leisurely walking to the front door, a framed picture on the wall showed a young girl with a bright pink leotard and tutu. Avery gave a weak smile as her mother stood behind her.

Walking to the local co-op, Avery made a brave face and pulled the bottom of her jumper. Walking along the jagged pavement of the council estate she grew up on, seeing all the kids run a mock on the road and play games with chalk made her envious. Avery bit her lip and kept walking. Her eyes started to glisten when she saw something new in the Co-op window; its bright colours and big font attracted everyone walking past. Almost dropping her crutch, she leaned into the window for a good read.

'Well now, a circus in our proper small toon, guess ye wanna gan to that naw?' her mother Linda asked.

Avery shook her head excitedly. The poster promised dancing and performances from all things weird and wonderful. Her eyes lit up like Blackpool illuminations. Looking down at the crutches, her stomach churned when the thought of seeing dancers. Pulling the jumper to the point that the threads are falling apart. She noted down the dates. 

'I think I'll save my pocket money', she shouted at her mum, and she turned around and started walking home slightly faster with a new objective to complete; save money for the circus.

She hobbled home, almost falling over thanks to a pothole in the road, as quick as the path had been taken over by the kids in the neighbourhood. She found an old jam jar and filled it with the change contents in her pocket. Over the weeks, she would do odd jobs for her family to earn money. Washing the dishes, cleaning her room and even selling old toys to the local kids to help fund her day at the circus.

Avery was ready to see shows and dance all day with all the money she had saved from her jobs, and now the day had arrived. Her jeans had been washed and pressed, her top was a rainbow of colours, and for once, she felt nice to be friendly and colourful.

Avery jumped into the car and sat with her mother in the front, messing with the radio to play a heavy metal playlist. This did not bode well with her baby brother. Her leg kept twitching and jolting with excitement. Her eyes moved with every sign they passed on the dual carriageway, her arm blocking the view of the road every time she pointed to a character in the direction that they were heading.

After a 15-minute drive, they were escorted to a "car park", and finally, the vehicle stopped moving. Linda was so focused on getting her young son out of the car that she overlooked that Avery had disappeared amongst the visitors. The last image that Linda had of her daughter was in front of the entrance.

Avery's eyes dilated with pure joy seeing the dancers in their heavily detailed dresses and leotards that glistened and glimmered as the sun would hit the dancers. They performed with sticks of fire and ribbons swayed in the wind.

She staggered along, passed the tents and crowds. Eating cotton candy and caramel apples as she moved through the crowds; every so often, her crutch would get stuck in the mud. At one point, her feet moved faster than her hands, and her crutch got stuck on a tent string. She fell face first into the mud, her fresh clothes now covered in mud that had instances of sweet wrappers and lollipop sticks.

After struggling to turn around off her stomach, she could feel the twinge of pain coming down her leg and see her knee swell from her injury. She tried not to cry in pain as she wanted to attract no attention from the pain around her. She was to be independent as she could be.

She just wanted one day where she could enjoy one thing without hassle.

'Ye alreet their pet?' a feminine voice croaked. Standing over the wounded lass was an old woman in reasonably everyday attire but with clowns on her face. Behind the more senior clown was a woman in purple robes with a painted 3rd eye on her forehead.

Avery didn't make a sound but nodded at the clown's request for aid. The older woman helped Avery off the ground and helped her inside the tent. The robed woman zipped up the tent, ensuring she followed them in.

The tent was relatively small and homely in nature. The orange seats are around a small circular table. The camping stove and kettle for drinks were next to a mini fridge. A cabinet was filled with herbs and spices, presumably used to concoct different teas and herbal remedies when medication was unavailable.

'Come now, pet, have a seat and a cup of tea', the clown placed the cup in front of the class and continued ', My name is Heather, and that's Helen', motioning over to the robed woman, making herself comfortable with a cup of tea and placing a spoon towel down.

'Whats ya name?' Heather asked, grabbing a towel from the table and handing it to Avery.

'Avery', she squeaked. Talking to people outside her family was difficult. Her heart felt like it was about to burst through her chest with how fast it beat. The beating could be heard in her ears, and she picked up the cup to be distracted. The painted ceramic mug had little yellow birds perched on a tree branch. Being so fixated on the small cup, she didn't notice that the robed woman Helen had moved closer towards the skittish girl.

'Drink up but not all of it; I wanna read your leaves' Helen made a motion with her hands, the fingers interlocking and playfully tapping along her own palm in a circle.

'Leaves?' Avery questioned and looked quite confused at the sentiment. Moving the cup towards her mouth, taking many big gulps but keeping an eye out for the tea level. Allowing a small puddle to form in the bottom. This pool of tea had leaves floating on the top.

Avery didn't have the chance to place the cup on the small table when Helen grabbed the cup and started pacing around the room like a child with a new toy. Helen rocked back and forward on her heels, watching the inside of the cup intently.

Her body stopped, and her eyes had small pools of tears. 

Thud 

The cup had been dropped onto the makeshift carpet. 

'Oh, you poor thing. The tea said you have been robbed of your dreams. Helen was so sombre; her voice cracked with the woman's sadness. Avery's attention moved towards the other woman in the room as Heather went to the cabinet filled with herbs.

There was a sound of mashing and stone clicking against the stone with the pestle and mortar brought out from under a cabinet. Heather's body blocked whatever she was doing from Avery's point of view.

Avery finally perked up. 'How did you – wait, I should probably get going?' trying to motion for the exit, but her crutches were not seen; shit, had she left outside? She tried to get moving, but her knee would not bend. It was too swollen for any sort of movement.

'Well, what if we could offer you a solution?' Heather excitedly said, a grin like the Cheshire cat. The clown moved closer to the girl and placed a jar of crushed herbs before Avery. From the corner of her eye, Avery noticed Helen shift from sad to concerned. Her body became stiff, and she moved back over to the table. Her robes flowed effortlessly and missed on a single corner. 

Yanking the jar and placing it in her pocket, 'She's only a child; what if things go wrong and if he finds out. Our heads will be gone,' she exclaimed, very worried and panicked. 

'You just worried about meddling with nature; this lass isn't living. Let's give her a chance to make a choice.' Heather moved and placed a palm out. 'Come on honey, you know this is the best'. 

Helen sighed and reluctantly gave back the herbs. The robed woman walked towards the kettle and started to boil the water.

Avery sat. she watched and listened to the kettle. How long had she been gone? Where were her mother and Jamie? Her head started to hurt with the worry she had unnecessarily caused. 

The same cup was placed in front of her, and the smell of lavender filled the room. The purple liquid shifted and shimmered with hues of blues and pinks. She saw her face in the reflection. She looked so pained and sad. She didn't notice that she had been crying herself, and the trails of tears made tracks all the way down her cheeks.

Cupping the cup in her hands again, she took a deep breath and drank the tea without hesitation. This was one of those herbal teas that would help with pain and swelling. Her face softened, and she dried her eyes. The world became hazy; the woman stood nearby, whispering amongst themselves. She felt so sleepy, and being passed a thick, knitted blanket by Helen was the nail in the coffin.

Her eyes started to feel heavy; sleep was calling her name, and her chair started sinking beneath her. The last thing she remembered was the thud of the cup as it hit the ground. Dreams of performances and recitals. Her body flowed like water, and she could hold poses for minutes. She wasn't hindered by bones or joints or even muscles that would get in the way.

She was happy. She was content. She was perfect.

***

'AVERYYYYYYYYYY!' her mother Linda yelled, carrying a crying Jamie. He was fussing and needed something to eat. Making her way to the big tent in the middle, she hoped her daughter would be somewhere close to some food.

       'Come one and all, see the living, Doll. She twists and bends with no bones,' the Ringleader shouted and praised. His voice was a foghorn, leading the people towards him.

Jamie quieted when he heard the act and wanted to see the "liv-ing dol-ly." The child pointed and laughed at the animals in the cages, oooh'd at the elephants and shied away from the lions after giving the small clown by the entrance of the big tent a few quid. They were let in to see the acts.

'Where is that girl?' Linda whispered, agitated. Looking around at the loud crowd, trying to find her daughter. She was focused on the hair within the group. She allowed Avery to dye her hair purple for her 14th birthday.

The lights went out, and a spotlight was pointed to the tent's centre.

The music started, and a toy car was driven to the middle. The door opened, and they waited.

They waited.

A great bang and puff of smoke appeared where the car had been. Now a man, dressed in black and red, carrying a whip. 

The Ringleader appeared and stood, smiles and all. 'Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages; I am proud to present the Barton Circus. I'm delighted to welcome a new little lady who is a little shy,' taking in a deep breath. The man walked around the car and climbed on top.

'Can I please have a round of applause for the newest addition, Audrey – the Living doll?!' he finished. 

Then in a flash, he disappeared and in his place was a small doll whose limbs were made of wood but could move with no strings. Her purple hair was wrapped in a small bow and complimented a pink ballerina outfit. The wooden joints moved without fault; there was no click as the legs bent and straightened. The Doll made no movement, and the lack of noise was startling.

Swan Lake started to play, the music filled the rooms, and any leftover muttering was stopped as people watched the Doll. Her face remained blank, but when she started to move, her body conveyed joyful and happy emotions. The music began to fasten, and the Doll moved, matching pace. She danced across the floor, taking advantage of the hoops used for the animal performances. The music continued, and when the music slowed, the Doll became graceful and looked amongst the crowd.

Linda made eye contact with the ballerina, and her eyes swelled with tears.

Nearing the end of the music, the posture of the Doll changed; there was an arrogance and prideful nature when the hoops that had been previously used became aflame. The crowd murmured in worry and disbelief; some mothers covered their children's eyes. 

Jamie's eyes could be seen with wonder and excitement, enjoying the high intensity of the performance. The music finally hit the crescendo, and with an inhumane leap, she flew across the tent and landed with such magnificence that the crowd hung silent. A few seconds passed, the music had stopped, and the Doll remained in position. From the distance that Linda and Jamie were sitting, it was as if the Doll's body was panting after all that physical exhaustion. Still, without any lungs, that would be impossible for a wooden figure to do.

The show continued with the introduction of the animals; creatures great and small were brought in. The Doll would dance along the tightrope that hung above and land elegantly onto the more giant animals. The beautiful Doll showed no fear as she walked across the rope with ease and no hesitation. Bending her joints along the string atop hangs upside down and performs impressive tricks.

The crowd applauded and cheered the Doll on as the hours flew by. When everyone started leaving the tent, the sun began to disappear along the horizon, and most ats returned to their tents behind the big top. That's when Linda's stomach churned, and the realisation kicked in that her daughter had been missing for half a day.

She started panicking, turned pale, and hugged Jamie tighter. After an hour of searching, with the help of some of the actors, there was no sign of her daughter. The weekend flew by, even the police were notified, and the only indication of the lass was that her crutch was found in a ditch half a mile from the circus.

The circus left and left behind the tattered remains of a destroyed patch of land and no sign of Avery. Her mother gave up searching after 2 years; her heart had to let go, and money was running short to continue to print posters. It was like she disappeared with the wind. Jamie did not remember much about his sister but always talked about that Doll.

With no evidence that Avery was alive, her mother paid for a gathering in the town hall and put a headstone for her beloved daughter in the local ceremony.

The circus continued to come every few years; as Audrey grew up, she became more mature, and her purple hair started to grey. Her wooden joints started to wear away and rot. They say Audrey had to retire from the job and is now part of the circus museum in America. For all to bear witness.

Avery would have loved Audrey.

#orginal content #creative writing #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing blog

[insideusnet]

Mother believes son was drugged, robbed before being found dead in Upper East Side apartment : Inside US

Mother believes son was drugged, robbed before being found dead in Upper East Side apartment : Inside US

NEW YORK — The NYPD is investigating a series of robberies and assaults against men in Hell’s Kitchen. CBS2’s Ali Bauman spoke to Linda Clary, who believes her son, 33-year-old John Umberger, was drugged, robbed and left for dead. “John was an exceptional human being that was just a bright light that, ever since he was a child, was like a sun beam,” Clary said. It’s been five months since Clary…

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[tigerstrikesasteroidnetwork]

Past Exhibitions

[2021-present] [2016-2020] [2009-2015]

2020

PHILADELPHIA Artist-in-Residence: Alicia Link / Dec 14 - Jan 11 Artist-in-Residence: Emilio Maldonado / Nov 30 - Dec 11 Artist-in-Residence: Ana Mosquera / Nov 2 - 27 Artist-in-Residence: Jungmin Lee / Oct 7 - 30 Artist-in-Residence: Cherry Nin / Sep 21 - Oct 7 Artist in Residence: Naomi Momoh / Aug - Sep 12 Preserving a Find, curated by Megan Biddle and Adam Lovitz / Feb 22- Mar 28 Iconologies / Jan 9 - Feb 15

NEW YORK Stephanie J. Woods: FALSE ILLUSION / Nov 21 - Dec 20 Linda Simpson: Where Love Lives, curated by Pacifico Silano / Oct 17 - Nov 15 Catenations, curated by Rachael Gorchov and Jo Yarrington / Sep 11 - Oct 11 Artist-in-Residence: Michael Paul Britto / August 16 - 30 Artist-in-Residence: Kameelah Janan Rasheed / July 26 - August 9 Artist-in-Residence: Naomi Nakazato / July 5 - 19 Picture Time: Buhm Hong & Kakyoung Lee, curated by Sun You / Feb 14 – Mar 22 The View From the Gorge, curated by Sheherazade / Jan 3 - Feb 9

LOS ANGELES Artist-in-Residence: Cara Levine / November 1 - January 8 Artist-in-Residence: Alberto Lule / September 4 - October 31 Trunk Show / Oct 17 High Beams / Sep 5, 2020 Hoofprint / Mar 14 - Apr 5 Fully Furnished Room / Feb 8 - Mar 1 HIGH BEAMS, curated by SARDINE / Jan 4 - 26

CHICAGO Exhibitionisms / Nov 7 - Jan 16 Caroline Kent: Victoria/Veronica: The figment between us  / September 13 - Oct 24  Zehra Khan: Fakeries / Feb 1 - Mar 14

GREENVILLE Minimum Space Requirements / Nov 27, 2020 – January 1, 2021 Constellations / Oct 2 - Nov 25 Yardwork / Jun 26 - Jul 31 REDIRECT @ Ramp Gallery / Jan 24 - Feb 24

2019

PHILADELPHIA In Line / Nov 14 - Jan 4 Lucas Kelly: You, me, these walls, and our ghosts / Sep 27 - Nov 9 Adam Lovitz: VEGETABLE CIGARETTE / Aug 8 - Sep 21 Homeward / Jun 22 - Aug 3 Orbits / May 3 - Jun 15 Melinda Steffy: Ruination Day / Mar 14 - Apr 27 Sagas, curated by Mary Henderson and Mark Brosseau / Feb 1 - Mar 9

NEW YORK The Flat File: Year Seven / Nov 22 - Dec 17 Precursor to Expanded Dialogue, curated by Vincent Como / Oct 11 - Nov 17 Secondary Sources, curated by Jackie Hoving and Norm Paris / Sep 6 - Oct 6 GO, curated by Yael Eban / Jul 26 - Aug 25 Ghost in the Ghost, curated by Danielle Wu / Jun 21 - Jul 21 Orbits / May 10 - Jun 16  baseball show, curated by Andrew Prayzner/ Mar 29 - May 5 Human-Nature, curated by Erika Ranee / Feb 16 - Mar 24  Object of Desire, curated by Amanda Martinez / Jan 4 - Feb 10

LOS ANGELES HIGH BEAMS, curated by SARDINE / Jan 4 - 26 Gerardo Monterrubio: Form and Image / Oct 9 - Nov 3 Warmly Persuasive: ICOSA in LA /Sep 7 - 29 catherine SCOTI scott: Holla / Aug 3 - 25 The Jungle / Jun 29 - Jul 21 Orbits / May 25 - Jun 16 The Family Room Collective: Paper Over / Apr 20 - May 11 MATERIAL GIRLS: Palms / Mar 16 - Apr 7 Lost+Found, curated by Stacey Wendt / Feb 7 - Mar 3 References Upon Request / Jan 5 - 27

CHICAGO Gush, curated by Debra Kayes / Dec 15 – Jan 25 physical gestures that flatten out as moments / Oct 27 - Nov 30 A Creep That Snakes: A Tic of Words and Symbols / Sep 15 - Oct 19 The Endless Body, organized by Julia Klein / June 29 - August 22 Orbits / May 11 - Jun 23 Meg Duguid: Produced by an aftermath / Mar 24 - May 4 Yesenia Bello: My mouth is a motherlode / Feb 9 - Mar 17

GREENVILLE In Front of Your Eyes / Oct 4 – Nov 27

2018

PHILADELPHIA Enter Linger Exit / Dec 13 - Jan 19 Geometry / Oct 26 - Dec 8  Outfit / Sep 13 - Oct 20 Matt Neff & Alisha Wessler: Legerdemain / Jul 20 - Sep 8 Robert Straight: Phantom Shock / Jun 7 - Jul 14 Shelby Donnelly: Slow Grooming / Apr 12 - May 26 Individual Gravities, curated by Alex Ebstein / Feb 23 - Apr 7 Extension or Communication: Puerto Rico / Jan 11 - Feb 17

NEW YORK The Flat File: Year Six / Nov 30 - Dec 16 Sarah Bednarek: ChiChi DooDad / Oct 19 - Nov 18 Still Big, curated by Sun You / Sep 14 - Oct 14 Matt Morris: Splitsville smells like irises / Aug 3 - Sep 9 Hong Seon Jang: motherfather / Jun 22 - Jul 29 Magic Shell, curated by Jackie Hoving / May 11 - Jun 17 Artist-in-Residence: Meghan Brady / Apr 6 - May 6  Asuka Goto: lost in translation / Feb 16 - Mar 25  Antonio Serna: The Same Sun / Jan 5 - Feb 11

LOS ANGELES TSA LA & Monte Vista Projects Raffle and Auction / Nov 17 - Dec 9 Filtered Projections / Nov 10 But we can’t say what we’ve seen / Oct 13 - Nov 4 Full Bit, curated by Brittany Mojo / Sep 8 - 30 Mnēmonikos, curated by Esther Ruiz / Aug 4 - 26 ReVerb / Jun 30 - Jul 22 Nor Heat Nor Gloom of Night / May 26 - Jun 17 Bodies of A Different Mass / Apr 21 - May 13 Sundial, organized by Liz Nurenberg / Mar 17 - Apr 8 Natural 20 / Feb 10 - Mar 4 Taking Up Space, curated by Stacy Wendt / Jan 6 - 28

CHICAGO NOW(n)…PERSON, PLACE OR THING, curated by Mario Ybarra Jr. / Dec 15 - Jan 26 Allison Reimus: What Matters to You/What’s the Matter with You / Oct 28 - Dec 9 Sabina Ott: All Flowers Tell Me / Sep 16 - Oct 20 Flat File One / Jun 24 - Aug 4 Olivia Schreiner: Nascent Things / May 6 - Jun 16 Manatee / Mar 18 - Apr 28 Beyond Measure / Jan 28 - Mar 10

2017

PHILADELPHIA Theresa Saulin: that which requires no battle / Nov 18 - Jan 6 Joanna Platt: In Darkness / Oct 6 - Nov 11 She’s Got a System / Sep 16 - 30 Anachronism and Liberation / Aug 4 - Sep 14 Megan Biddle: Folded Mountain / May 5 - Jun 18 F(L)AT / Apr 7 - 30 Douglas Witmer: Dubh Glas / Jan 27 - Mar 12

NEW YORK The Flat File: Year Five / Dec 1 - 17 Didier William: We Will Win / Oct 20 - Nov 19 Assimilated Simulations | Simulated Situations, curated by Vincent Como / Sep 15 - Oct 15 Revealing Reflected Refractions / Aug 4 - Sep 10 FOUR x HIGH, curated by Sun You / Jun 23 - Jul 30 glorious modest / May 12 - Jun 18 Avant Grave, curated by William Crump / Mar 31 - May 7 x ≈ y: An Act of Translation, curated by Andrew Prayzner and Naomi Reis / Feb 17 - Mar 26 Past Continuous, curated by Jackie Hoving & Norm Paris / Jan 6 - Feb 12

LOS ANGELES Hover, Vibrate, Swell, Reverse, curated by Claudine Isé / Nov 4 - Dec 3 Reality Show / Sep 16 - Oct 18 Verdant Loop / Aug 5 - 27 Caves / Jul 1 - 23 Thy Majestic Loose Eye, And Only Thus / May 27 - Jun 18 Body High / Apr 22 - May 14 Dress Rehearsal / Mar 25 - Apr 15

CHICAGO Kristy Luck: Reveries / Dec 9 - Jan 20 Love Us Or Leave Us Alone / Oct 28 - Nov 18 Ass Grass or Gas, curated by Josue Pellot & Robin Dluzen / Sep 9 - Oct 14 Sashay With and Without History / Jun 4 - Jul 15 Garry Noland: The Most Beautifulest Thing in the World… / Apr 22 - May 27 Carris Adams: This, That, and the Third / Mar 5 - Apr 3 I Have Feelings to Express / Jan 22 - Feb 26

2016

PHILADELPHIA Remote Control / Dec 10 - Jan 21 Todd Baldwin: Memento Mori / Oct 22 - Dec 4 A Body Has No Center, curated by Ricky Yanas / Sep 2 - Oct 16 JJ Miyaoka-Pakola: #Hashtag / Jul 22 - Aug 28 Bedrock: Rachel Klinghoffer, Adam Lovitz, Robert Straight / Jun 3 - Jul 17 Ezra Masch: Mind the Gap / May 6 - 29 Repeater: Lee Arnold, Mark Brosseau, Meg Lipke / Apr 1 - May 1 Matthew Frock: It was beautiful, curated by Terri Saulin / Mar 4 - 27 Trembling Halves: Brenda Goodman & Kate Gilmore, curated by Loren Britton and Zachary Keeting / Feb 5 - 28 Jeremy Maas: Playgrounds / Jan 8 - 31

NEW YORK The Flat Files: Year Four / Dec 9 - 18 Joe Ballweg: Jazz Burger Drool / Oct 28 - Dec 4 Dissolution, part of Exchange Rates / Oct 20 - 24 Lost Cause, curated by Alex Paik / Sep 16 - Oct 16 Fabulous You / Aug 12 - Sep 11 Field Studies, curated by Andrew Prayzner and Naomi Reis / Jul 8 - Aug 7 Inna Babaeva: It’s the Little Things That Matter / May 13 - Jun 26 Weight Over Time: Joy Curtis & Terence Hannum, curated by Vincent Como / Apr 1 - May 8 Conversation Space: Caroline Santa & Jen Schwarting / Feb 19 - Mar 20 Drawing for Sculpture, curated by Courtney Puckett / Jan 8 - Feb 14

LOS ANGELES Screaming Lessons / Dec 3 - 18 The Rock Cried Out, I Can’t Hide You, curated by Carl Baratta / Nov 5 - 26 Mandy Lyn Ford: BAT OUTA HELL / Oct 8 - 29 Laurel Shear: Where Dreams Come True and Go To Die / Sep 10 - Oct 1 The Garden / Aug 6 - Sep 3 Fragmented Gaze, curated by Loren Britton / Jul 9 - 30 Jason Mones: Force and Fumble / Jun 11 - Jul 2 Justin Michell: Through the Grapevine / May 14 - Jun 4 Pupillis Gigantti: Brad Ewing & JJ Miyaoka-Pakola / Apr 16 - May 7 Hannah Vainstein: Plant Animal Mineral / Feb 27 - Mar 20 Weston Lyon: New Twin  / Jan 16 - Feb 14

CHICAGO [Old/New] Psychedelic Providence, curated by Jamilee Lacy / Dec 4 - Jan 15

#past2016 #tigerstrikesasteroid #tiger strikes asteroid

[the-iceni-bitch]

How about 20 and 38 with Ransom? I love your blog btw, you are a fabulous writer!

20) “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

38) “I need you. Now!”

I started giggling evilly as soon as I got this ask nonnie, so thank you for that!

What a surprise, it’s our OTP again!! (Tagging my babes @stargazingfangirl18 @chrissquares @subtlebucky @egcdeath)

Send me smutty prompts!!!!

Guys, it’s smut so no minors please!

You chugged another mimosa to cover your eye roll as Jodi started talking about her damn lifestyle brand again.

This was the third time she’d brought it up during the Thrombeys’ monthly brunch. It was like she was shelling a fucking MLM.

You hated that you had been forced to sit with the other women while the boys were out back shooting skeet, but after your last interaction with the family you thought it would be best to avoid making waves as much as possible. And if that meant sitting through inane conversation with the other women, whatever.

It wasn’t the fact that it was girl talk that bothered you. It was as that all of these women were so fucking out of touch with reality that every single thing out of their mouths was like nails on a chalkboard to you. At least if Meg has been there you would’ve had someone relatively normal to engage with, but she was cramming for finals so no such luck.

“Do you really think you should have another drink, Y/N?” Linda tutted condescendingly as you moved to pour yourself another mimosa from the pitcher.

You bit back your comment about her downing six Bloody Marys and gave her a suffering grin. “They’re just so delicious, and it’s not like I have to drive any where.”

“That’s right, you have my son to chauffeur you around.” She muttered as she fidgeted with her blouse. “It must be so nice knowing he’s there to take care of everything for you.”

You practically slammed your glass down, totally ready to give up your resolution to not start a fight as you took a deep breath when suddenly Ransom burst into the sun room, his cheeks flushed from the chill outside.

“Hey babe.” He beamed at you before bending over the back of the sofa you were sitting on to press his lips to yours in an absolutely obscene kiss.

His fingers curled lightly around the base of your throat as he stroked your tongue with his own, tugging at your lips with his teeth until you were moaning wantonly into his mouth, your body trying to arch further towards him and your nipples pebbling under your blouse as a rush of arousal seeped out of you.

“I need you. Now!” He whispered once he broke away, low enough that only you could hear him as you struggled to catch your breath.

You turned back to the three older women to see them giving you very disapproving looks as you quickly downed the rest of your drink before slowly rising off the sofa and smoothing your hands over your pants.

“Ladies.” You said before giving Linda a wicked grin. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta help Ransom take care of something.”

You chuckled to yourself as you heard her splutter with rage behind you when you followed Ransom out into the hall. He dragged you into the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind you, pinning you to it before giving you another searing kiss.

“Was my mom being a bitch again?” He asked as he untucked your blouse and skimmed his hands up your sides before cupping your breasts.

“Yeah, pretty sure she thinks I’m only with you for your money.” You grinned against his lips as your started to undo his belt. “Shows how much she knows. I’m just using you for sex.”

He laughed into your mouth at that, bringing one hand down to grip your ass, pressing you into him as he ground his crotch against you.

“What about you? Why are you so hot and bothered?” You sighed as he moved his mouth down to trace your jaw.

“Just, fucking Walt.” He grumbled, his fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse as he continued to press his growing erection against the seam of your pants, rubbing it right over your clit. “It was either this or shoot him and that little nazi shit.”

“Mmm, good thing I was here then.” You murmured as you wrapped one leg around him. “Don’t stop moving.”

“Jesus, already?” He asked, bringing his face back up to inspect yours as you writhed against him. “We haven’t even gotten to second yet.”

“Yeah, well don’t fucking kiss me like that in front of your family unless you wanna turn me into a wet mess, Hugh.”

“That’s all it takes?” He grinned as he pressed even harder against you, making you bite your lip to swallow a moan. “I’m gonna have to remember that.”

He pressed his lips to yours and twisted his hips slightly and that was it. You felt a shockwave travel up your spine as a wave of bliss spread from your core, your muscles quivering as you fluttered around nothing and your release flooded your panties.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you came down, sawing in your chest as you struggled to regulate it. You finally relaxed and met Ransom’s eyes, grinning at him.

“You treat me so good baby.” You muttered, giving him a quick peck to his lips as you unwound yourself from him. “Gonna take care of you now.”

You sank to your knees in front of him and rubbed your face into the front of his pants, nipping at the outline of his hard cock as you worked at undoing his fly.

“Shit, Y/N!” He hissed as you yanked his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock to bounce back up against his abs.

You just gazed up at him through your lashes as you spat in your palm then wrapped your hand around his length, sucking his sack into your mouth as you started to stroke him.

“Fuck, oh my god.” Ransom groaned, his breath coming in shallow pants when you swirled your thumb through the precum collected at his tip at the same time you dragged your tongue over the vein that ran over the base of his cock.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.” You ordered before taking him in your mouth and sucking while you swirled your tongue around his sensitive head.

“Yes, ma’am.” He whispered, swallowing a cry as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you drew him further into your mouth.

His hands wrapped in your hair as you kept bobbing your head up and down his length, your hand coming up to fondle his balls as you worked him over. You felt his tip hi the back of your throat and you relaxed, taking him even deeper and swallowing around his cock.

He stopped caring that he was just fifteen feet away from his family and let out a feral growl, his hips and hand moving on their own accord as he started to fuck your throat. You gripped his thighs as you let him work, gazing up at him through your lashes as drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, doing your best to breathe through your nose.

“Fuck, I wanna come all over that pretty face.” He muttered as his cock twitched at the back of your throat, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm. “That ok with you honey?”

You hummed your approval around his cock and he pulled out of you, his hand in your hair tilting your head back as his other tugged at his dick harshly until his cum was shooting all over your cheeks and chin, smearing over your lips as he rubbed his tip against them. He groaned as he finished, slapping the head of his cock against your swollen mouth until he had nothing left to give you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, honey.” He murmured as he smeared his thumbs through his spend on your lips before slipping it into your mouth, moaning as you swirled your tongue around it.

You grinned at him and started to stand up before there was a pounding on the bathroom door.

“Who is it?” You called, winking at Ransom and dragging your thumb slowly over your face to collect his cum as you watched him tuck himself back into his pants.

“It’s Linda.” Ransom’s mother called through the door as you sucked your thumb into your mouth, moaning as you tasted his spend. “If you two are quite finished behaving like teenagers, there’s a bit of a line forming.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to open the door, Ransom trying to move to stop you as you still had some of his cum smeared across you chin. You just shook your head at him as you wrenched it open, giving Linda a shit eating grin.

“So sorry Linda, it’s all yours.” You beamed at her, pointedly dragging your thumb over your chin and sucking the rest of her son’s spend into your mouth, moaning pornographically as you maintainted eye contact with her and stepped out into the hall.

Ransom followed after you, shrugging at his mother and laughing like an idiot as he wrapped one arm around your waist and nuzzled into your hair, his lips brushing against the hinge of your jaw.

“Pretty sure that solidified your mom’s hatred of me.” You said with a sly smile, turning to face Ransom as the two of you headed out to the beemer.

“Please, like that matters to me.” He didn’t know how he had ever survived family functions without you before, but he was bringing you to all of them from now on.

——————————————————————————

A/N: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I feel just the teensiest bit bad about what I did to Linda here but whatever!

#natalie answers #smut prompts #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom x you #ransom smut #chris evans smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

[elizabeethan]

Ripple

An Overboard addition

Emma gets Killian an anniversary gift, kind of

This is purely gratuitous fluff for @the-darkdragonfly because she deserves it

Rated T

~1500 words

Read on Ao3

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

There are few things that can make Killian Jones feel as alive as the sea does. The whipping wind that tousles his hair, the crashing waves that spray him with ocean mist and rock his boat from side to side, forcing him to counterbalance himself so as to not topple over. Very few things in this world make Killian feel as free as the sea does.

Among the few things that bring him to life are his boat. It’s something he spent years working towards, his title of captain a badge that he wears proudly each day. It’s a reminder that tragedy and hardship could not defeat him.

And then there’s the thrill that comes with catching monstrous Bluefin Tuna. It's a battle he’s won countless times, but he’s lost countless times as well, and each time he pulls one onto his deck, the pride that swells in his chest is almost painful.

Although there is a short list of things that bring him to life, nothing can compare to the way he feels when he’s with-- when he even thinks about-- his wife.

“There’s a special surprise waiting for you when you get home,” she tells him in a low, sultry voice when she calls him that day. It’s a strong reminder that it’s their first wedding anniversary, and the tone of her delivery sends impure thoughts through his mind and makes his cock do impure things while he’s at work.

“What is it?” he asks uselessly, knowing she won’t cooperate.

With the very giggle he expected, she answers, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Will I like the surprise?” he asks, voice matching hers.

“I think so.”

His wife is fire. She’s heat and passion and infallibility all rolled into one flawless, beautiful package. He maintains easily that he’s the luckiest man alive, the luckiest man to ever live again, because he has been given the privilege of marrying Emma Swan. There is nothing that will ever make him feel the way it feels to be with her-- not his boat, not catching a monster tuna, not the sea.

He’s almost tempted to call it a day, turn towards the docks and leave his mates high and dry and without much of a paycheck, but he knows he can’t do that. All he can do is think back to nearly a week ago, just before he’d left for this trip, when she reminded him very cleverly and very salaciously that their special day was up-and-coming by making him come in her mouth and smirking in satisfaction when she succeeded.

All he can do is consider what color his special surprise could be, how it will look contrasting against her creamy skin, how it will feel in his fingers when he peels it off of her.

~~~~

She’s not at the docks like she usually likes to be when he arrives home. She uses it as an excuse to visit with her father, and she also likes to tell Killian that her presence when his catch is weighed and appraised for quality is good luck. But today, she isn’t here.

He takes his check and helps his mates clean the boat, but they can tell that his mind is elsewhere. Will practically chastises him, claiming that he’s too horny for his own good and insisting that he go home to his fit bird of a wife, earning himself a slap upside his head.

The house is mysteriously quiet when he gets home, creeping through the front door and excitedly looking around every corner as he walks through. It becomes obvious that she isn’t inside when he gets to the kitchen in the back of the small cottage they share, and when he looks out the swinging porch door, he sees her.

She’s fully clothed, but she still looks beautifully irresistible, so he steps outside with a growing smirk. He isn’t sure what she could be doing in the backyard at nearly dusk, and he becomes even more confused when he watches her squat down on her knees and hold her arms out, excitedly cooing and cheering at something around the corner that he can’t see yet.

“Come on, baby!” she calls happily, grin bright and beaming in the setting sun. “Come on!”

“Emma?” he asks through his confusion, making her look up and greet him with stunning beauty. “What are you…?”

It becomes clear so quickly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place suddenly when he hears the jingle. A small, clumsy creature flops its way across the yard that they share, nearly tripping over its too-large feet. She calls for it once more, shrieking and laughing when it bounds into her arms, knocking her onto her back.

A smile grows across Killian’s face almost instantly. He couldn’t even hope to fight it, Emma’s joy far too evident and far too impossible not to match.

“Happy anniversary,” she greets.

“Aye, happy anniversary, my love… What is this?” he asks, squatting beside her and delivering her a smile that she matches effortlessly.

“This is your surprise,” she explains.

“You got us… a dog?”

“A puppy! Isn’t she precious?” she asks, rubbing the pup’s belly and giggling as she rolls onto her back. “Her name is Ripple.”

He scrunches up his eyebrows in confusion, moving to sit all the way in order to save his old knees. “Ripple?”

“Don’t give me that look,” she chastises. “I think it suits her. One little doggy can impact our lives in many ways; like the ripple effect.”

“Aye,” he agrees, because he’ll agree with everything she says if only to see the look on her face when he does. “And how did Ripple find her way into our yard?”

The small, and admittedly adorable, puppy gives him a look that tugs at his heartstrings. Truthfully, if there was one breed of dog he could see Emma adopting, it would be a Rottweiler. Their Ripple is only a baby, small and soft, but he can tell that she’ll grow to be as fierce as Emma one day. Her big brown eyes stare into his and he knows with certainty that he’s made a companion.

“I adopted her, as a special surprise for you,” she tells him with a smirk, likely knowing that her explanation doesn’t exactly work in her favor. It’s not as if he ever had a desire to adopt a dog. Emma, on the other hand, has been wanting one for months. “She was wandering the streets, so I picked her up. I looked and looked for her owner, but she didn’t have a collar or a microchip, and no one came forward. I filled out some paperwork with the vet, and now she’s ours!”

He can’t help but to fall beside her, lying at her side and planting a brief yet deep kiss to her temple. Ripple wriggles between them, her bark small and high pitched but likely to become much more threatening in the next few weeks. “You’ve a very pure soul, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, making him bark out a laugh that’s met with one of Ripple’s. “She needs a home,” she says more seriously, rolling on her side to face him in the soft grass, her hand wandering from the neck of his t-shirt down to his waist.

“She does,” he agrees. He leans forward, awkwardly at this angle, to finally catch her lips with his. He can’t deny her of this. She grew up needing a home, and the least he can do now is support her in giving a home to another lost soul in need.

“So, can we keep her?”

“That’s funny,” he laughs, and she screws up her brows and cocks her head to the side. “It’s as if you’re under the impression that I could ever say no to you.”

He watches the smile grow across her face, reaching her eyes so easily as they catch the glimmering light of the fading sun. “Really?”

“Aye, of course, my love. Although, I will admit, this isn’t exactly the surprise I had in mind based on your phone call.”

Her giggle is contagious, and he thinks it must be in response both to what he had said, and the fact that Ripple has decided to clumsily sprint across the yard to chase her long tail. She pushes against his chest to stand-- he feels almost envious at her youthful ability to lift herself from the ground so easily-- and takes his hand in hers, hoisting him up as well. “I’ve been working on crate training her,” she explains once they’re standing side by side. She calls for the pup and she comes running, earning praise from her new, and apparently talented-at-behavioral-training, mother.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She guides them both inside, pulling his hand and holding her other one out to Ripple, offering a treat once they walk through the door. “And I plan on doing some crate training now, while I show you what other surprises I have for you under this dress. It’s good for her to practice.”

Their new companion is very well behaved, they’ve discovered. She listens to commands, snuggles with her parents at every opportunity afforded to her, and acts as a very talented deckhand on Killian’s ship, announcing the presence of a tuna on their line each time they hook up.

If one thing is for certain, it’s that Killian Jones’ wife knows exactly how to make him happy.

~~~~

~~~~

There’s a dog in Wicked Tuna named Ripple, and I’m addicted to The Ripple Effect, so Emma and Killian got a dog named Ripple. Hehehe

@courtorderedcake​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @stahlop​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​ @laschatzi​​​ @emelizabeth88​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @kday426​​​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​​​ @captain-emmajones​​​ @gingerpolyglot​​​​ @ebcaver​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​ @jrob64​​​​ @onceratheart18​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @swampmedusa​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @dancingnancyy​​​​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @ouatpost @daxx04​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​​​ @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere​​​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings​​​​ @rapunzelsghosts​​​​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​​​ @batana54​​​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza

#Ripple #Overboard #overboard 2.5 #I guess? #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #cs ff #overboard ff #cs fluff

[mimikyugirl]

Sunny Day

-one shot-

.Y/N spends a happy day in the farm with the McCartneys.

Warning: .Weed smoking mention and alcohol use.

You got an invitation to visit the McCartneys with great excitement. You already knew their farm from other occasions and always spent the best afternoons there.

You rode horses, took long walks on the beach with Linda and John, drank beers in the barn with Paul and smoked weed in the glass vaulted room with all your friends.

On this particular day, Linda said that they had found a lake hidden on one of Paul's trails and wanted you to go with them to explore the place better and maybe stay for a picnic.

You immediately called John to go over the invitation but he already had plans in London with George and they were not free.

You quickly packed a bag with your swimsuits and some drinks and made your way over to meet your friends.

The trip was always more enjoyable when done with George and John, who always found a way to have fun or create new music on the road. Ringo would only go to the farm if he was dragged by you, since nature was not quite what he liked best.

Everytime you were with your friends it was a moment you felt more alive.

Once in the farm, you walked the trails with Paul and Linda. Marta was leading the way, watching over her owners and you had your hands safe between Paul's fingers.

You stopped by some wild blueberries and took the opportunity to rest in the shade. Paul and Linda used every possible moment to kiss. It was adorable and infuriating at the same time.

Finally they found the lake at the end of an isolated trail on the north of the farm, between abandoned vines and small cobwebs.

Paul jumped into the water as he was, with his shoes on, screaming out loud before hitting the lake. Linda held your hand tightly and you prepared to jump together.

The water was a cold, delicious contrast to the hot sun of the walk, and you let yourself float among the small waves that Paul's heels produced.

Eventually you were stuck on Paul's back while he played in the water. He really enjoyed himself. Just like a child on the beach.

"If John were here he would be doing the same" You thought.

Paul's skin was smooth and smelled of sweat, it was easy to feel safe there between the couple.

Linda took some pictures of the plants around the lake and of you "You look like a forest goddess here" She said positioning you among the trees.

You walked back to the house together, skins drying in the warm late afternoon sun and lulled by the gentle melody of the breeze on the grass.

Your skin was still warm from the sun when you slid into one of Paul's white shirts. She fell gently on your shoulders and highlighted your flushed cheeks. You didn't need anything but her, as Paul's clothes ended up getting too big on you.

It was good to be at the farmhouse. Everything was exactly as you remembered it. The frames on the bedroom wall still had the same fond memories and Paul's clothes reinforced the feeling of being at home.

Linda came through the door shortly after you closed the last buttons and took your hand, guiding you into the living room.

It was a tall room with windows running the length of one wall and wooden beams all over the roof. The view of the garden was green and you could see that Martha was taking a nap in the sun, not far from there.

You were talking excitedly about Linda's next photo shoot while she guided you to sit in the center of the rug, next to the sofa. Paul appeared shortly afterwards whistling a tune and bringing three bottles of beer.

He sat behind Linda, placing the girl between his legs on the floor and she reclined against his chest.

It was a very comfortable feeling to be there with them. The day was hot and the window let a cool breeze against your legs. Being there with your friends gave you the delicious feeling of belonging to something unique and wonderful.

You laughed and talked over the beers. Paul remained with Linda glued to him, planting small kisses and whispers against the girl's neck.

You had a hard time knowing which one you envied the most.

"Do you think you can go with me to choose the flowers?" Linda asked using her feet to poke your thigh.

You were so lost watching Paul that you didn't even hear her.

Something between the alcohol and the heat of the day made you wonder what it would be like to be there receiving his kisses.

It would be more like remembering, actually.

His beard passed smoothly against Linda's face and his smiles hid between the girl's blond hair.

"Y/N?"

The question made Paul look up at you too, waking you up from your daydream.

"Fuck, sorry" You nervously shook the beer in your hands before continuing to say "I think I drank enough for today. Did you say something, dear?"

The couple exchanged a look of amusement before Paul got up and walked over to the couch and you continued your lively conversation.

Linda has always been very close to you. You had no problem sleeping together or sharing your clothes. It was common for you to lie down and whisper about life with your hands together. You trusted her with all your heart and she trusted you.

Paul never saw a problem in this relationship, since he himself found this closeness in John.

You, Paul, Linda and John have shared a bed on more than one occasion. All pressed together, not quite sure which boy is wrapping his hands around your waist or whose heartbeat is against your face. It was a feeling of comfort that could sometimes get confused very quickly.

One night, when everyone was invited to a meeting at Paul's farm and Linda was away on a business trip, he was a little more affectionate than usual.

He spent the night glued to you, exchanging your touch only for John's.

Eventually when everyone left, the three of you slept together. Paul had his face planted against your neck, his hot body wrapped around you from behind and John was lying in front of you. Both slept in only a T-shirt and had their hands lost on your body.

When you told Linda about it, she said it was normal.

"I have been with them many times too" The cigarette smoke adorned her mouth as she laughed "They look like two needy boys every day. I'm sure when no one is looking they try to swallow each other."

Paul was lying in the couch with a beer in his hands, watching your conversation on the floor with Linda attentively.

"Why don't you two kiss at once?" Paul took a sip of beer without taking his eyes off you "Since we're here, y'know, it looks like fun."

You looked back at Paul, thinking that maybe he was offended by your full attention on Linda but he was looking at you with a kind expression.

Beside you, Linda gave a loud laugh when she heard her husband's words. Completely opposite to your reaction of astonishment.

"I think someone else has had too much to drink for today" She said, walking over to Paul and sitting on his lap.

"Oh c'mmon. You told me you wanted to," Paul said, slowly stroking Linda's legs "And now she's right there, y'know?"

"She's right here and listening to you, Paulie" You said with a nervous laugh.

Linda did not even seem to be ashamed of the situation. She just leaned against Paul's chest and started watching you.

You suddenly became too aware of the clothes you were wearing. The couple looked at you with an overwhelming gleam in their eyes and you felt that the beers were churning in your stomach.

"I just think that you two look cute together" He said looking at Linda's amused expression.

"And this is your theory of why I should kiss our best friend?" She asked "Basically" Paul said turning his lips over for another sip of beer.

"It's a pretty bad theory, Paulie" You said getting up from the floor and going to the window to light a cigarette "If it were like that you should have kissed John already".

"Oh I had him" He said with a smile "He's no good."

You and Linda shared a look of shock "We knew it" was what he transmitted.

"You cannot judge a man for trying" He concluded.

Paul and Linda began to merge on the couch, between kisses and heated hands. It was a good time to smoke your cigarette watching the sun sink over the horizon through the window.

You noticed a bright spot that moved around the entrance to the farm. It looked like a car.

"Hey" You said turning to the couple. Paul was already shirtless and had red lips "Are you two waiting for a visit?"

Paul stood up, saying low curses, to look out the window.

Someone waved frantically from the distant gate while another figure seemed to try to jump through it.

"What the f..." Paul said picking up his shirt and running out quickly.

After a few seconds of forcing the vision, you recognized the two figures.

"It's John!" You shouted running out with Paul.

John was slowly trying to climb the entrance gate while George hopped frantically with his arms up. Ringo was there, too, sitting sulky in the driver's seat.

Paul was already running and laughing, screaming at John to come down from the gate.

"We spent about twenty minutes trying to call your bloody phone but no one answered," George said. His eyes fell on you wearing a Paul shirt and the small signs of scratch on the boy's chest "Now it makes sense why."

John got off the gate and you threw yourself happy against him. He held you in his lap while you planted dozens of small kisses around his face.

"If I were welcomed here like that I would come more often too" Ringo shouted angrily maneuvering the car through the gate "I'll kiss you too, Rings" you shouted back.

"Oh yeah? Is it that easy to get a kiss from you around here?" John said jealously.

Paul, with his shirt still in his hands, reacted with a loud laugh "I wish it was, John, but Y/N went very selective with these kisses today."

You kept your face close to John, who carried you to the entrance of the house, talking excitedly about how George made him turn around immediately when he heard about Paul's plans.

"I'm so happy you came" You said when he finally put you on the floor.

Ringo appeared at your side and pulled you into a hug. He was the only one who seemed too tidy for the situation, wearing a purple silk shirt and leather shoes.

Linda received everyone at the door with Martha, who was already very excited about the visits.

After a brief meeting at the door and a few hugs distributed, John's voice grew louder.

"Alright guys, you already know where we're going" And everyone cheered wildly when he pulled a small transparent package full of joints out of his pocket.

Paul handed out a few bottles of beer among the group and Linda came in carrying some blankets.

George, who had one arm around Ringo's shoulders, held his guitar securely in his other hand.

Martha led the way as you all walked together to the glass-roofed room.

Certainly the beginning of a magical night.

#george harrison #ringo starr #paul mccartney #john lennon #martha #linda mccartney #the beatles #fanfic #imagine #fluff #the beatles fanfiction #fab four #f!reader #y/n #the beatles x reader #the beatles x y/n #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader