#SHINee ficlet

[natalievoncatte]

“We should play truth or dare.”

Kara nearly choked on her wine when she realized what Lena had said. That sounded like an amazingly terrible and yet incredibly intriguing idea. She turned to say something when she caught Alex giving her a look that could shatter diamonds. Kara downed the last of her wine and said,

“It’s getting pretty late, Lena.”

“You’re no fun,” Lena said, poking Kara in the center of her chest for emphasis.

Kara was glad she was sober. It wasn’t entirely true that she was immune to alcohol- it just took about a gallon of grain alcohol for her to feel a mild buzz for a few minutes, then have to run to the bathroom as her superhuman metabolism almost instantly forced it out of her system. Alex had “helped” her discover that once back in high school, and they both ended up grounded for a month.

“Come on, Kara. This way I can find out where you’re always running off to. In vino, veritas.”

Kara looked around and saw her own mirrored panic rising in the others. Kelly looked on from the kitchen, the only other member of their little group who was oblivious to the sheer weight of what Lena just said. Nia looked even more green than she had a moment earlier, and Alex was giving Kara a warning look, shaking her head behind Lena.

Brainy, for his part, remained mellow, sipping his grape soda. He was the designated driver for the night.

“Yeah, we need to go,” Nia threw in. “It’s been fun but I have an early day tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday,” Lena protested, but it came out shaturday.

“I have to get up for yoga,” said Nia.

“We’re all in the same class on Thursday,” said Lena.

“Um, I’m getting ready for the yoga championships. Extra classes.”

Lena raised an arched brow.

Alex cut in, suddenly. “Kelly babe, you ready?”

“If you are. I was going to see if Kara needs help with the dishes.”

“I’m fine,” Kara called out, hearing the alarm in her own voice.

“Lena, are you riding with us?”

“Nah,” said Lena. “I’ll stay.”

Alex cleared her throat.

“How will you get home? You’re sauced, Miss Luthor.”

Lena grinned and looked over at Kara. “I’ll just stay over. I do it all the time.”

Alex’s brows climbed up and she turned to Kara with an incredulous expression.

“When did that start?”

“It’s no big deal. I live on the other side of town and Kara has a nice couch.”

Alex seemed to relax a little. Kara’s heart was trying to slam through her ribs.

“Okay.”

They all bundled out of the apartment, with Alex promising to text and Brainy swearing to let Kara know they were all home safe.

Kara closed the door behind them and turned around. Lena was still curled up on the couch, swirling the last of her wine in the bottom of the glass. She was in leggings and a big, baggy sweater that had been pulled to one side so hard that it almost bared her shoulder. Her hair was down and had gone wavy, falling over one half of her face, making her mysterious and distant. She downed the last swig of wine and put the glass down.

“We could still play truth or dare.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “You’re really drunk.”

“So are you.”

Kara swallowed, hard, feeling the bitter bile of her lies at the back of her throat. She wasn’t drunk at all. She was barely even tired; the city had been miraculously calm all summer.

“Which is it, Kara? Truth or dare.”

“Neither,” said Kara. “I think what you need is some sleep.”

Lena rested her glass on the coffee table, in the middle of a game of Monopoly that they’d all been too drunk to finish.

(Except Kara. Lena would have won, because Kara always agreed to whatever trade Lena offered, because saying no to Lena was harder than lifting a submarine over her head)

Kara leaned back against the kitchen counter coolly, trying not to betray her emotions. That turned into a job for Supergirl as Lena rose from the sofa with seductive grace, stalking across the loft with feline intensity. She was at once cuddly and soft in her sweater and a seductive vamp with her long inky locks pulled over one shoulder and the other bare.

Kara’s eyes locked on the bared skin, soft and creamy and crying out for a warm touch, then pulled away sharply as she willed herself not to ogle her best friend. It was a losing battle. Every step brought Kara back to the sway of her hips or the way her leggings gripped her thighs or the soft promise of her curves beneath that sweater.

Kara was starting to think she might be gay.

Lena stepped into her space. With both of them barefoot, Kara had a notable height advantage. Lena reduced it by rising on her tiptoes and threw her arms around Kara’s neck.

Kara had few weaknesses. Kryptonite. Magic. If kept up long enough, oxygen deprivation.

Lena Luthor.

She was so close that Kara could taste her breath, the fruity tang of the wine and the soft, inviting scent of Lena beneath her perfume. She was wearing a soft pink lip gloss that drew Kara to stare at her lips. She could almost feel them without touching. Her blue-green eyes were dark and sultry, and she leaned in on Kara, pressing the soft weight of her breasts against her chest.

Kara’s pulse went like a hummingbird and her knees went wobbly, but she simply ignored gravity.

Kara had other advantages. She could see the heat bloom on her skin and feel the change in he skin conductivity, and hear her heart racing. Lena’s pulse nearly matched her own.

Before she knew what she was doing, Kara had her hands resting on Lena’s sides just above her hips, moving on pure instinct. All she’d have to do was dip her head a fraction and she’d be kissing her. She was so close.

“Please pick dare,” Lena whispered.

It too every fiber of her being not to say “dare,” but she held her tongue. She also held Lena.

“I can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not.”

“Hi drunk, I’m dad.”

“Lena! This is serious!”

“Oh, you’re serious. I thought you were daddy.”

“Lena!”

“I dare you to…”

Kara pressed her finger to Lena’s lips.

“Lena, please listen. You’re drunk. I’m not. If you still want to do… whatever this is… in the morning, I… I want that. But not like this.”

Lena frowned and Kara thought she might die of sheer sorrow right there.

“Okay. Should I go home?”

“No, absolutely not. Just… do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll explain in the morning. I promise I’ll,” she swallowed hard, choking down the fear. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay.”

Kara sighed and scooped Lena up, easily taking her weight in her arms. Lena yelped and hugged tight around her, clinging close and pressing cheek to cheek. Kara wanted to kiss her so bad that it ached in her chest, throbbed in her veins, but she didn’t. She carried her to the couch.

“Wait,” Lena said. “Can’t I sleep in the bed with you? I promise I won’t try anything.”

Kara nodded, mentally wincing. She carried Lena around to the bed and laid her down, drawing the blankets over her and settling her head on the pillow.

She had a choice to make her. The right thing to do, the honorable and chivalrous thing, would be to go sleep on the couch. She knew that, but the very idea of it was anathema to her.

To her credit, she stepped out of the bedroom to change and she put on pajama bottoms.

Kara took the far side of the bed, staring straight up. She didn’t expect to sleep a wink, but somehow she drifted off.

When she woke up, there was a weight on her. She looked down and found Lena pillowed on her chest. With a sigh, Kara rolled onto her side and drew Lena close, sheltering the other woman in her arms. In sleep she looked peaceful, so free of the worries and fears and anxieties that dogged her when she was awake.

Kara knew she should stop stroking Lena’s hair, knew she should let go of her, but the soft, hypnotic beat of Lena’s heart was nothing she could escape. She held Lena a little tighter, her own heart fluttering when Lena murmured her name on her sleep and hugged her back.

They woke up like that, Lena tucked in close under Kara’s chin. Lena was already awake when Kara woke up.

“Hi,” said Lena.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“Head hurts.”

“I’ll get you something,” Kara said, starting to rise.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Lena, tugging her back down. “You said you were going to tell me everything.”

Kara froze.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

“I remember the part where I tried to climb you like a tree and you bridal-carried me to bed and tucked me in,” said Lena. “And the part where you started hugging me like a teddy bear.”

“You started that.”

Lena snorted. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Like I said, you were drunk, and I can’t… not until I… you don’t know everything.”

Lena sighed, looking away, and then looked up.

“So, truth then. Are you Supergirl?”

Kara flinched back, momentarily struck numb. If she was asking that, it meant she knew the answer.

Lena stared at her hopefully, almost pleadingly, her big pretty eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She bit her lip and Kara melted, feeling herself turn to goo.

“Yes.”

Lena let out a long sigh of blessed relief, closing her eyes.

“Lena?”

“It’s my turn. I pick truth.”

“Okay, um,” said Kara, “why did you ask me why I didn’t kiss you?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “Because you’ve been staring at me like I’m a bowl of potstickers for years, and I was wondering if you were ever going to make a move.”

“Why would I look at you like you’re food?”

“I meant you were looking at me like I’m something you want to eat, Kara.”

“I’m not that kind of alien.”

Lena tensed, breathing sharply as she looked stunned and a little hurt.

“Wait,” Kara blurted, “oh Rao that was a joke, I didn’t mean I don’t want to… I really do want… I just , I’m… I don’t know what to say now.”

“I’m in love with you,” Lena sighed.

Kara froze. “You… you’re… with me… IIloveyoutoo.”

The mashed-together declaration had barely escaped her lips when Lena lunged closer and kissed her. From there it was pure chaos. Lena pulled and Kara followed, rapidly ending up on top of her as she shimmied out of last night’s outfit.

Kara pulled back from a soul-burning kiss as she felt the heat of Lena’s bare skin under her hands.

“Wait,” she said. “If I picked truth last night, what would you have asked?”

Lena smirked.

“Why do you stare at my chest all the time?”

Kara laughed, snorting a little.

“I’ll show you.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #love confessions #identity reveal #softcorp #drunk Lena #chivalrous Kara #Kara Danvers is a knight in shining armor #Kara respects consent #Lena has a naughty side #cuddlecorp

[stevebabey]

no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away. 

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

— 

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

#OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS MY FAVOURITE!!!! #idiots in love #they're so important to me ur honour #on god am i gonna make them KISS #but steve's gotta figure it out first lol #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #i think i can call it a fic now lol each part is 3k+ i think #steddie fic #IF U WANTED TO BE TAGGED AND I DIDNT IM SORRY #lest i come off terribly egotistical i need direct instructions to tag lmao #even then i tagged sum people that just said 'can't wait for part 2!' which? isn't? #I DUNNO #i went off vibes someone said they were vibrating so i was like get over here the next part is here #one of these tags is just a steddie blog i love.... and they reblogged part 1 #corrodedcoughin <3 i love u hehe #the stobin bestie love SHINES in this #i love them so much they are BEST FRIENDS!!! #if u have any ideas... i do love reading the tags and seeing what people want to see next ! im fuckin making it up as i go lol

[kallisto-k]

MetalSandwich Movie Mania

Free Horror/Creature Feature Movie Day: The Shining

Eddie loved horror movies. The way his blood would start pumping, the prickle on his skin as the hairs on his arms and neck would stand up - he really loved it. He hated jump scares though; found them too easy. The psychological horror movies were his favorite but it took a lot to build him up to a proper fright.

Which is why he couldn't believe that after he'd finally convinced Billy and Steve to watch 'The Shining' with him, he was the one curled up between the two with the blanket pulled up to his chin. Billy looked like he was about to fall asleep, his cheek resting on Eddie's shoulder and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers were wrapped lightly around Eddie's wrist beneath the blanket, a steadying hand whenever Eddie jumped or flinched, but otherwise Billy could've been watching a comedy for all his reactions.

Steve was a bit more tense, eyes trained on the TV like he was waiting for one of the ghosts to climb from the screen. Which probably wouldn't have been the weirdest or freakiest thing they've dealt with if Eddie was honest. But he was a solid line of tension against Eddie’s side. His hands were tight fists on his thighs, and as the music began building again, Eddie reached out to smooth his hand out and grab ahold of it too. 

Eddie gave Steve a little smile before the rising music and “Come and play with us Danny” dragged their attention back to the movie. The little boy was just staring at the girls at the end of the hallway. 

“Nope,” Eddie murmured. “Nope nope nope.”

There was something about kids in horror movies that always hit Eddie weirdly. Maybe because his little sheep and boyfriends had been through their own horror movie. But the kids didn’t even have to be the main focus of the movie's terrorization, a kid could wander through the background and Eddie was already coming up with ways that the villain might drag them into the story. And the flashes of the mutilated bodies in the hall as the girls talked definitely wasn’t helping soothe Eddie’s fears. Steve curled into Eddie’s side, the only indication the scene was getting to him. 

Billy just nuzzled closer with a tired little yawn that he tried to stifle. Asshole couldn't even be bothered to pretend to be scared while Eddie was pretty sure he and Steve would be jumping at every little noise for a couple days. No way in hell was Eddie going to be alone in Steve's big empty house again, nope, not on his life. They’d just have to deal with the fact he was going to be a limpet for the foreseeable future.

#MetalSandwichMovies23 #Metalsandwich #harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #fic #ficlet #The Shining

[hawkinsp0st]

mike pov for this scene just hit me like a freight train

mike inhales sharply as he looks on. the hill at the edge of the woods by hop’s cabin is being consumed by death. he wants to say the flowers have been burnt, but the look on el’s face as she plucks dead ones from the charred grass tells mike that something far worse than fire has been here. black clouds billow over hawkins. he wonders if it’s like the black smoke of the mind flayer—One—that had possessed will. there’s a short, sharp pain in his chest.

he remembers the flowers he picked for el right around here. he had been so nervous about getting the colors right. el grips a dead flower and his ring is around her index finger and he swallows. he stares at her but she doesn’t feel like the same girl. doesn’t feel like his el. it feels so stupid to think about this now. a quiet part of his mind supplies that he could talk about that feeling with will, and will would understand.

he trips over his shoes a little bit and his knuckles brush against will’s. his arm tingles and he feels warm. earlier this week, mike would’ve forced his brain to go blank in that moment, tamping down that yet-unnamed feeling he gets when they touch, and it’s because i missed him and he’s my best friend, and besides he loves el, i love el—

but he watches the blood red lightning strike over town hall, and he can still feel the fear in will’s eyes when they sat in the cabin moments ago, and it dawns on mike that he’s made a promise to will: to kill One.

something lights mike on fire from the inside, something he knows he’s felt before—a desire to protect. to follow through on his word. to put himself in harm’s way before he lets anything happen to—

everyone, he thinks. i want to protect everyone.

he tells himself it’s everyone that he’s worried about but the clouds light up crimson and he’s seen that color before and in a moment of brutal clarity he can picture will in his room in california, concentrating, paintbrush delicately swiping over the red heart on mike’s shield, and it takes everything in him not to pull will’s hand into his own. to throw will behind him. to kill anything that tries to touch will ever again.

#byler #idk #some mike pov to feed y’all on this saturday night #my brain is pure mike pov all the time #there’s more coming #i just needed to get this out bc i know that boy wanted to hold will so bad as soon as he saw that everyone was in danger #byler fanfic #byler ficlet #vibe: sarah cothran’s cover of as the world caves in. ‘oh boy it’s you…’ #and yes ofc will can protect himself he’s a bamf #but let mike feel like a knight in shining armor ok <3 #duffers

[thelastspeecher]

Part 1

Like promised, here's the second part to the Shining Armor AU thing I posted yesterday. Left y'all on a cliffhanger a bit, but don't worry, it gets resolved. Using a plot point I haven't mentioned yet on here...

Happy 2023!

——————————————————————————————

              Mr. McGucket leaned back in his chair.  He and his wife had been silent for the most part during the story, but as Stan and Angie explained how they just wanted to be together, Mrs. McGucket began to shift in her seat.

              “…and that’s it,” Angie finished.

              “Sally, I think you know what we need,” Mr. McGucket said softly.  Mrs. McGucket nodded and stood.  She left the kitchen.  Mr. McGucket raised an eyebrow at Stan and Angie.  “The two of ya have been married fer over a year now.  Why the sudden rush to want yer relationship to become recognized by the king?”

              “Well, I got betrothed to a noblewoman-” Stan started.

              “Don’t insult me, please, son.  Even here in Gumption, we heard ‘bout how Prince Stanley’s engagement to Lady Carla was broke off fer undisclosed reasons.”  Mr. McGucket clasped his hands politely.  “I’m just curious as to whether a certain kind of congratulations are in order.”  Angie smiled weakly.

              “They might be,” she said softly.  Mr. McGucket beamed.

              “I’m awful glad to hear that.  And don’t worry, Junebug, yer ma ‘n pa have it handled.”

              “How?” Stan asked.  As if on cue, Mrs. McGucket returned, holding a small box.  She sat it on the table.  Stan leaned in to inspect it.  The box was made of wood and intricately carved.  Some of the symbols along the sides of the box looked familiar to Stan, though he couldn’t put his finger on where they came from.  Mrs. McGucket opened the box and removed what was inside: a golden tiara with glittering sapphires the same color as her eyes.

              Stan’s jaw dropped.

              “Ma, why’d ya get yer crown?” Angie asked, perplexed.  “I remember that from when I was small.  It’s just a dress-up thing.”

              “No, it’s not,” Stan croaked.  Mrs. McGucket placed the tiara on the table.  Stan continued to stare at it, taking in the fine detailing of flowers and birds.  He had never been very skilled at history, but this tiara was tied to one of the few things that he had found interesting from his tutor.  “It’s the crown of the missing princess of Lirone.”

              “What?”

              “I learned about this in my history lessons.  Decades ago, the crown princess of Lirone vanished, presumed dead.  She had been behaving a bit oddly before then, but no one could tie that behavior to her going missing.  She went into the forest and never returned.  When she went missing, she was wearing her crown, which had sapphires, birds, and flowers.”  Stan waved a hand.  “Something about symbolizing water, animals, and plants.  That was when my lesson started getting boring again, so I stopped paying attention.”  Stan frowned at Mrs. McGucket.  “How come you have it?”

              “Well, it is mine,” Mrs. McGucket said softly.  Stan blinked.  “Do you recall the name of the missing princess?”

              “Sally,” Stan replied.  Mrs. McGucket nodded regally.  “No way.  There’s no way you’re the missing princess!”

              “Sally and I met one day when she snuck out to walk amongst the commonfolk,” Mr. McGucket said.  He smiled, his eyes misty with memory.  “I thought she was the prettiest person I ever did see.  And fer some reason, she was interested in speakin’ with this poor peasant boy.  We managed to continue to see each other and we fell in love.”

              “That was the odd behavior you learned about in your history lessons,” Mrs. McGucket said.  “I had to get creative to find ways to meet up with Mearl.”  At some point, her thick accent similar to her husband and daughter’s had disappeared.  Now, every word she said was crisp and carefully pronounced.

              Just like Ford.  No.  Just like a royal heir.

              “But I knew that this would not last forever,” Mrs. McGucket continued.  “So I decided to fake my death to be with the one I loved.”

              “That’s what I suggested!” Stan burst out.  Angie gently placed a hand over his.

              “Darlin’, please, quiet down,” she said softly.

              “Did it allow me to live my life in peace with my true love?” Mrs. McGucket said to Stan.  “Yes.  But was it the right move?  Honestly, I don’t know.  I feel like there may have been a way for me to stay with Mearl but also not make my friends and family grieve my apparent death.  And I know for certain that I can resolve the problem you two face without Stan faking his death.”

              “Does it have something to do with Angie apparently having royal blood?” Stan asked.  Mrs. McGucket smiled.

              “It might.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.  My husband and I will accompany you back to the castle, but I’ll need to prepare for the journey.  Mearl, please show the happy couple where they will be staying, maybe give them some pocket money to go to the shops.”

              “Of course, dear,” Mr. McGucket said, kissing Mrs. McGucket on the cheek.  Mrs. McGucket placed the crown back in its box and left.  Mr. McGucket stood.  “Come with me.”  Stan and Angie stood as well.  They followed Mr. McGucket through the house, to a small but well-kept guest room.  “You two can stay here.  If you were only betrothed or courtin’, o’ course, ya wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the same room.  But since yer married with a lil one on the way…”

              “Pa, please, not too loud.  I can’t let anyone know ‘bout, y’know.  Not yet,” Angie said nervously.  Mr. McGucket kissed her forehead.

              “Sorry, honey.  As I was sayin’, since yer wed, you can sleep in the same bed.  I’ll be back in a mo’ with some pocket money like yer ma suggested.”

              “We have our own coin,” Angie said.  “Stan’s a prince.”

              “Not in this house, he ain’t.  He’s just my son-in-law.”  Mr. McGucket looked Stan in the eyes.  “My son-in-law who should’ve asked fer my blessin’ ‘fore marryin’ my daughter.”

              “Pa!”

              “But I’ll let it slide this time, due to circumstances.”  Mr. McGucket exited the room.  Stan sat down on the guest bed.

              “So, that went way better than I expected,” he said.

              “Better than I could have dreamed,” Angie said.  She shook her head.  “I just can’t believe that the crown m’ sister ‘n I used to play with was actually part of the royal jewels of a neighborin’ kingdom.”

              “I can,” Stan said.  Angie raised an eyebrow at him.  “I mean, you’ve always been pretty as a princess.”  Angie smiled.  She walked over to Stan and kissed him.

              “Even when I was a knight, killin’ people and sweatin’ in my armor?” she asked.  Stan snorted.

              “You kidding?  Especially then.”

-----

              Stan bowed before the thrones of the king and queen.  Angie knelt on the ground beside him, shaking.

              “I’ve never been so offended,” rumbled King Filbrick.  “My finest knight, a woman?  And my own son didn’t just know, he was complicit in continuing the deception!”

              “Father-” tried Ford, who was standing at Filbrick’s side.

              “Silence.”

              “Yes, sir,” Ford mumbled.

              “Then, to make matters worse, my son broke off an important engagement to a noblewoman so that he could pursue his knight!  And marry her!” Filbrick continued.  Angie’s shaking worsened.  All Stan wanted to do was embrace her, but he knew that if he moved to comfort her, it would only enrage his father more.

              Where the hell are Angie’s parents?!  Though they had traveled back to the castle together, Mr. and Mrs. McGucket parted ways with Stan and Angie to complete preparations for the plan they still hadn’t fully clued Stan and Angie in on.

              “Count yourself lucky you are my only spare heir, Stanley,” Filbrick said.  “Otherwise, you would be banished.”

              “And what of the knight?” asked Queen Caryn.

              “Beheaded, obviously,” Filbrick said, sounding almost bored.  Angie collapsed.  Bile rose in Stan’s throat.

              Dammit!  He and Angie had discussed their backup plan, should Angie’s parents be late.  They had hoped to avoid using it, but there was no choice now.  I have to do something before they drag Angie off in chains.  Already, Stan could see movement from guards in his peripheral vision.  He straightened and looked Filbrick in the eyes.

              “Father, you can’t!” he cried out.  Filbrick clenched the arms of his throne.

              “And why not?” he growled.

              “Because Angie carries within her the one third in line for the crown,” Stan said.  Gasps sounded around the royal court.  Even Ford’s eyes widened in shock.  Filbrick’s face paled, then reddened.  He stood.

              “A peasant woman is pregnant with my grandchild?” he asked dangerously.  Before Stan could say anything, the large doors opened.  Stan turned.  Mrs. McGucket strode across the room.  Her tiara sparkled on her carefully coiffed hair.  She wore her finest dress, which, being the wife of a farmer, was not fine at all.  But with her demeanor, she elevated it, to the extent that she didn’t seem commonfolk.  She looked the royal she truly was.  Stan bowed to her as she passed.

              “Banjolina Quinn McGucket is no peasant,” Mrs. McGucket said as she stood before the king, queen, and crown prince.  “For she is mine, and I am-”

              “Sally!” Caryn sobbed. 

              “Caryn?” Mrs. McGucket asked, blindsided.  Caryn jumped up from her throne and rushed to Mrs. McGucket, embracing her tightly.

              “I thought you dead!”

              “I know, and I am sorry,” Mrs. McGucket said softly.  “It was the only way I could think of to be with the one I loved.”  She gestured at the back of the room, where Mr. McGucket stood.  Mr. McGucket bowed, but didn’t approach.  “You should thank my daughter, as she was the one who insisted your son not do the same as I did.”

              “What?” Caryn whispered.  She turned to Stan.  “Stanley, you planned to fake your death to be with your knight?”  Stan nodded.  Caryn covered her mouth.

              “Caryn, what is this all about?” Filbrick demanded.  While his parents were distracted, Stan helped Angie to her feet.  Caryn looked at her husband.

              “Filbrick, I would know this woman anywhere.  We were the closest of friends in our youth.  She is Sally of the House of Turner, the missing Crown Princess of Lirone.”  Mrs. McGucket curtsied elegantly.

              “I bring the crown I wore the day I disappeared myself as proof.”  She smiled at Caryn.  “Though I see now it was not necessary.”

              “Lady Knight!” Filbrick barked.  Angie snapped to attention.  “You are this woman’s child?”

              “Yes, Your Majesty,” Angie replied, bowing.  “Her youngest.”

              “Then you are no peasant.”

              “No, Your Majesty.”

              “…I see.”  Filbrick sat back down on his throne.  “You are to be relieved of your duties as knight.”  Angie bowed her head.  “As a gesture of goodwill, however, I will not strip you of your knighthood.”  Angie’s head shot up in shock.  “We have been on poor terms with Lirone for decades.  If this union will allow us to finally set up trade routes with our neighbor to the south, I will gladly do all I can to speed it forward.”

              “We’re married,” Stan pointed out.  “The union’s happened already.”

              “Have you no sense of propriety, son?” Filbrick asked.  “While the secret marriage will allow your child to be born in wedlock, it will not suffice in the slightest for a royal affair.  We must begin arrangements and send word to Lirone immediately.”

              “What of Angie’s twin brother?” Ford asked.  Filbrick looked at him like he’d forgotten Ford was there.  “Is Sir Lute to be removed of his duties as knight, now that he is a prince?”

              “He may continue to be a knight here if he wishes and the Lironian royal court allows it,” Filbrick said dismissively.  He stood.  “Caryn, come with me.”  Caryn gave Mrs. McGucket one last hug before joining the king.  “Stanford, Stanley, tend to our guests’ lodgings.  And speak with our head of staff as to new accommodations for Stanley and his wife.  Their current rooms are insufficient for a wed prince and princess.”

              “Yes, sir,” Ford and Stan said, bowing.  Filbrick and Caryn left the room.  Ford, Lute, and the McGucket parents joined Stan and Angie.

              “When were ya plannin’ on tellin’ us we were royal?” Lute asked his parents.

              “Honestly, never,” Mrs. McGucket said.  “We worried it would only complicate matters.  But I suppose we found the one situation in which it solved more problems than it caused.”

              “Yes, indeed,” Ford said.  He took off his glasses, polished them with his shirt, and then put them back on.  “Stan, Angie, how long have you known about the child?”

              “A few months,” Angie mumbled.

              “And ya didn’t think to tell us?” Lute yelped.  Ford put a hand on his knight’s shoulder.

              “Lute, I’d imagine they opted to stay quiet until they knew they would keep the child,” he said solemnly.  Angie and Stan nodded.  Lute paled.

              “Oh.  I see.”  Lute cleared his throat.  “Well.  The king was correct.  My parents will need someplace to stay.  Should I take ‘em to the red guest suite?”

              “I believe that will suit them, yes,” Ford said.  “Meanwhile, I will take the happily wedded couple to speak with the head of staff so they may finally live together as husband and wife.”  Stan intertwined his fingers with Angie’s.

              “And it’s about damn time,” he rumbled.  Angie leaned her head against his shoulder.

              “Agreed.”

#and that's what I've got written for the AU thus far! #lmk what y'all think! esp of the couple of plot points I threw in that I hadn't mentioned yet #Shining Armor AU #Stangie #McGucket Family #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Pa McGucket #Ma McGucket #Stanford Pines #Lute McGucket #Ma Pines #Filbrick Pines #(hot DAMN there be some characters in this jlknsdjknafsdf) #Gravity Falls #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

[qinxiaoenthusiast]

A mini crack-fic I never finished:

He likes her soap, because it smells like her. Is that weird? He doesn't think it's that weird. And honestly, it's her fault for smelling so good, who could blame him? Anyone would want to smell her, to smell like her!

And so he accidentally snorts her shampoo, gagging at the taste (smell?) of soap on his tongue. He fights his inner instinct, refusing to scream and puke and whatever else people do when they taste the very amalgamation of hell.

Of course, as if Moon Goddess Qingyue wasn't satisfied enough by his suffering, the door creaks open. He's barely able to collect himself before Yexiao pulls the fucking shower curtain open.

"Qin Yi, we —stop screaming it's just me— we need vanilla extract, so I'm making a trip to the market."

Qin Yi blinks back tears, debating on going full fetal position out of utter embarrassment. Still, he manages to nod shakily and snatch back the curtain before she can ogle him further.

"It's my shower, and I've already seen everything there is to see." he just knows she's putting her hands on her hips right now, "Do you really think I'd get the hots for some mortal when I already have—"

He himself slams the curtain back open, forgetting that the water was still jetting at his body. Physics demands that the water bounce off of his body, and that it does. Right onto Yexiao.

By the time he turns off the faucet, she's already drenched, face absolutely blank. It's like she's staring out into space, unable to compute the events that just happened. He waves a hand in front of her face, afraid he's broken her.

and scene. yes I used a prompt generator. stfu. I still have writers block 💀💀💀💀

#shining nikki #yexiao #qin yi #sn yexiao #qin yi/yexiao #qinxiao #sn qin yi #my ships #that should be me #why him #im so gay #kiss me pls #fanfic #ficlet #minific #crack fic #stupid #short ficlet #qin yi is my self insert #this is my last fucking straw #pls read #i have major writers block #ending it all #i want to be him #shower fic #idk if it counts

[ta3mint]

A = angst, F = fluff, S = smut, T = teen/suggestive content 

Disclaimer: I do not claim to know anything about the personal lives of the following groups. My works are purely fiction. 

SHINee

nothing yet...

BTS

nothing yet... 

Monsta X

nothing yet...

Seventeen

DK

Golden Hour (A/F)

Stray Kids

Lee Know

Dummy (F/slight T)

Unbearable (S) / Unbearable: Epilogue 

Experiment (F)

Promises (A/F/T) 

#masterlist #fic #fics #ficlet #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #smut #fluff #angst #imagine #scenarios #moodboard #kpop #k-pop #shinee #bts #monsta x #seventeen #svt #stray kids #skz #request #requests #ask #mtl #ltm #headcanons #one shot

[wondercatjjong]

Synthesia

Jinki is an artist who has a neurological condition called Synthesia, which means he can see colours in sounds. Jonghyun happens to be a famous musician in the country, whom Jinki is a fan of. An accident partially blinds the artist, and he knows that he will soon lose his sight completely. The only thing that comforts him is Jonghyun’s voice, but how would he react when finding out the cause of the accident?

Thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t work on commissions, Jinki turned up the volume of the rock song he was listening to as he worked on his easel. Today, he was working with oil paints and trying to put what he could see out there so that others could look into his mind. Though it was weird to people that he could ‘see’ music, it was a great advantage to an artist since it gave them a lot more perspectives to work on. When one lifted a piece of glass into the light, they would be dazzled by the rainbow that was formed. When this phenomenon happened after the rain, one could be able to differentiate each of the seven colours that created the rainbow. Similarly, Jinki was able to visualise different colours when it came to music. If the song was metal, he could see black and silver, almost like flashes of lightning. The current song had a mixture of black and maroon, with a tiny bit of white. Concentrating, he tried to replicate the swirls that he could see onto the canvas. After about two hours, he took a step back and looked at the painting. Though it wasn’t exactly how he had envisioned it, Jinki was pretty happy. At the centre of the canvas was the blob of white, which morphed into red with black lines across it. Using a tiny bit of yellow ochre to highlight the white blob, Jinki smiled to himself. His preferred style had always been abstract since that allowed him to be as creative as he wanted to.

Lately, there was a singer he really liked. Kim Jonghyun had a voice that was as smooth as honey. There was something different about him, as Jinki could see that each song of his was different from the previous one. He had recently released a new album called Base where the songs happened to be indescribably beautiful. The first time he heard the song called Monodrama, Jinki had tears in his eyes. The song was so sad but still vibrant in the chorus. It was light blue mixed with midnight blue with flashes of yellow. He had once attended Jonghyun’s concert and had been enthralled by everything he heard and saw. After a while, it had started to become extremely overwhelming. The screams and cheers of the other concert-goers were messing with his brain, causing him to lose consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he was still at the venue, which had become empty. Though it shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did, Jinki felt a little sad that no one had bothered. After all, who was he? No one special or important. From then on, he preferred to listen to Jonghyun’s songs from the safety of his home. He saw online that Jonghyun’s birthday was coming up, should he paint something for him? It had been years since he had made a portrait, but he had a fantastic idea. A picture of Jonghyun, with all the colours he could see from his favourite songs. A medley of colours, if he could call it that. It would be his masterpiece, and Jinki was prepared to spend all of his time to make it as close to perfect as he could. Using his favourite picture of Jonghyun as the anchor, he began to draw, starting with the eyes. In the photograph, Jonghyun was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt under a crocheted vest and had a wreath of leaves on his head. In Jinki’s opinion, that was the best one to paint since white happened to be the root of all colours. White light shone into a prism brought out all the colours so he could really do justice to this. Each stroke of his pencil was a labour of love since he didn’t want to have to erase even a single line. Someone with such a perfect voice deserved perfection in everything else. There was no room for mistakes of any sort. Even if it took a month, he was going to get it perfect. To onlookers, Jinki may as well be counted as a crazy fan or a stalker, judging by the number of times he had tried to see Jonghyun. Truthfully, he just wanted to hear his spoken voice ones, to find out if it projected the same sort of colours as when he sang. Needless to say, he never got the chance to meet the idol face to face, no matter how much he had tried. It seemed as though fate was against them meeting before the portrait was ready. While working on the painting, Jinki only played Jonghyun’s songs and filled with the soothing shades of blue and green that he associated with him. Choosing to use the brighter shades on his hair since this wasn’t an entirely abstract painting, Jinki spent the better part of a week completing it. Anyone would have saved the original and given a print to the idol, but Jinki wanted him to have his masterpiece. 

Packing it with brown paper, he looked online to see if there were any fan meets coming up, but there was nothing for another few months. With no other choice, Jinki decided to walk to the agency to drop it off. If he was lucky, he could even give it to the idol himself. There was some talk about Jonghyun hosting a radio show, and that would be amazing if it were true. At the very least, he wouldn’t get a restraining order from his lawyer. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the glass door of the agency, which seemed incredibly cold. A smile formed across his face when he heard Jonghyun’s distinct voice from one of the rooms. Could he find some excuse that would help him stay at the agency until the singer finished recording? Judging by the expression on the receptionist’s face, there was no way he could wait there even a minute longer than necessary.

“Could you please give this to Kim Jonghyun?”, he asked with a crestfallen expression on his face.

“You can’t leave anything here. Take your crap with you”, the woman said rudely. There was nothing else he could do, except take his gift back with him and figure out another way to get it to the famous idol. Kicking a pebble that was in his way, Jinki tried to stay positive about his chances which honestly seemed extremely slim. To top things off, he heard the sound of the rumbling thunder from afar which meant Jinki needed to hurry up if he wanted to save Jonghyun’s portrait from getting ruined. Deciding to run across the road since it was faster, he held on to the product of all his hard work and started to pick up the pace. He was almost there when he noticed a pair of headlights travelling rapidly towards him. What happened next, felt like it was a dream. He heard a loud crash but it took a few minutes for him to feel excruciating pain before he collapsed right in the middle of the street.

*************************************************

Jonghyun had finished recording his new song and spent some time listening to the recording, clicking his tongue since he wasn’t happy with it. His throat had become sore after the numerous times he had recorded, and so he drank the glass of hot water with honey placed in front of him. The warm liquid indeed served to soothe him, but he had enough of his mistakes for the day.

“I’ll redo it in two days”, he said to the technical crew and stopped by the section of the art directors who were putting up the final touches on the music video. His head was starting to hurt, especially since he was a perfectionist so he first needed something to get him into a calm state. Opening the wooden cabinet beside his desk, Jonghyun pulled out three bottles of soju and started to drink. There was honestly something about the very sight of the green bottles that made him feel comforted. Who cared that he was too busy to go hang out with his friends? Alcohol had always been his best friend. The drink was slightly sweet, which wasn’t something he truly wanted at that time. However, he didn’t have much of a choice and couldn’t request any of the staff to bring him some more potent alcohol. After all, he had his idol image to think of. Locking the door of his cabin, he started to drink and didn’t stop till he finished all three of the bottles in front of him. He wasn’t exactly in a condition to drive back to his apartment, but there wasn’t much more that he wanted to do. Splashing some cold water onto his face, Jonghyun saw that his reflection in the mirror was no longer blurred. Since that meant he was on the way to being sober, he picked up his keys and walked to the parking lot. Luckily for him, it was pretty late so the roads were pretty empty. Not caring about the flashes of the cameras on the street, Jonghyun started driving fast so he’d reach his apartment as soon as possible. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he failed to see that someone was trying to cross the road. It was too late to hit the breaks and Jonghyun ended up hitting the person who fell to the ground. Filled with shock and trepidation, he stepped out of the car and tried to check if the person was alive. Judging by the low moans, the victim was alive but there was a lot of red blood that pooled around his head. For God’s sake, he was a famous idol. His whole career would be ruined if he got caught by the police. Noticing some kind of parcel in the man’s hand, Jonghyun took it and placed it at the backseat of his car before driving away. He would be able to get the details using the package and could just pay the hospital for the man’s bills anonymously. It had to be his lucky day that there weren’t any security cameras where they were so there was no way he’d be found out. Getting to the basement of his apartment, Jonghyun spent some time checking his car for any scratches. Luckily, there was nothing. Not even blood.

*************************************************

Jinki had no idea where he was, and struggled to open his eyes, only to find bright lights that caused his head to hurt.

“Where am I?”, he asked faintly, trying to raise his hand. The last thing he could remember was trying to cross the road before it could rain. Everything hurt. The funny thing was that it even hurt to breathe. 

“Do you know your name? You were in an accident and a pedestrian called the ambulance last night”

“I’m Lee Jinki. My head hurts”, he said before drifting back out of consciousness. He could hear some people speaking indistinctly but was able to catch a few words of the conversation. “Internal bleeding…..damage to the optical nerve…”.

He couldn’t understand what was happening to him, but the next time he woke up, everything was sort of blurred. 

“What’s wrong with me? Why am I here?”, he asked frantically, grabbing the hand of the person next to him.

“Well, I’m the doctor at the ER and I treated your major injury when you were brought in. Your head has been stitched up, but you’re still at the ICU. I think there are a few things we’d need to talk about when you start to get better.”

This was the hardest part of being a doctor. How could she tell this man that the accident had compromised his vision? It had been a hit and run and no one had seen who the driver was. Some people could be truly horrible, she thought. If Jinki had been brought in about half an hour earlier, the doctors could have saved his eyes. The patient had been left to bleed on the street and if someone hadn’t seen him, there was a very high possibility that she wouldn’t be talking to him.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr Lee. What do you do?”, she asked conversationally, hoping to divert his mind from the self pity he was currently feeling. That was her style of treatment, she’d get to know her patients and have them open up about any other issues they had. 

“I’m an artist.”

How could she tell him that life as he knew it was going to change drastically?

“I’m so sorry, Mr Lee. I prefer being honest with you and not giving you false hope. The accident was bad and you hit your head on a brick. A majority of your internal organs were unharmed, but your optical nerves have been damaged due to the pressure on your brain. How is your vision today?”

“Blurry”

Jinki felt absolutely devastated when he heard that his eyes were damaged. It clearly meant that he would never be able to paint again. Sniffling, he felt two fat tears run along his cheeks, but he wasn’t able to move his hand. Why did he even get saved? There was no point in anyone bringing him to the hospital. Fate was working in a bizarre way in his life. The last painting, his masterpiece, had caused him to lose his eyes. It felt poetic and seemed to be his way of going off with a bang. The doctor had explained to him that there were slim chances of him getting his full eyesight back, but the blurriness would fade soon. After that, he would have good and bad days until he became completely blind. Stretching his hand to try and touch the orderly who had put some drops into his eyes, Jinki called out to him.

“My painting...where’s my painting?”

“I’m sorry Mr Lee, there was nothing near you when you were taken into the ambulance. Only your wallet and phone.”

This time, he didn’t even bother trying to control himself and felt his shoulder begin shaking as he covered his face and sobbed. Just a day ago, he had been filled with hope and happiness. Now everything that had made him happy had been taken from him. There was nothing he loved more than art, and he felt extremely hopeless.

*************************************************

Jonghyun watched the news and read the papers to see if anyone had mentioned the accident, but there was nothing. Guessing that the guy must be totally fine, the singer threw the incident out his mind and went on with his normal life. His throat felt a lot better and he was able to record the song perfectly. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the man. Didn’t he pick up the guy’s parcel? Honestly, Jonghyun couldn’t remember everything that had happened, since he had gotten drunk when he reached the apartment. When he got into his car, he glanced at the back seat but there was nothing. Had he dreamed the whole thing? He checked his tyres and the surface of the car again, and it truly did seem that the accident had been a figment of his imagination. 

A week had passed since then and Jonghyun was finding it very hard to sleep. His usually dormant conscience had been filling his mind with thoughts that made him feel incredibly guilty. Thinking back about the events of what happened, Jonghyun remembered that he had been drinking. Still, he had a vivid memory of placing something in the car. Jumping out of his bed at 4 am, he decided to check for the last time. Opening the back door, he kneeled onto the seat to check the boot before placing his hands in the gap between the seats. When his hand touched something flat, Jonghyun pulled it out to reveal the item from his memory. If he hadn’t imagined the parcel, there was a very high possibility that he had indeed, caused an accident. Feeling as though he had been punched in the gut, Jonghyun used his sleeve to wipe away the beads of sweat from his forehead. Placing the parcel on his table, he was shocked when he saw his name and the company address. With trembling fingers, he opened the brown paper package and gasped at what he saw. It was a portrait of him, done using different colours which happened to be so much more beautiful than anything he had seen. He felt like crying when he saw that the painting had been a labour of love. What had he done? The small ‘J’ in the corner of the canvas was his undoing. Burying his face in his hands, he began to cry as he’d never cried before. He needed to find the person and apologise, but what could he say? Driving to the scene of the accident, he started enquiring if anyone had seen it. One person let him know which hospital the man had been admitted to, and he drove there instantly. He didn’t even know the man’s man and couldn’t ask about him. Instead, he pretended as though he was there for a normal checkup and heard the nurses talking, by sheer luck. There were discussing the plight of an artist named Jinki who had been the victim of a hit and run recently. Unable to stop himself, Jonghyun approached them on the pretence of signing autographs.

“Since I’m already here, would you like me to meet any of the patients?” 

It was no secret that celebrities sometimes visited nursing homes or hospitals and spent time with the patients there.

“Mr Kim, if you can spare the time, there’s a patient who happens to be a fan of yours. He’s in room 143 and is allowed visitors”

“I’ll go there now, would you accompany me?”

Jonghyun wasn’t prepared for what he saw. A devastatingly handsome man lay on the hospital bed with an IV tube in his arm and bandages over his eyes.

“Jinki, you’ll never guess who has come to see you. I’ll give you a hint. It’s someone you admire”

“Nurse Kim, I’m so tired. The doctor made me exercise enough today and I don’t want to see him again. I’ve stared at those alphabet charts so much and it hasn’t made any difference. I’m never going to be able to see you, so you’d be stuck taking care of me forever”

Amazed at the way the patient, Jinki, was smiling while saying something so upsetting, Jonghyun didn’t think he was worth even being in the same room as him. 

“Don’t be so melodramatic. It isn’t the doctor, and you can still see my beautiful face. It’s just a matter of time before you get back home”, said the nurse with a chuckle before whispering, “I haven’t seen anyone with such a sunny smile in all my years at this hospital. Go ahead, speak to him”

Sitting at the side of the bed, Jonghyun took the hand that didn’t have an IV in it.

“Hi, Jinki. My name is Jonghyun. The nurses were saying that you’re a fan of mine? I’m glad to meet you”

It felt horrible having to lie like this, but he couldn’t be honest. Not with the nurse still in the room. His heart lurched when Jinki squeezed his hand.

“Is it really you? I love your voice so much. Even now, your songs are the only things that comfort me. I’m glad the accident didn’t take away my hearing. Would you please sing something for me?” He wasn’t such a heartless monster to deny that request and wiped the tears on his face before clearing his throat.

“I’m always in my room alone, Imagining that we are in love I confess then we break up, The reason it’s a sad monodrama The monodrama of being in love alone, The encounter, the love, the goodbye The reason I am in despair”   “That’s my favourite song of yours; I’m really glad to hear it live. Thank you so much”   “It’s my pleasure”, Jonghyun managed to say, before leaving the room. If he stayed here any longer, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he started crying. To him, it had seemed like a small accident, but this man had lost his eyes and no amount of money in the world would turn back time.    “What happened to him?”, he asked the nurse who had followed him outside.    “It’s pretty sad, honestly. He hit his head after a hit and run and wasn’t brought here in time. There was a lot of pressure in his brain that affected his optic nerve and there isn’t much that we can do about that. He’s going to lose his eyesight completely. All I can hope is that it takes time”   “Can anything be done? Some kind of surgery?”   “A corneal transplant can, but he said he couldn’t afford it. Anyway, it will take a lot of time for Jinki to be ready for such a major surgery”   The least he could do was pay for this surgery since he was too scared to tell Jinki the truth. How bad would it be if he never told him the truth and stayed by his side? 

 *************************************************

 Jinki cried for an hour after Jonghyun had left. He had gone the thing he had always wished for, but he couldn’t even see his idol or even ask for an autograph. If only things had been different, he could’ve seen the expression on his face when he gave him the portrait. Now, he couldn’t even make another one. Had he done something wrong? What had he done to deserve this?    After a few weeks of non-stop drops and medication, it felt like his eyes were split in half horizontally and he could see above that line. It was better than having blurred vision, but he was determined not to give up hope just like that. He would still paint for as long as he could see. He could just redo the portrait anyway since he remembered the colours he had used. It had felt like a fantastic idea at the time, but Jinki was annoyed beyond belief since he could only see the top half of his canvas. Tilting his head downwards didn’t make any difference, and he didn’t want to risk breaking the canvas by placing it higher. Jonghyun’s voice did sound better live than when it was recorded. When the man spoke, Jinki could detect warm colours like orange and red, but he had also sensed some hesitation. Guessing that Nurse Kim must have dragged the singer to meet him, it wasn’t hard to realise why the singer may have felt weird. The doctors and nurses were doing their best with him and trying to keep him in the best of spirits, but it didn’t always work. He tried his best to smile and joke with them, but at the end of the day, he had to face reality. Though he never had a bucket list, it was probably time to make one now. He needed to make a list of places he wanted to visit, and things that he wanted to do before that fateful day came.    The head nurse had waited outside the room, just observing her favourite patient. She saw that Jinki always had a joke or a kind word for the staff, but she also noticed how sad his face had become, once he was alone. Each time she prayed, she included a line for Jinki, hoping that his body would be strong enough not to reject the donated corneas. The man needed another chance to show the world what he could do. It broke her heart to watch him struggle with the paints that he loved, and finally, end up tearing the sheet or throwing away his brush. He seemed to be all alone in the world, with no visitors since the day of his accident. She’d chuckled when he called her a mother hen and informed her that her voice exhibited pink hues, but she hoped the singer would be able to help.   *************************************************   Filled with shame and remorse for allowing himself to be so reckless, Jonghyun decided to tell his manager about the incident. Shockingly, the man asked him to forget about it. After all, people got hit by cars every day, and this shouldn’t make any kind of difference to him. Jonghyun couldn’t lie to himself; he had been exactly like his manager until he had met Jinki. Who knew what else he could have done when he was drunk? He had already spoken to the director of the hospital and paid for the transplant. He heard that Jinki was getting bored of staying in bed all day, and requested permission to take him out for an hour every week. If he tried to be there for Jinki, maybe he could be forgiven one day.   Trying to calm himself down, Jonghyun entered the usually pristine hospital room, which was now filled with torn paper and brushes that had been strewn on the floor. Was it weird to say that he could sense the gloom and melancholy as soon as he entered the room? Gone was the vibrant, smiling man that radiated warmth to those around him. Instead, the person on the bed was a shell of his former self.   “Good morning, Jinki. It’s Jonghyun again. Shall we go outside for some time? I think a change of scenery would do you a lot of good”   His reward was the tentative smile that formed on Jinki’s face, showing him that the happy wasn’t completely gone.   “I don’t know if I would be good company for you. I’m sure you’d have better things to do”

Jonghyun didn’t have ‘better’ things to do. He truly wanted to try and ease his guilt by spending time with Jinki until the surgery.    “I want to do this, okay? Don’t feel bad. Now, why don’t I help you change out of the hospital clothes?”, he asked gently while lifting a salmon shirt for Jinki to see. “I think you would look really good in this”   The slight nod felt as though Jonghyun had accomplished something since it filled him with immeasurable happiness.   “I’ve already spoken to the doctors and got permission. I thought we could go to your place and bring some of your things here today. Next week, I’ll take you to the recording studio”   *************************************************

Jinki couldn’t believe his ears. Jonghyun, the famous idol Jonghyun, actually wanted to take him out of the hospital. It had to be a dream. If it did turn out to be a dream, Jinki hoped he would never wake up. Having Jonghyun’s arm around his shoulders was enough to give him goosebumps. He had heard that the singer was pretty stuck up and conceited, but the person who was with him now was nothing like that. Jonghyun was good and kind and Jinki was lucky to spend even a moment in his company.    “I’ll drive us to your apartment first, then we can get something to eat”   Jinki’s apartment, though slightly messy, was incredible. There were paintings on every surface, and there was a whole collection of them on a wall labelled ‘Jonghyun’.   “Are those blobs supposed to be me?”, he joked when looking at the abstract works of art.   Jonghyun could hear the pride in Jinki’s voice when he raised his hand to touch the paintings that had been beautifully framed and placed at the top.   “I have a condition that lets me ‘see’ sounds in the form of colours. Every painting on this wall has been made while I was listening to your music. You’ll notice that this one right here has been made with shades of pink and yellow and has been based on ‘Shinin’. I’m sure you would have heard that the song gives a happy and lively vibe. Now, you’d be able to see it for yourself. I wanted to give you something, but it seems like fate wasn’t on my side. Please feel free to take any of the frames on the wall to remember me by”   “What did you want to give me?”, he asked curiously, already guessing what was on the artist’s mind. Jonghyun wanted to hear it from his lips, to make sure he was right.   “Well, I had been working on my masterpiece for a while. It was your portrait, made of all the colours I could see when hearing your beautiful voice. I don’t know where it is, but I promise you that I’ll make another one for sure. It isn’t over yet, I won’t give up”   There was nothing that Jonghyun could say or do, except pull Jinki into his embrace. He had a lot of fans, but no one like Jinki, who amazed him with his words.    “You will be able to see again. Just work on getting better and healthier so you can have the transplant”   “I don’t have hope anymore. I’m being realistic, but now I know how I’d be spending my time. The first thing on my new bucket list is to complete my masterpiece. I don’t mind if I end up using all the time I have left, on that. It’s worth it, and so are you, Jonghyun”   He couldn’t hide it anymore, not when Jinki was determined to do this.   “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m not as perfect as you think. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m ashamed of and I really want to make things right. You’d never forgive me if you know what I’ve done”   “We’re all human. Doesn’t the saying say ‘To err is human, to forgive divine’? Everyone has made mistakes. Don’t worry, I won’t call the magazines to tell them that you’ve been slumming it with me”   How did the guy manage to hold on to his sense of humour? Jinki was like the sun, providing radiance to anyone lucky enough to know him.    “That’s not what I meant”, he started to say before noticing the soft smile on Jinki’s face. Did he really want to take away what little happiness Jinki still had? He’d already taken away so much. “It’s a warm day today. Shall we have a picnic?”   It didn’t take long for one of his assistants to prepare a basket for him, and all Jonghyun needed to do was pick it up.   “I’ll get things ready and be back soon. Will you be alright on your own?”   When he returned with the basket, he saw Jinki standing at the easel where he’d drawn a horizontal line on the canvas. The loud music he was listening to, meant that he didn’t hear Jonghyun enter. The singer could see how much the artist struggled to focus on half the canvas as he painstakingly began to draw. This was going to be a likeness of the painting Jonghyun had hanging in his living room. Although part of him wanted to stay silent and observe an artist at work, he wanted to take Jinki outside where he could feel the sun in his face and the wind in his hair. “That’s enough for today, Picasso. Come on”, he said as he helped Jinki clean the brushes before leading him to the car. Driving to a nearby park, he smiled at how lovely it looked with the bright green grass around the little pond in the middle.    “This place looks pretty. I can hear ducks quacking”   *************************************************   He had gotten used to people helping him sit down and stand up, but he didn’t like it one bit. Trying his best not to scowl, he watched Jonghyun put a tablecloth for them to sit on, before opening the little wicker basket he had brought.   “The nurses told me that when one sense is removed, the rest of them become stronger. I wonder if that’s true”   “Why don’t we test it out?”, asked Jonghyun who pulled out a silk sleeping mask from his pocket and placed it over Jinki’s eyes.   Feeling something round in his hand, Jinki started touching it, only to find that the surface wasn’t completely smooth. In fact, there were a few bumps on it. Bringing it to his nose, he let the citrusy smell take over.   “Easy, that’s an orange”   Moving the mask away, he lifted the fruits above his eye level so he could peel it and offered half to Jonghyun. Smelling the fruit to discover what it was, made him feel like a dog. “I wonder if this is how your Roo feels”, he remarked casually, referring to Jonghyun’s dachshund.    “Maybe”, said Jonghyun who took out his phone to take a picture of them. “Smile”   “A picture with me? Could you use my phone, too?”   This was going to be the best day ever since everything he had ever dreamed of, was coming true. He smiled happily until he heard the ‘click’ sound of the phone camera.   “I already have the caption in mind”   *************************************************   Jonghyun was going to do the unthinkable, as far as the agency was concerned. Posting the picture on his social media, he captioned it ‘sunshine smile’ before playfully tapping the end of Jinki’s nose.   “What’s your account?”   “Its ‘skehehdanfdldi”, said Jinki, who spelled it out for him. Jonghyun had never heard of such an abbreviation in his life.   “Oh wow, what does it mean?”   “When you use the corresponding letters of the Korean keyboard, it spells out ‘I am an animal too’. It just symbolizes that we are all the same”   “That’s deep enough for someone to swim in”, he said, eliciting a chuckle from the man who looked as though he had won the jackpot. “Time to eat, Jinki. I’ll need to have you back in time or the head doctor would have my guts for garters"   This picnic ended up being like nothing he’d experienced before. The more he got to know Jinki, the more he started to like him. The man was an expert at body gags, which made him laugh. How could he have only thought of himself all this while? It felt incredible to think about someone else and focus only on their happiness.    A week had passed by really quickly, and Jonghyun had started the ‘Blue Night Radio’ programme where he was able to speak to callers and listen to them. He was able to appear to the public as more than ‘just’ a singer. People would never know how much he loved the show, even though it had just begun. He was able to show people that they were no longer alone and that he was there to listen to them.   It was time for him to be honest with Jinki about what he had done. After all, he had been advising his callers to be honest with themselves with their feelings. It felt hypocritical to give that type of advice when he had such a huge albatross around his neck.    The theme that night on the radio was Forgiveness, which was seriously ironic, but this could be his chance to talk about what he had done, without revealing the artist’s name. Coincidentally, the caller was incredibly guilty about lying to his parents about his grades.   “Look it’s normal to feel scared to tell your parents that you didn’t do well. It was just an exam, so do your best for the next one. It’s always better, to be honest. Your parents might be angry or disappointed, but they would feel worse if they find out on their own. Just make sure to work hard and make them proud”   It was probably time to talk about what he had done, and Jonghyun cleared his throat nervously.   “I have a story for today since I also have to beg for someone’s forgiveness. I used to be extremely vain and I assumed that the world only revolved around me. Since I’m famous, I expected everyone to do things as per my wishes. I never realized how much a person can be affected by something that seems insignificant to someone else. There was a day when I drank alcohol and drove. I thought I would be fine since I had already washed my face. I assumed that I was sober enough to take the wheel, but I wasn’t. That was the worst decision I had ever made. That day, I thought I had imagined things, but someone got hurt because of me”. Unable to say anything more, Jonghyun dissolved into tears while on air. “I’m sorry, I’ll need to finish today’s broadcast early”   The broadcast made him feel slightly less afraid. Saying sorry wouldn’t bring Jinki’s eyes back, but he needed to confess. Any relationship couldn’t be built on lies, and his friendship with Jinki had been exactly that. Although it was rather late, Jonghyun didn’t want to wait any longer and rove to the hospital. Sitting by Jinki’s bed, Jonghyun took his hand, even though he was asleep.   “Jinki, I’m so sorry. I did this to you. It was me”   This time, he didn’t bother wiping away his tears as he pressed Jinki’s hand to his forehead.   “I know you’d never forgive me, and I don’t have the courage to ask for forgiveness. I promise I will do everything to get you a transplant so you can see again. I don’t have any excuse for what I’ve done. After the surgery, I’ll stay far away from you. I promise that our friendship wasn’t a lie. I really do care about you. I’m really sorry, Jinki”   Looking up, he saw that Jinki hadn’t stirred at all, but his chest felt lighter. He needed to say it again when the man was awake.   *************************************************   Jinki never failed to listen to Jonghyun’s radio show every week, especially as it made him feel closer to his friend. It felt nice to call Jonghyun his friend. The episode on Forgiveness was very different and he agreed with the advice the singer gave his listeners. He had been ready to ask the nurses to call the radio station when he heard Jonghyun’s confession. Listening intently, he felt as though someone had punched him. Was this how a stab in the back felt? Sinking back into the pillow, he felt a whole range of emotions as he understood what Jonghyun was talking about. It could be comparable to his worst nightmare, since the person he had admired the most, had done something so terrible to him. When he heard Jonghyun’s noisy sobs, he couldn’t help wanting to hug him and say that it wasn’t his fault. He had been amazed when Jonghyun had bothered to visit him as often as he did. Being an idol, he had the option to turn everything on Jinki, but he hadn’t done that. However, Jinki was the one who had to bear all the pain that came along with the accident. It had been so easy for the person behind the wheel to walk away, but Jinki would soon be unable to walk without help. Could he forgive Jonghyun for what he did?   What he heard had shocked him beyond belief.so when he’d heard Jonghyun’s voice outside the room, Jinki pretended to be asleep. Though he felt really bad when he felt Jonghyun’s warm tears touch his hand, Jinki knew that it was best for him not to ‘wake up’ at that time.    Jonghyun had seemed true to his word since Jinki didn’t hear his voice since that day. There were a number of changes in his life, starting with the hospital finding a donor for him. Jinki was being prepared for the surgery since his vision had gone down to only 5% of what he could see earlier. Since his dosage of medicines had been increased. Jinki would fall asleep really early, always missing the Blue Night Radio. Gradually, his anger had melted and he now only felt hurt that he had been discarded like a broken toy. Wasn’t there more to friendship than just apologizing and leaving? He’d started to miss Jonghyun, and listened to his songs on a loop. Though the man was no longer in his life, there was no doubt that the songs could still calm him down.    His surgery was set for the following morning and Jinki was a bundle of nerves. He’d never had an operation before and this was extremely frightening. Especially since the doctors would be having a scalpel near his eyes. What he really wanted was to hold Jonghyun’s hand but he had to settle for only his singing voice. Feeling something placed over his nose and mouth, Jinki started to panic. Breathing rapidly, the last sound he heard was Jonghyun’s Hallelujah before he drifted out of consciousness.   *************************************************

Unbeknownst to Jinki, Jonghyun had already been informed about the surgery and had arrived an hour earlier. He sat by Jinki’s bedside without a word, preferring to be like a ghost instead of speaking to him. When he saw Jinki panicking in the operation theatre, he couldn’t help himself from singing to him. He sang until he was sure that Jinki wasn’t conscious, but waited outside for the next five hours. The surgery was a success and Jinki had been advised to keep his eyes closed for 24 hours, after which he was asked to see the doctor again.   “I’ll help with the eyedrops”, he volunteered as he wanted to spend a few moments in Jinki’s company before the healing period was over. Watching carefully as the nurses lifted up Jinki’s eyelids and put exactly one drop in each eye, he noticed his eyeballs roll around aimlessly.    “His eyes are healing well, but you may have to take him back with you for a few days. Jinki can’t be by himself for the first week. Do you know the feeling when you’ve spent your time in a dark room and you get into the light? That’s how Jinki would feel. Our eyes would adjust o the brightness in a matter of minutes, but he will need more time”   “I can take care of him during this time”, he said with confidence. It would make more sense to take Jinki to his place since it was bigger. The hospital was also sending a nurse with them, just in case. Between the two of them, Jonghyun was sure that Jinki would be well taken care of. When Jinki got discharged from the hospital, Jonghyun helped him into a wheelchair and drove the three of them to his expansive apartment. He didn’t know how long he could pretend to be someone else but he couldn’t stay away. He needed to know that the surgery was a success.    *************************************************   Jinki still didn’t understand why Jonghyun hadn’t announced himself yet. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t hear him. Plus, Jonghyun had one of the most distinctive voices he had ever heard. If Jonghyun was determined to play, Jinki had no qualms in pretending he didn’t know what was going on around him. When his eyelids were opened for the drops and ointment, Jinki found that he could see a lot better, even though everything was blurred again.   “Will I really be able to see? Everything is blurry, the way it was before I lost my vision”   “Mr Lee, I promise that your eyes are looking so much better. Your vision is blurred now since your eyes still need to heal. You need to remember that it was a complex surgery so you will feel a lot of irritation in your eyes, but that just means that everything is working the way it should”   Jinki was already able to tell the difference between the touches of the others in the place and knew that Jonghyun was the one who fed him and stroked his hair till he fell asleep each night. It was clear to him that the singer had changed entirely, especially when he’d heard Nurse Kim chastise Jonghyun for not having a glass of wine after his meal. Mistakes happened, but how a person reacts to them is what defines their character. It wasn’t about redemption, but Jinki no longer hated Jonghyun or blamed him. In fact, he wanted Jonghyun to be the first person he saw. It felt like an eternity before the day came. This time, when he opened his eyes, he should be able to see everything around him clearly. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times until he got adjusted to the lights, which were dim. Had the surgery failed? Why couldn’t he see properly? He had just started to hope again, and it had been dashed. It served him right, he thought as a tear slipped out from his eyes.    “Jinki, how are you feeling?”, came Jonghyun’s voice as he wiped away the tear. “I’ve dimmed the lights so that it would be easier for you”.    Was that what it was? He started sobbing, but this time, it was tears of happiness. Opening his eyes again, Jonghyun’s handsome face came into view. He looked exactly the way Jinki had remembered, but the dim lights gave his face a soft glow. Touching his soft hair, Jinki smiled happily since he had got his wish.    “Thank you, Jonghyun”, he said while trailing his fingers along Jonghyun’s face, tracing his features.   *************************************************   Jonghyun had never felt happier than at this moment. It felt pure, but he still had something to do.   “Jinki, I need to tell you something”, he started to say, while looking at the floor.   “No, I already know. I also know that you’ve been spending every moment trying to fix things. I forgive you, and I think it’s time for you to forgive yourself. You’re not the person you used to be”   “How did you know? You were asleep when I told you”   “Jonghyun, I was blind. Not deaf. I heard everything you said”   Helping Jinki up from the bed, Jonghyun put his arm around him as they walked to the living room.   *************************************************

Sitting up suddenly, he felt his head start to spin, and was grateful for Jonghyun’s helping hand. As they walked into the huge living room, he saw something that made him gasp in surprise. It was his pot of gold from the end of a rainbow. His portrait, set within a gold frame, had been hung right opposite the entrance.   “The painting…..how did you get it?”   “I thought it had your address on it, but when I saw how beautiful it was, I had to hang it up. I’m so sorry for not asking you first”   “I...painted it for you”   The old saying was true. Fate did work in strange ways. Never in his wildest dreams would Jinki have ever imagined that his masterpiece would bring them together like this. It filled him with pride and intense happiness to see that it had been displayed in a place of honour. While it was true that it had been the cause of his accident, the painting had solved everything. At the end of the day, it had all come down to fate. 

#shortfic #ficlet #oneshot #shinee #onjong #jongyu #onewxjonghyun #sliceoflife

[lovevalley45]

i’m not like the best at falling asleep so a lot of the time i’ll get my mind off of things by thinking of writing ideas

which u think would be bad bc that’d keep me up to try n write stuff, but i am in fact realizing that means i have a lot of these ideas that have smth to do with being in bed or trying to get to sleep

#alli says shit #the latest ba2mia ep kinda got me inspired #but it wasn’t until i wrote a lil smth for that and went to put it in my ficlet doc was i like. huh isn’t that fun #night time is just also a good time for serious moments #like you’re gonna reflect on ur life when the sun is shining? hm unrealistic

[azullumi]

"once more to see you" ; aventurine

summary — to him, love was like a religion waiting to be discovered and he’ll find god in the way the sun looks on your skin; alternatively, aventurine thinks he’s rotten work and tiring to take care of but not to you, not if it's him (please get the reference).

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship (but aventurine wants to de-establish it), somewhat fluff, slight angst with comfort, never proofread never what?!!, 1.3k ; ficlet

note — 2.1 broke me (the whole quest knocked at the door of my house, shook my hands, congratulated me, and invited itself into my home before pouring water on my face, slapping me, throwing me around, and left with the door open, all the while, my family watched). this is day 1 of writing for aventurine until i have him.

“you have a lot of moles.” his voice, despite a gentle whisper, tears through the silence of the night like a drop of water that ruptured and disturbed the surface of the pond. “especially here.” he gently taps on your skin; they seem like stars, he swallows the words back down. 

you feel aventurine’s finger trace on the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulders, seemingly drawing—or connecting something. it was ticklish, the way he gently drags his hand and ghosts over your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips (you’ll capture his touch on your skin as if you were a sinner remembering how forgiveness tasted on your lips). there was something intimate that lingers in the air between you two as you lay in his bed with him, a fleeting moment that will be inked into your mind. 

(the both of you leave your titles behind, mixed together with the scattered objects on the floor, laid on the cold ground to be picked up and worn later like a shiny medal even if you weren’t proud to have them.)

“they say it’s where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.” you stir in your position as you speak, coming to face him and meet his pretty jewel-like eyes—how alluring it was, painted with vivid colors yet it never shines. the sound of mirth laughter bubbles from his throat, a pleasant melody to your ears.

he asks, curiosity tracing the tone of his voice, “and from where did you even hear that?” and you shrug, bringing your form closer to him as you seek for more warmth, “i can’t recall. perhaps i heard it from topaz or maybe from one of the members of the ipc? they’re the only ones i often see and talk to.”

“the doctor?” he wraps his arm around your figure, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“that man will only scorn at that idea and call it stupid. he’ll most likely say that ‘only fools would believe such concepts.’” you mimic the way the esteemed doctor spoke, from the serious expression that he always don on his face to the deepening of his voice. your seemingly successful imitation earned a chuckle from the blonde-haired man before you.

“i’m sure he will.”

silence falls between you two and you took this time to adore each and every line of his being. a few strands of hair fall over his eyes—beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing, you could list out every word to describe his eyes but it would never be enough. you had always wondered why he would hide it until you witnessed the reason why he does so. 

aventurine seems to study your expression at the same also, a soft look on his face as he did, and you can’t help but be curious. “what are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the silence that nurtured itself in the space between you and him.

you, he wishes to answer. how you look at this moment in his embrace: you were wearing one of his shirts, albeit, not exactly to your size but you insisted, saying that you liked it as it smelled like him. how gentle, loving, adoring, you were everything; he looks and thinks of you as if you were his everything (he doesn’t deserve you). but he doesn’t say it—the thought weighs too heavily on his mind, claws at his throat, and suffocates him—, instead he utters something entirely different that creates a shift in the air between you two. 

“i don’t think i can do this.” he turns his head to look away from you, staring at the ceiling instead. it seems to extend itself far and far away from him.

the horrible part of being human is the tendency for destruction that lies in your bones. stained palms, calloused pads, despite the gentleness of your touch and the comfort of your caress. the desire to devour flesh and bones, to understand the underlying thoughts and meanings behind words and unexpressed feelings by consuming them. to submerge and drown in the depths of one's despair and desire (too close that the line blurs into one). the horrible part of being him was his tendency to destroy—hesitation and doubt lies in his being and aches at his chest, tugging on his heart’s strings, and settles on his throat—, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you, it’s just that he can’t.

“do what?”

“this.” you know exactly what he was referring to, know what he’s afraid of. he has laid himself bare and vulnerable in front of you countless of times that you have memorized the constellations that adorns his skin. you know him, you have known him enough to recognize the fear that tugs on his voice and see the walls that he tries to build up in front of you. you know him enough to know what thoughts are plaguing his mind.

“why do you think so?”

“don’t you think i’m too much to take care of?” he tries not to choke on his words and bite his tongue, careful not to let his voice crack lest he crumbles underneath your caress. i am undeserving of it. worthless. failure. selfish. discarded. coward. loser. nothing. you are bound to leave. 

“not for me.” you caress his cheek and guide him to look at you—instead of the ceiling that seems to appear farther than it originally was in each passing second as the walls glean over him like a shadow—, to meet your gaze and see the sincerity that lurks deep within. “never will i get tired of you. so, let me carry your burden.”

he takes a few seconds to answer, uncertainty lingering in his tone: “it’s not yours to have.”

“it may not be.” you answer with no hesitation, “but it doesn’t mean that you must shoulder them alone.”

he opens his mouth to speak but unable to find the words to say, he closes them. there was a moment of stillness shared between you two. comfort, relief, assurance seeps into the ache of his bones and you say something too heavy even for this steady and silent night to hold, the words too much to be held—light spills in like a flood as if it was pouring out from the sun itself.

“i love you.”

“you utter such words as if it’s something easy for you.” as if loving him was just as simple as waking up in the morning and adoring the way the honey-light hugs your form as the dust settles in the corner of your room. when he’s stripped of everything and left with nothing, would you still love him the same? would you still kiss him as gently as you did? would you still hold the shards of his form even if it makes your hand bleed? 

you spoke in a gentle yet firm croon, gaze unwavering, “because it is.”

you see the falter in his expression: his face, that once was crumpled, relaxed and so did his gaze soften. and you smile at him with only adoration in your eyes—like a devout follower to a divine being. “are you still afraid?”

“i don’t know.” he whispers.

“it’s alright. you have all the time in the world.” your hand weaves itself into his own, fingers lacing with one another, and you gently squeeze. it was a form of reassurance, a way of telling him that you’re here with him through all of it.

the warmth has settled in your being and you spill yourself into the cracks of his vulnerability. “i love you.” you say once more and you kiss the mark on his neck—lingering and soft as if you wish that it would take all his hurt away. the way he shudders underneath your touch, the hitch of his breath soon followed by a gentle sigh as he cradles you closer to him tells you everything that you wish to hear.

for once, he sleeps as if he had nothing to carry, nothing that shackles him to the stars that forsakes him.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#azul.writes #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine hsr #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #hsr x you #star rail #honkai #aventurine #honkai imagines #aventurine imagines #honkai x reader #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine x reader

[kinosternon]

Idea: Shining Live Advent Calendar

anonymous prompts based on cards/event stories (fine to prompt yourself if you have favorites)

post to Ao3 Dec 1~25

One of my favorite things about Shining Live is the stories, and I think some of them would make fantastic fic-writing prompts. I also think an event like this could be a fitting tribute to SL EN and also could encourage people to keep up the push for an #UtaPriMerge. Maybe it could even help to support the archiving efforts going on...

Would anyone else be interested in trying this with me? And/or helping to supply prompts?

#uta no prince sama #shining live #in hopes of a #utaprimerge #is this anything? #shouting into the void to see if anybody answers #I *will* prompt myself up to 25 times and write 25 ficlets by myself if need be #but I'd love to do this alongside some folks

[oneforthemunny]

surprise, surprise |eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie forgets your birthday. or maybe he doesn't.

my birthday is in a few days and i wanted to write a little birthday ficlet blurb :) no aus, just eddie.

contains: angst/fluff. birthday doom. kinda asshole eddie?? kinda asshole friends?? really fluffy sweet ending. language.

“So,” Heather leaned over, chin propped in her hands dramatically slumped over the counter. “What’re you doing this weekend?” 

“Nothing,” You hummed, fingers flicking through the crinkled bills. “Why? You know something fun going on?” 

“It’s your birthday.” Heather gawked playfully. “You’re not doing anything for your birthday?” 

You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the cash drawer closed. “No.” You shook your head, voice tight. 

“Eddie isn’t taking you out?” Heather’s brows furrowed. “Or you’re not going home? Going out? Are you getting a cake?” 

Your heart sank, a familiar burn rising in your chest. You didn’t speak about your birthday much, not much of an occasion for celebration to you, more of one that was dreadful. Another year closer to death, you’d grumble cynically. Still, when Eddie hadn’t even acknowledged it, when your friends had all blown you off for other plans, a new kind of ache formed in your chest. The sting of being forgotten, of being unimportant and discarded- on your birthday. 

It left a bitter taste on your tongue, sardonic and painful when you spoke about your impending birthdate. “No,” You shook your head, chin ducked to your chest. You had never wanted a customer to come in so badly, save you from this painful conversation with your co-worker. “They’re all busy.” 

“Oh.” Heather quipped, face falling at your tone. 

“I mean, it’s my fault.” You added quickly- defensively. Why you were so defensive over the people who had discarded you so easily, you weren’t sure. “I should have planned something earlier, but… I dunno, I got busy and life got super hectic and it just slipped past me-” 

“-No,” Heather shook her head, curls unmoving with the abundance of Aquanet she used, still. “That’s really shitty of them, all of them. It’s your birthday.” 

You stayed silent, wiping the counter half heartedly, swallowing back the familiar burn in your throat that choked you. “I mean, if it was my girlfriend or my friend, I would be buggin’ about their birthday.” Heather shrugged. 

“Yeah, me too.” You muttered. Bouts of memories pouring back into your mind. How you’d planned a party for Eddie, baked him some stupid cake from scratch that was in the Lord of the Rings. You’d gone to countless second hand stores trying to find the ancient recipe, and it took you a day to perfect. Now, he couldn’t even be bothered to take you out? Get you a cheap store bought cake? 

“I’m sorry.” Heather muttered, a solemn, nearly guilty pout on her lips. “Well, you’re off tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I get off at three. What if we go out? We can go to the bar- oh, there’s this new band playing in Franklin. Tommy could drive us.” Heather, ever the bubbly optimist, grinned, eyes shining with pride. It was endearing, made your heart squeeze with an ache you weren’t quite sure how to describe. 

“I’ll even get you a cupcake. A good one, from Nadia’s.” Heather added. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You shook your head lightly. You and Heather were work friends, hung out on the rare occasion after work to bitch about work, about the other coworkers, the pain-in-the-ass customers of the day over glasses of Pinot. Selfishly, it felt nice to have someone excited for your birthday. 

You hated that you wished it was Eddie, your own friends. 

“What’s your flavor, hm? Chocolate?” Heather pressed, brushing you off cheerily. 

“Don’t get me a cupcake. I’ll throw it up if we’re drinking. All the icing and liquor.” You snarled your nose playfully. 

“Fine. I’m buying you a drink then.” Heather nodded. She paused, nails drumming on the counter too. “And, I mean, if you want Eddie to come too, of course he’s invited.” Her eyes cut to yours carefully. “I didn’t know if you wanted him to come.” 

“I mean, I don’t know if he’d even be able to.” Your lips pursed, a cutting edge of annoyance in your tone. “He’s so busy.” 

Heather cringed, shooting you an apologetic look. “Yeah, that… I’m sorry, that sucks.” She mumbled. 

A stiff silence fell between the two of you over the whirr of the air conditioning blowing through the vents. “Since it’s so dead, why don’t you go early?” Heather suggested. “I can cover closing.” 

“Heather, Mel will be pissed-” 

“-Mel will be pissed if she has to pay both of us for standing around.” Heather gave you a pointed look. “And you came in before me. I got it.” 

“Are you sure?” You hesitated. “I don’t care to stay in case there’s a rush-” 

“-At seven?” Heather scoffed slightly. “Go. I’ve got it.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m on my way, ‘kay?” Heather chirped. 

“See you then.” You waved, cringing at the sing-songy Happy birthday! Heather shouted at you. 

You pulled open your cubby, gathering your purse, your umbrella. You wrote your time on the clipboard, the phone taunting you on the hook next to it. Any other day, you’d call Eddie- call home or the shop, wherever he was, just to let him know you’d be home early. He’d always reply with a silly comment that had your cheeks rushing with heat, warmth swelling in your chest. 

Tonight, you decided against it. He was too busy, anyway. Too busy at the shop, with his friends, at band practice. You tried not to dwell on it, let your mind spiral and spin down a damning dark hole of what ifs. It consumed you anyways, on your drive home, the radio playing on a static filled station that you didn’t bother to change. Background noise drowned out by your own hammering heart. 

Eddie’s van was parked in the gravel of his driveway, leaving just enough space for you to slide in under the covering attached to the trailer. He always let you have that spot, closer to the door, protected from the elements- so considerate. 

It was hard to fathom that it was the same boy who had forgotten your birthday, brushed it off like it was just another day. 

Your throat tightened around the ever growing lump, hands tight from the white knuckled grip you had on the wheel when you turned the keys out of the ignition. The stairs squeaked under your weight, the screen door hissing with the familiar soft screech when you pulled it open. 

“No- Henderson, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Eddie huffed, his voice trailing in from the living room. 

You paused, hand catching the door as it fell, quieting it as it latched. The air was thick, warm with a sticky, sweet smell. Music playing in a low hum from Eddie’s beloved boom box he kept in the living room. 

“You said to hang it!” Dustin’s shrill tone cut through the air. 

“Yeah, hang it high- Jesus Christ, I shoulda just waited until Robin got off.” Eddie was hidden by the wall, but you could practically see him pinching his nose, hand running over his curly bangs. “Can you- Can you go see if we can ice the cake yet?” 

“Yeah, what do I do?” Dustin questioned, a silence falling between the two of them. Your lips curled, swallowing a giggle. “What? I’m not a master chef or something. You act like I should know this. There wasn’t a cake making class-” 

“-There was, you moron. Home Ec, which clearly, you failed.” Eddie huffed in annoyance. You froze at his heavy footsteps, voice carrying closer and closer.“Whatever, can you- just make it look nice in here? Put the rest of the streamers up and- shit!” Eddie flinched, jumping at the sight of you in the doorway. Wide eyed and still, like you’d been caught. 

“Baby,” Eddie’s breath startled. “Hey, uh, what are you- you said you didn’t get- you’re home already?” His voice lifted, carried high in a squeak of surprise. 

“Yeah, I got off early. I thought you were working late.” Your brows furrowed at the tear of plastic, leaning to look around the corner. “What are you doing-” 

“-Don’t look in there.” Eddie snapped, his hand falling on the doorframe, arm blocking your vision. You jumped, glaring at him with annoyance. “I thought you closed tonight?” 

“I thought you closed tonight.” You huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “Clearly that’s not true. What is this? Another campaign night?” You rolled your eyes, body burning with irritation, jaw wound tight with it. 

“What? N-No, I-I thought you wouldn’t be home until later, and I’d have more time-” Eddie rambled, side stepping to block your view behind him. 

“-Ed, I don’t care if that’s what it is.” Your shoulders deflated, a wave of painful exhaustion, disappointment falling over you. “I just wish you would’ve let me know before you invite all these people over to play your game, so I could-” A shimmering glimmer of multicolored sequins caught your eyes, shining in the yellowed light of the kitchen, iridescent hued droplets cast over the cabinets. There, draped over the chair in bright, glittering letters, a small sash that read Happy Birthday! in obnoxiously big letters. 

You paused, eyes scanning towards the cake, cooling on the rack next to the mixing bowl of icing, the icing spatula still in it. Paper mache streamers taped to the ceiling, hung in swooping bouts mixed with the shiny streamers and balloons all the way to the living room. Eddie had brought out the folding table from the crawl space, even put a plastic tablecloth from the store over it to hide the yellowing stains that would never fade. 

Dustin’s eyes met yours, wide and darting between you and Eddie, still holding the roll of streamers he’d yet to hang. “Uh, Happy Birthday?” Dustin shrugged. 

Eddie huffed, shaking his head at him. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry, it was supposed to be a surprise.” Eddie’s foot bounced with anxious adrenaline. “I thought you didn’t get off until eight, and-and I had it all planned, sweetheart, I really did. Steve’s getting the pizza, and everyone’s coming over at seven thirty-ish, and I- I was even going to have them park at Wayne’s in the back so you wouldn’t see.” 

Your chest felt deflated, void of any air, words, anything. Eddie chewed on his lip, hands twitching next to his jeans. “It was going to be this whole thing, fuck!” He huffed. “It was going to be a whole big thing, and…” 

Eddie’s heart leapt when your eyes finally met his. His fingers still drummed against the rough material of his jeans, veins filled with icy excitement, fear, anticipation? He wasn’t sure. 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, stepping to hover over you, voice dropping to a soft coo, hands sliding over your cheeks. “I’m- I wanted it to be a surprise.” 

You swallowed thickly. Eddie’s touch was soft, but it left you with a tingling burn when his thumb delicately traced your cheek bone. “You- This is for me?” You squeaked. 

Eddie’s lips curled in a half smile, brows creasing. “Well, yeah.” He said playfully. “Who else would it be for?” 

Your brain was deafeningly silent, stunned at every new detail you’d discover. “You said you were busy.” Was all you could muster out, blinking up at Eddie. “You said you had to work late.” 

“I might have fibbed a little.” Eddie tilted his head sillily. “Told a little lie so I could get this set up.” He nodded towards the living room, a balloon floating near the doorway. 

“I just really wanted to surprise you.” Eddie’s shoulders fell. “I was trying to outdo you. Tryna out do what you did for mine. I called all your friends- even Alexandra,” You rolled your eyes at the mention, she was Eddie’s least favorite friend of yours. 

“And I… I just wanted to surprise you.” Eddie blinked down at you. “Just wanted your day to be special.” 

Your day, the phrase wrapped around you, swirled through your veins like a warm hug, squeezing your heart. 

“I’m sorry, it… I didn’t think about work.” Eddie shook his head, running a hand over his forehead. “I didn’t even think about it, and I-” 

“-Eddie,” Your voice caught in your throat. 

Eddie tensed, cringing with expectant dread. He’d ruined it, blew it, the tears were coming and they were deserved. You’d done so well on his, surprised the hell out of him with the cake, decorated for his birthday campaign with lanterns and candles you’d thrifted. Gone all out for him, and he couldn’t even pull off a simple surprise party. 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, head pressing to yours. His eyes cut around the room, making sure a certain Henderson pest was lurking. 

“Sorry?” You repeated. “Eddie, I-I am surprised.” You choked out, looking around the room with gleaming eyes. 

Eddie paused. “You are?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I thought you’d forgotten.” You admitted. “I thought everyone had forgotten.”  

Eddie’s brows pinched in a confused scowl. “You thought I’d forget?” He muttered. 

A watery laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it. “Yeah.” You admitted. “You were really convincing.” 

Eddie’s chest boasted playfully. “Oscar worthy?” 

“You’d sweep the competition.” You jested back, arms sliding over his forearms. His hands found home on the small of your waist, pulling you into him. 

“I didn’t forget your birthday.” Eddie said softly. “Just… for the record.” 

“I can see that.” You giggled. “Thank you. It’s-It’s really sweet.” 

“Yeah? I’m glad you like it.” Eddie’s hands rubbed down your spine. “It would look better but… Robin and Nancy didn’t get off until later, and it’s just me and Henderson.” 

“It looks great. Perfect.” Your cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His nice shirt, Eddie always called it. Broke it out for special occasions. 

“Not perfect. Fucked up the main part.” Eddie grumbled. “I can call everyone, let them know that they can park out front since there’s no surprise anymore.” 

“No, don’t do that.” You shook your head lightly, chin propping against his chest to look up at him. “I’ll leave and come back, and you can still do it. I can pretend to be surprised.” 

Eddie’s lips curled, pulling back to look down at you. “You’re gonna pretend?” He tilted his head. 

“My turn to act.” You teased, brow lifting gently. “Give you some competition.” You poked his tummy playfully. 

Eddie grinned, pulling you back into him, lips sliding over yours in a soft kiss you savored. Melting into each other, fusing into a gooey puddle- it was corny, a cliche. One you’d roll your eyes at if it was anyone else. 

“Happy birthday.” Eddie muttered, lips brushing and tickling your own. 

“Thank you.” You whispered back, hands finding the base of his neck, pushing him back into you. Eddie’s hand fell against the wooden door frame, steadying himself in a rapidly heating makeout. 

“Uh,” Dustin’s voice interrupted the two of you, just as Eddie’s hands were sliding under your work blouse. “Yeah, I-I finished with the streamers.” 

Eddie glared at him, jaw ticking in annoyance when you pulled away. “I’m just going to grab my makeup bag, and I’ll go.” You whispered, cheeks flooding with heat. 

Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes at Dustin when you left. “What? What did I do?” Dustin threw his hands out. 

“Such a fuckin’ cock block, Henderson.” Eddie muttered, stomping into the kitchen. “Put the plates and shit out, will ya?” 

Your performance was Oscar worthy, Eddie decided later, when you stepped through the door of the now darkened trailer, gasping when the lights flickered on and everyone jumped out. You looked positively radiant, glowing with excitement at the small crowd of friends crammed into the doorway. Eddie kissed you, sloppier than he should have, especially in front of everyone, but he didn’t care. Overwhelmed with affection for you. 

He couldn’t tell if you were still pretending when he brought out the cake, the room singing in a harmonious tone to you, candles lit and glowing in the dim light. Eddie didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled, fingers pressed to your lips at the now iced cake. When your fingers curled under his chin, sharing a fork-full of cake with him, kissing him after so quickly it left his head spinning. 

His birthday girl, it was your day. Eddie never thought he’d love a random day as much as he did. He had no idea how important that day would become when he’d first met you, how it would engrave itself in his mind forever. 

He was glad it did. Looking at you, giggling with your friends on the couch, then again, the next night, singing with Heather at the crowded bar- Eddie’s chest heart swelled. Proud that he’d surprised you, hopeful that he’d get to for the rest of his life. 

Next year, he’d do it right. Really pull off the party you deserved. He’d start saving now, planning too. He decided it that night, tucked between the sheets, your head still on his sweat soaked chest. He could still taste you on his tongue, lips numb from the time he’d spent between your legs. Lashes fluttering in sleep, curled into him, Eddie pulled you closer. He’d get it right next year, you deserved it. 

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #eddie x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie my love <3 #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader angst #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson angst #dustin henderson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #strangerprompts #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Monster

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Orc!Bucky x Sacrifice!Reader

Kink: Teratophilia (Monsterfucking)

Summary: You draw the devil’s coin in the village lottery, you will buy another season of peace for your people—but you don’t want peace.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Monsterfucking, References to past violence, References to past murder, Witch Burning, Forced Marriage, Dubious Consent, Violence, Revenge, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Darkfic, Dark Fanfiction

A/N: as a note, this story does NOT share a universe with my other Orc story, Brave. this is another version of Orc!Bucky that i cooked up for kinktober. speaking of which, i hope you all enjoy the first installment of my 2023 kinktober ficlets and drabbles! mind the warnings, and enjoy!

Your wedding day dawns bleak and cold. The snows have come early this year, snuffing out the brief, brittle green of summer with icy finality, blanketing the hills in thick layers of white.

Your death day.

“Up with you.” You aren’t asleep, but Thera rips the blanket from you anyway. “Come. It’s time you prepare for your... husband.” There is no pity anywhere on her wrinkled face as she grimaces at you, her eyes dark with disgust. “Witch.” She mutters the last part like a curse you aren’t meant to hear. You do, though, and you bare  your teeth at Thera like an animal in response. You are satisfied when fear settles over her features, her rheumy eyes widening. 

“If I were a witch,” you hiss, “You would not stand whole before me, Thera Truthspeaker.” This time it is her name that burns in the ear like acid. “You would lay at my feet in pieces.”

She slaps you for the threat, and you taste blood in your mouth as your head jerks painfully. Thera grasps your chin, and you turn dazed eyes toward the old priestess.

“You speak with as foul a tongue as your mother,” she spits.

“Pity you couldn’t burn mine out of me like you did her.” At this, she looks regretful, cutting her eyes at you angrily.

“Lucky for you Demon King likes his brides whole.” She squeezes until you grunt with pain. “And unspoiled.” She tosses your head to the side before standing away from your cot before brushing her hands down her long, thick robes as though wiping your taint from them. “Save your venom, little snake. It is by my grace you were not put to the torch two seasons ago with your witch mother.”

You almost wish they had, instead of forcing the scarred coin into your hand. At least you can serve the light like this, the priest had said, his grim face illuminated by the firelight. You have not forgotten the way your mother’s body burned bright, her head turned heavenward, her mouth open in silent scream as the flames leapt from her blackened lips.

At least you can serve some good when he comes.

Despite her age, Thera’s grip is strong as she forces you up out of the narrow cot. The stone floor of the chapel is like ice on your bare feet as you stumble after her. There is an old metal basin in the chapel’s meager kitchen, and Thera instructs you to strip before ushering you into the steaming water. You hiss at the burn, but it’s the warmest you’ve been in weeks. Months, more-like. She scrubs your skin raw with rough fingers, and tears through your hair with the comb until your scalp stings. When you wince, Thera cracks her open palm against the back of your skull.

“Be still!” Your ears ring from the force of her blow. “This is an honor—a great privilege you have been afforded, though you are tainted and unworthy.” 

The laugh that bubbles from your chest is bitter. “This is not your pulpit, Truthspeaker, and I am not your sheep.” 

Thera paints the symbols for fertility and prosperity on your damp shoulders in perfumed oil before rubbing them into your skin. She combs the oil through your hair, too, braiding gold thread into it as she pins it up away from your face. As she is closing the bridal robe around your shoulders, the door flies open.

The priest practically falls through it, his face shining with sweat despite the temperature. The charcoal around his wide, fear-bright eyes runs dark on his pale skin, like dark tears tracking down his gaunt cheeks. His terror is catching, your own heart pounding against your ribs. 

“He comes! The Demon King comes! He rides for the village!” Thera glances at you, her thin lips curving into a cruel smile. 

“And his bride waits.”

—

You have seen a bride taken, once. You were young, six seasons, perhaps? Seven? You saw the Demon King ride away with her, her long, black veil whipping behind her in the icy wind.

Mother had told you not to go, not to watch—It’s barbaric, my love, we needn’t take part—but you couldn’t help yourself. She is lucky, she is blessed, the townspeople murmured amongst themselves as they watched her go. Chosen. She’d drawn the coin from the bag, the same pitted, pocked metal that the priest had forced into your trembling hands as you’d watched your mother burn.

Life for life.

The rope bites into your wrists as you tug uselessly at your bindings. Your breath leaves your lips in frantic clouds of white as you pull and pull. Your only victory is the creak of the rope as it tightens. Your teeth chatter as you stare into the fog. It rolls out between the trunks of the bare trees like tendrils, creeping along the snow-covered ground until it fills the air, obscuring light and sound until all around you is dim as twilight.

“Your bride awaits you,” the priest’s muffled voice trembles. “Take her and honor our agreement, as it has been, and as it shall be.”

For a long time there is no answer from the thick, swirling fog. You count each second, your aching arms stretched above you, the rough wood of the post digging into your back through your cloak. The cold eats away at your bones as you shiver. It’s not snowing any more, but the loose drift blows up into your face as the wind rips at you. The priest’s voice trembles as he begins again.

“Take her and honor our—”

“Silence.”

 The voice vibrates powerfully in your very marrow, in your head and all around. He is near. You can barely see a foot in front of you, and now you are glad for it, glad you cannot see the face of your death. The mist swells, roiling angrily around you as your skin prickles with his closeness. You know not what the Dark King looks like, but you know what you have heard murmured in the dark corners of ale-soaked taverns and in the pews of every chapel of the Holy Light—he is darkness, he is devil made flesh and set upon the children of light so that they might know fear. 

That the price of flesh paid by your people is all that keeps him from loosing his terrible fury upon the valley—

But you do not yet know you believe.

You are afraid, that much you can tell from the thundering of your heart and the staccato sound of your own breath. You cannot see him, but you know he circles you, like a wolf, just behind the curtain of smoke and mist. The silence is deafening, and for a moment you wonder grimly what the Truthspeakers will do with you if the Devil himself does not take you—

“I accept this offering.”

 He steps sideways out of nowhere, the air simply parting like a curtain to reveal him. The Orc regards you silently, watching your breath cloud the air and disappear. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you. Instead, he pulls at the ropes. The priest knotted them tightly around the post, but when the Orc pulls lightly, it comes away easily, as if undone by his touch. 

His face is more human than you expected, fierce blue eyes set above chiseled cheekbones. His tusks poke out from beneath his bottom lip, but only barely, more evident as he grimaces. You wonder if he is displeased with you, as he looks you over, and you flinch when he reaches out with one massive, gloved hand. He grasps your chin firmly, turning your head this way and that before sighing. 

“Come.” 

 This time, his voice does not echo through the clearing as if spoken by a dozen men. He reaches for you again, this time drawing the dark veil down over your face. His horse is as large and dark as he is, and the great beast paws the ground as you near, and you see your own fearful face reflected in its strange red eyes. He chuckles at your reluctance.

“Afraid, little bride?”

You are. Truly afraid. Of him. Of the village. Of the way forward, wherever it led. But you would not be like Thera, like the cowering priests in their chapel. Your fear would not rule you. 

You grasp the reins and fit a foot into the stirrup. 

“I am afraid.” Swinging your leg up, you climb into the saddle. “And I am more than fear.” He smiles, the sharp, white points of his teeth gleaming as his lips part.

“Good.” He steps up behind you, and your face flushes with heat as he fits you against his front. 

“What are you called?” He hesitates, and you wonder whether or not he will tell you the truth.

“James.”

—

The sun is low in the sky by the time you see the encampment, nestled in the dark, snowy hills like a glowing ember. You tense as you see it, going rigid in the saddle.

“I did not know you came to collect your bride price with an army.” You reply, and behind you James chuckles. 

“How else would I make sure it was paid?” 

You feel small and alone as you ride into camp, your veil still pulled low over your eyes. The sounds of music and conversation die as the king approaches, the garrison watching with curious apprehension. The pack parts for you, people stepping away from James’ horse with a respectful bow. He is King here, of that there could be no doubt. A great fire blazes at the heart off the encampment, and James rides close enough to feel its heat before dismounting. He holds out his hand to you with a thin smile. 

“Come, little wife. Lay aside your fear and let us know your fate.” You return his grim smile with one of your own. 

I suppose I always knew it would end in fire.

You take his hand, and James helps you down. For a moment, there is no sound other than the roar of the flames and the shrill whistle of the icy wind. 

“She is small.” The voice is heavy with age, and rife with irritation. “It will not be her.” You turn to see the stooped Orc step out from the crowd of onlookers. She leans heavily on the staff she carries, the top adorned with an assortment of feathers and tiny, white bones. James does not look away from you. 

“The fire will tell.” 

He pushes your bridal robe from your shoulders, undoing the tie around your waist. The cloth falls to the ground, leaving you naked. You are not cold, though, not this close to the fire. The veil he leaves on, and the fabric whispers against your bare ankles. The old Orc hobbles closer, peering at you with her one good eye. 

“You know what to do.” 

You do—you step into the fire. It burns—burns hotter than anything you have ever known—

But there is no pain. You open your eyes. All around you is light, beautiful, glorious light. You lift an arm, and flames dance along your skin, leaving trails of radiant heat. You raise your arms above your head with a shout. They should have burnt me in the village. You imagine the streets burning bright with your flames. 

Something is changed in you, something opened, something broken free, something you’d never even known was caged inside you. You are the fire, it is you—

The old Orc slams the staff against the ground with a sound like thunder,  and the flames cool to embers as you drop your arms, panting. You are giddy with power, your heart beating in your chest as fiercely as the flames. 

“Fire-sign.” She draws symbols on your face in red ichor, and matching ones on James. Her scarred mouth twists into a smile as she pulls the veil from you. “Burn brightly.”  

James gathers you in his arms, lifting you with ease. He makes for one of the tents, pushing aside the heavy canvas hanging over the opening. James spills you unceremoniously onto the furs by the small fire, ripping at his clothes as he sets upon you with his hungry hands and mouth.

“Knew it would be you,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to yours. “Could smell the smoke on your skin.” 

Gods you burn as he kisses you. You are no longer standing in the fire but you feel it in your veins still, like it’s part of you. Your head swims as though you’d drunk your share of mead, James’ touch only adding to the dizzying rush of sensation. He kneels down between your legs, his eyes dark as he drags them down your writhing body. He licks his lips.

“My fire-sign.” He cups your cunt with one massive hand, trailing a thick finger along your slit. From the bits of hushed gossip you’d overheard from the older women in the village, wifely duties were to be penitently endured, you were to feel pain and discomfort, not this, this—

Fire.

James parts your thighs until they are wide enough to accommodate him, and he bends low. The whites of his eyes barely visible as he stares at your slick center. 

“What better wedding gift?” He says lowly, tugging your hips roughly forward until you can feel his breath on your cunt. 

You lick your lips. “And what is mine?” You ask, and James laughs. You keen as he licks a long, hot stripe up your soaked slit. 

“What would you ask of me?”

“Burn the village.” There are two voices coming from your throat when you speak. There is you, the you you know, the you you have always been—

And there is the fire. 

The thing of smoke and passion and rage in your skin now, too. 

“Leave nothing standing.”

James lowers his head to your sticky core, and wraps his arms around your thighs anchoring you to his face as he feasts. His tongue slides hungrily through your slick folds, and your eyes fly open a your hips roll of their own accord. You come apart then, shuddering and whining, but he doesn’t stop. Your hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling at his ceremonial braids as he tastes you till you’re dizzy. James finally relinquishes his hold, and when he rises his chin is wet with your pleasure. 

“You wish me to wage war, little wife?” He asks, reaching between your bodies to palm his cock. You can’t look away. “To spend fire and blood for you?”

You nod. 

“For that, I will require more than a marriage of convenience,” he replies, and you shiver as he taps the head of his cock against you with a slick, sticky noise. You whimper as he circles one of your nipples with his thumb. “I want more than just your body, understand, little bride?” His hand spans half the length of your belly it’s so big, and you stare wide eyed down at his cock. 

“I will have all of you.” James growls down at you. “Not part.” You whine as he pushes against you, the blunt head of his cock pressing inside with a pop.  Your lips fall open, a strangled moan escaping them. James’ claws dig into your hip, and he utters a curse. You’re already so full of him, you don’t know how more can fit, but James works his hips against yours, rutting shamelessly against you until you swear you’re choking on him. 

The ache is so sweet it brings tears to your eyes. 

“Y-yes!” 

He draws out, leaving you almost empty before filling you with a hard thrust. James moans low in his throat, his head falling back. He cups your face with one hand, dragging his thumb across your lips. You rake your fingers over his muscled chest and he grits his teeth, driving into you harder, curling over you as he presses your knees against your chest. 

Your breaths escape you in choked little mewls, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drowns you in pleasure again, and the fire in your veins swells, consuming you. Behind him, the fire blazes more brightly than ever before, and  James looses a low growl, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“Then you will have war, little queen,” he says, nosing down the side of your jaw. He nips at your throat, hard enough to bruise.

You smile. 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fandom #boxofbonesfic #boxofbones #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober week 1

[blueywrites]

morning head ii

(a companion to this ficlet)

eddie munson x reader

you wake up to eddie eating you out.

cw: 18+ only. no pronouns, reader with breasts and a vagina. oral (f receiving), somnophilia with no explicit consent given (reader is happy about it; don't do that in real life). eddie refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart.' more fluffy, sensual smut with no plot.

1.8k

It's not the cold that wakes you today.

You come back to yourself in a disoriented daze. Everything is tight, hot, swollen, throbbing between your hips. Your skin is damp, and despite the crisp bite of the air on your face, a bead of sweat rolls down the crease of your thigh. It’s quickly chased by a broad tongue dragging up that crease, and you gasp at the sensation— so hot and wet that despite your disorientation, tingles burst throughout your middle.

You blink until the sleepy blur in your eyes clears and look down to see a mop of dark, wild curls concealing any other details from view. But it doesn’t quite matter that you can't see when you can feel what's happening— feel when Eddie sucks one of your plump lower lips into his mouth, rolling it around languidly and pulling back little by little until it pops free. Once it does, he’s rooting for the other one. Finding it, sucking it, working it in such a way that you know he’s enjoying himself.

You realize that he's been playing with you while you sleep, and you’re so fucking turned on it nearly hurts.

It's overwhelming to be woken this way, and you reach over your head to clutch the pillow tight in your fists. It gives away that you're with him now; you feel more than hear a rumble against your folds and then a rush of air as Eddie separates from you, breathing in deeply like he’d been happily buried underwater.

“Mornin’, baby.” Eddie’s voice is still sleep-hoarse but smooth with knowing. All you can do is whimper in response, and he chuckles over your mound, making you squirm when his warm breath cools on contact with your slicked skin. His brown eyes catch the faint morning light as they flick up to meet you, and the bulb of his soft nose shines with the evidence of your arousal. Low, lazy, teasing, he asks you, “Were you havin’ a good dream?”

Disorientation fades, and now the fullness of your feeling catches up with you— that tight, swollen throbbing discerns itself into pleasure and need, a fierce sensation that makes your chest heave like you’ve been running hard and fast through the woods. “No,” you gasp out, breathy and so earnest that Eddie has to tuck his face against your mound to bury a wide, dopey smile. He shakes his face playfully against you, tickling you with his nose and lips. You yelp at its unexpectedness though your hips also jerk up, helplessly revealing how much Eddie’s mid-slumber activities have affected you.

When he peeks up at you again, he’s composed himself. “No?” The dopey smile has turned to a lopsided smirk, another lazy expression as he draws himself up so that only the ends of his curls are draped over your hips. Eddie braces on his elbows so his broad palms can come to the insides of your thighs, pressing to your damp skin and gently guiding your legs open for him. He kneads them as you follow, a fond and almost innocent gesture before his hands leave your legs and his calloused thumbs pull your plump, sticky lips apart instead. That’s anything but innocent. You can hear the separation— in the stillness of his bedroom, it’s an embarrassingly wet sound, like the breaking of a sloppy, spit-heavy kiss. “All this ‘cause of me, then?” Eddie asks, rhetorical and smug. His gaze flicks from your pussy up to your face. “Wish you could see how fuckin’ soaked your pussy is for me, sweetheart. She’s practically drooling for it. Beggin’ me to put my tongue inside.”

“Please,” you whimper, an involuntary reflex that makes Eddie's burnished eyes both soften and heat further.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he hums, and you shudder at the thick honey of his voice, the promise in it.

Despite the humid hunger filling his bedroom like a delicious, palpable presence, Eddie doesn't dive in and devour you. Instead, he eats you out with no urgency, calm and unhurried like he’s confident he has you right where he wants you— and he does. He takes his time, pressing thorough, open-mouthed kisses all over your pussy, nearly ignoring your clit as he lavishes you with his broad tongue. The only stimulation your poor button gets comes from the soft bulb of his nose brushing against it incidentally as his tongue drags thick and slow over your lips and the creases of your thighs, sometimes dipping shallowly into the well of your honeyed arousal, lapping up each sweet drop you weep for him. You could try to whine and writhe, but it wouldn't hurry him, not when he's like this. So you release your desperation and give in to him instead— softening your hands, letting go of the pillow you'd been clutching so tight, stretching your back and letting your limbs sink into the well-worn cotton covering his mattress.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie murmurs, fond and warm as you splay comfortably on his bed. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Eddie forms a quick seal around your clit with his lips; he sucks, and the intensity makes your knees twitch. He holds steady, maintaining pressure ‘til you can't stay silent and your lips part on a sweetly anguished moan. He grants you mercy, breaking the suction when he opens his jaw wide to stretch his tongue down and swipe it slowly over your hole. He does it over and over as you sigh and sing for him, drowning in bliss. He pauses to tell you, “Taste so fuckin’ good. M’so lucky I get to lick you all up whenever I want. Have your pussy all to myself.” His voice sinks inside you, filling you up ‘til you're floating.

All is haze and comfort, warmth and pleasure— the warm musk of Eddie's pillow as you tip your cheek against it, the slightest tickle of his hair swaying rhythmically against your hips, the scratchy rasp of his stubble when his jaw brushes against your cheeks and sensitive inner thighs. You're drowning in him, surrendering yourself entirely to his mercy, and you're more than happy to let yourself be lost.

You know Eddie will always find you and bring you back.

After some time— you can't know how long— you hear Eddie’s voice. It reaches you gently because there’s no need to command; you’ll do anything he says. “Pull up your shirt, baby,” he murmurs. “Wanna see your tits.”

You tug the cotton up your body, sighing with relief as it bunches under your armpits and across your collar. The cool air feels good on your heated skin, and mindlessly, you follow the animal need to run your nails lightly down your sides. It’s a wonderful, delicious tickle, and you hum your satisfaction as you treat yourself so nicely. You keep going, ghosting your fingers down to your hips and up your belly, stopping just below your breasts. Goosebumps bloom in the wake of your touch, and you sigh as the shiver complements your growing pleasure.

“Goddamn.” The word is ragged, and you look down at Eddie to see him staring up at you, watching you with molten intensity as you touch your skin indulgently. He licks his slick lips, and they’re so pink and swollen that he looks even more pretty than usual. “You’re so sexy.” You smile, feeling feminine and sensual and beautiful under his gaze. “Pinch your nipples for me. Yeah, like that—” He groans against your clit, eyes fixed on your chest as you roll both of your nipples between thumb and forefinger. You pinch and pull ‘til it hurts just a little, just how you like it.

Eddie's voice turns grittier, more intent. “Keep doin’ that and don’t stop. Want you to come on my face.”

You moan, soft and needy, and your back arches against the sheets as rippling pleasure builds inside. Knowing Eddie’s watching you— asking you— to play with your breasts; hearing his little grunts and groans of satisfaction against your heated flesh; feeling him work your clit gently but insistently between his tongue and his upper lip, coupled with the naughty sting of you abusing your peaked nipples…

You've been under him like this for so long that when the peak builds, it does so quickly and disarmingly. “Eddie!” you cry, his name a prayer of ecstasy and fulfillment as you shatter into pieces. He lets your thighs clamp down on his ears, covets it, even. Groans as he wraps his arms around your hips, hugging you tight as you rut yourself against his face like an animal— mindless, pitiful, overcome by pleasure that washes you in waves of increasing intensity until it crests within you, pushing up from your lungs in a desperate series of broken, gasping moans.

At some point, the pleasurable tension subsides; at some point, Eddie nuzzles you one last time between the legs and crawls up your body. But you don’t notice either of those things until his broad palm is cupping your cheek and his lips are molding to yours. You whimper into his kiss, sighing through your nose as he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world he loves. Slow, so painfully slow; soft, sticky, and thorough, Eddie kisses you, and with his thumbs, he swipes away the blissful tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes while you came.

Eddie lays all of his weight on top of you, a welcome pressure like the tightest hug. You’re trembling, all of you spilled over the sheets and tangled with him. The most you can manage is to raise a wobbling arm and cup the back of his wild hair with your palm, tuck your fingers into those beloved curls to hold him close and kiss him back until he decides to part from your lips. When he does, moving only far enough so he can look at you, you find his eyes as full as you feel: bright like amber in the morning light and heavy with the weight of your mutual devotion.

“Thank you,” you whisper, but he shakes his head. A lopsided smile spreads across his face, and he takes your hand to pepper kisses across your knuckles.

“Nah,” he says, fond and dismissive. Between his voice and sparkling eyes, you can tell that he’s feeling far less wrecked than you, but you can’t find it in you to be sour when he’s the reason your morning started like this. “Had to have my breakfast, y’know? Start my day off with a balanced meal.” The smile glints, shifting into a mischievous grin. “Little sugar, little yeast—”

An embarrassed noise of protest rips from the back of your throat, and you find the strength to smack him in the chest, rearing back to do it again. Unphased, Eddie just laughs at you, pinning your arms and legs in a full-body bear hug that keeps you from violence and dissolves you into giggles with him.

He can never be serious for long— because he’s your Eddie, and that’s enough.

Please reblog & let me know if you enjoyed! It keeps me going 🩵

Also I typically don't post two days in a row, don't get used to it babes 😘

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader

[thelastspeecher]

Part 2

Should I try to come up with a title for this, since it's actually the first part of a two-parter (and the second part will be posted tomorrow)? Perhaps. But I'm sick so I'm not gonna expend the effort to think of a title. And also, no summary. See: I am sick. So here. Shining Armor AU thing. Enjoy.

Oh, and Happy New Year's.

——————————————————————————————

              There was a knock on Stan’s bedroom door.

              “Your Highness?” a familiar voice called.  Stan grinned.

              “Come in!” he called back.  The door opened.  Stan’s personal knight and secret wife, Angie, slipped inside and closed the door behind her.  Stan got up from where he’d been sitting at his desk, going over maps of potential new trade routes.  He walked over to Angie and embraced her tightly.  “What brings my knight here on a day she’s supposed to be training the new squires?” he whispered in her ear.

              “Grave news,” Angie said in a shaking voice.  Stan stepped back, suddenly worried.

              “What is it?” he asked.  His eyes widened.  “Your family?  My family?”

              “Um…”  Angie anxiously played with the wedding ring Stan had collected from a magical creature for her.  As her marriage to Stan was not to be known to other than a select few, she kept it on a chain around her neck, tucked under her tunic.  “Both, I s’ppose.”

              “Huh?”

              “Stan, I…”  Angie took a deep breath.  “I’m with child.”  She met Stan’s eyes.  “Your child.”

              “I- I would assume,” Stan sputtered, trying to overcome the dread that had promptly filled his every inch.  He dragged his hands down his face.  “Son of a- we only did it one time!  How did this happen?”

              “I apologize,” Angie mumbled.  “I followed the instructions I knew of to prevent pregnancy.  But even those failed in the face of my fam’ly’s fertility.  I should have known better.  Pa says we were blessed by a fae to have many children see adulthood.”

              “We’re gonna talk about that fae thing later,” Stan said.  “Right now, we- we’ve got to figure out what to do.”

              “Agreed.”  Angie shuddered.  “My Ma, she’s told me of methods that can be used to halt a pregnancy.  I can go to the apothecary to get what I need.  Of course, Sir Banjo purchasin’ those herbs would raise questions and perhaps rumors.”

              “You want to get rid of the baby?” Stan asked in an undertone.

              “I don’t know what other options we have, Stanley!  I can’t exactly bear a child without bein’ found out!”

              “What if you go back home?”

              “And return to my post once I give birth?”

              “…Yes?”

              “That causes more problems than it solves.  Fer one thing, you’d never be able to see yer child!  Is that what you want?” Angie demanded.  Stan shook his head.  “I- I don’t want to lose this child.  But I don’t see other options.”

              “I mean, I could always fake my own death,” Stan said with a shrug.  Angie’s eyes boggled.  “Ford’s the heir anyways.  You’ll say you want to stop being a knight ‘cause you’re so broken-hearted by my death.  We leave and settle down somewhere no one will know who I am.”

              “The whole reason I dressed as a man to become a knight was to avoid that sort of life,” Angie said.  “I didn’t want to be stuck in a tiny village, keepin’ house and makin’ children.”  She covered her face with her hands.  “I still don’t want that.”

              “Fine, then what are we gonna do?”

              “I- I don’t know!”  Angie rubbed her eyes.  “I wish there were more options than just those few.  But those are the only ones we can think of.”  She paused.  “Though perhaps someone else could help us think of more.”

              “Whom?  Our brothers?” Stan asked.  “They wouldn’t have a clue.”

              “No.”

              “Well, we definitely can’t tell my parents.  You’d be allowed to live long enough to give birth, but beheaded right after.  And I’d be banished from the kingdom.”

              “I was thinkin’ we could talk to my parents, but thanks fer that lovely prediction,” Angie said.  Stan shrugged again.

              “I’m just being realistic.”

              “Hopefully it ain’t our reality,” Angie said quietly.  “My parents, they’re much smarter than you’d expect from commonfolk.  My ma, she was actually the one who taught us all how to read.  She even taught my pa.”

              “Huh.  Weird.”

              “We’ll need to come up with an excuse to visit my fam’ly.”

              “No problem.”  Stan went back to his desk and picked up one of the maps, which showed the kingdom’s southern border.  The town Angie grew up in was so close to the border, it was practically in the neighboring kingdom of Lirone.  “Father’s been wanting to establish trade routes with Lirone for ages.  I’ll say we wanna do a scouting expedition, just the two of us, to check out the border.”  He looked back at Angie.  “Is there a time limit on the herbs?”

              “They can be used before the quickening.”

              “And how long does that take?”

              “About five months.”

              “Good.  That’s plenty of time.”  Stan set the map down and went back to his knight.  “I’ll start working on the trip plans right away.”  He wrapped his arms around Angie.  As he squeezed her, he imagined hugging not just his wife, but his unborn child, too.  He kissed the top of Angie’s head.  “We’ll figure it out.”

              “If you say so.”

              “I’m a prince, remember?  What I say goes.”

-----

              Stan looked at Angie, who was riding her horse Daisy sidesaddle as they entered the small hamlet Angie had grown up in, Gumption.  She didn’t often ride sidesaddle, given that she wasn’t often dressed like a woman.  But once they had put some distance between themselves and the castle, she and Stan had changed their clothes to ride without attracting attention.  For Angie, that meant wearing one of the dresses she kept at the castle in case she needed to drop her disguise of Sir Banjo.  For Stan, that meant wearing clothes from one of Angie’s brothers.  Stan asked if he should wear a hooded cloak to cover his face; after all, it was almost identical to Ford’s face, which was on currency.  Angie, however, said that it would just attract more attention.

              She didn’t seem worried about someone realizing I’m related to the royal family.  Kinda weird, since she worries about literally everything else.  But at least it means she’s wearing the cloak.  It was a cold, early morning, and they had already been traveling in poor weather for two days.

              “Angie?” said a young woman sweeping the front step of a bakery.  Angie forced a weak smile.

              “Hello, Leighanne.”

              “What brings ya back to Gumption?” asked Leighanne.  Her eyes landed on Stan.  “Is he yer betrothed?”

              “No,” Stan interjected.  “I’m her husband.”  Leighanne’s jaw dropped.  Angie groaned softly.  Stan bowed his head.  “Sir Stan.”

              “Angie!” Leighanne gasped.  “I overheard your ma and mine discussin’ that a knight had begun to court you, but I didn’t realize you were already wed!”

              “Yes, well, that’s why we’re visitin’,” Angie said in a tremulous voice.

              “Please stop by once you’ve talked to yer parents.  I’d love to catch up.  Maybe hear some stories ‘bout castle life.”  Leighanne smiled at Stan.  “And meet yer husband, too.”

              “Of course, Leighanne,” Angie mumbled.  Leighanne went back inside the bakery.  Once the door closed, Angie glared at Stan.

              “What?” Stan asked.  “You said you’ve been sending letters about a knight courting you, so that your parents would stop trying to set you up.  I just went with that.”

              “No, you didn’t!  You didn’t say we were courtin’ or even betrothed!  You said we were wed!”  Angie groaned again, louder this time.  “Word moves fast in small towns.  We need to pick up the pace if we want to avoid any confrontations.”

-----

              They managed to get to their destination without any further interruptions from curious townsfolk.  Stan hurriedly dismounted his horse, Shanklin, then went to help Angie down from Daisy.

              “I’m more experienced at horseback than you,” Angie snapped.

              “You’ve also been dizzy the entire time we’ve been traveling,” Stan retorted.  “Last night, you almost fell on your face dismounting.”  Angie glared at him.  “I’m not gonna let my pregnant wife get hurt.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.”  Angie took the offered hand.  Stan noted silently that she did seem to be a bit off-balance as she set foot on the ground.

              But since she’s already pissed at me, it’s probably not a good idea to say “I told you so.”  Stan mentally thanked the hard work his tutors had put into teaching him how to keep his mouth shut instead of putting his foot in it.

              “Have you quickened yet?” Stan asked softly.  He placed a hand on Angie’s stomach, which had a slight swell to it.  Thankfully, her armor covered any hint of the pregnancy so far.  According to Angie’s estimations, she was a little over four months along; it had taken Stan longer than he wanted to set up the trip and get approval for it.  He’d been tempted to just take the trip without getting permission or even letting anyone know.  But the whole point of the trip was to avoid being noticed.  A prince and his knight disappearing would cause chaos throughout the entire kingdom.

              “No,” Angie replied, just as quietly.  “But any day now, it should happen.”  They had stopped at an apothecary a few towns over, so that Angie could get the herbs in case they decided to end the pregnancy.  Stan swallowed nervously. 

              “Then we better get this over with.”  They walked up to the door.  Angie knocked.  While they waited, Stan took ahold of Angie’s hand.  He squeezed comfortingly.  Angie squeezed back.  The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with Angie’s nose and warm smile.

              “Banjey!” the man exclaimed.  “It’s such a delight to see my lil girl!”  Stan let go of Angie’s hand so she could embrace her father.  “Oh, have ya put on some weight?”

              “Pa!” Angie protested.

              “I ain’t opposed to that.  You’ve always been so thin!  Ya get it from yer ma’s side, y’know.”

              “Yes, you’ve told me ‘fore,” Angie said, rolling her eyes.  Mr. McGucket turned his attention to Stan.

              “This must be the young man you’ve wed without my blessin’,” he said, his voice still cheerful, but his eyes threatening.

              “Wh- how’d you know?” Stan asked.

              “I warned you,” Angie said.  “Word travels fast in a small town.”

              “We told one person.”

              “And she was the worst possible person to tell, if’n ya wanted to keep it a secret fer a bit longer,” Mr. McGucket said.  “Leighanne’s a nice young lady, but she tells her ma everything, and her ma can’t keep a single word to herself.”

              “Great,” Stan muttered.

              “Please, come in from the cold,” Mr. McGucket said, gesturing for the two to enter.  “Banjey, yer ma is in the kitchen.  We can discuss whatever ya wanted to discuss there.”  Stan followed Angie into the cozy but cramped house.  She led him into a kitchen, where a middle-aged woman was putting a kettle on the stove.  The woman turned to see who had entered.  It was immediately obvious that she was Angie’s mother.

              Angie might have gotten her nose from her father, but she got everything else from her mother, holy shit.  They look almost identical.

              “Sweetie, what a delightful surprise!” Mrs. McGucket cooed, wrapping her daughter in a warm hug.

              “It was a surprise until Leighanne’s ma told ya, at least,” Angie muttered.

              “Yes, I think we need to teach yer husband how these things work in small towns.”  Mrs. McGucket frowned.  “Banjolina, yer not with child, are ya?” she asked pointedly.  Stan broke into a cold sweat.  Angie, however, didn’t bat an eye.

              “Ma!” she exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

              “Sorry, my intuition’s just soundin’ off, sweetheart.  And I can count the number of times my intuition’s been wrong on one hand.”  Mrs. McGucket looked at Stan.  “…My intuition’s tellin’ me somethin’ else, too.”

              “Can we at least sit down?” Angie asked.

              “Oh, of course!”  Mrs. McGucket kissed Angie on the cheek.  The kettle began to whistle.  “I’ll pour some tea.”

              “Thank you,” Angie said.  She and Stan sat down at the kitchen table.  It was sturdy, if visibly old and used.  Stan ran his fingers along a name scratched into the wood.  “My brother Harper did that.”

              “I wish I was allowed to write my name on the table,” Stan muttered.  Mrs. McGucket placed a cup of tea in front of him and another in front of Angie.

              “Oh, he weren’t allowed.  He got in big trouble when we caught him,” she said firmly.  She placed two more cups of tea down across from Stan and Angie.  She sat down.  A few moments later, Mr. McGucket came into the kitchen and sat down next to his wife.  “If’n ya don’t mind, darlin’, I’d like to start.”  Angie and Mr. McGucket nodded.  Mrs. McGucket’s eyes met Stan’s squarely.  “Are ya a legitimized child?”

              “Oh, great,” Angie muttered, rubbing her forehead.

              “It’s an important question!  I understand yer husband is a knight already, but if he’s legitimized, then there are a lot of things we need to discuss.”

              “Ma, it’s not-”

              “What do you mean?” Stan asked.  Angie looked at him wearily.

              “My ma thinks what everyone we’ve come across has thought.”

              “Which is…?”

              “That yer a child of the king through an affair,” Angie said.  Stan’s jaw dropped.  “If yer an affair child, normally ya ain’t allowed to be in line fer the throne, but if the king decided to legitimize ya-”

              “I’d be a potential heir, yeah, I know,” Stan said.  He looked at the McGucket parents.  “I wasn’t legitimized.  ‘Cause I didn’t need to be.”

              “Elaborate, please, son,” Mr. McGucket said.

              “I’m not Sir Stan.  I’m Prince Stanley.”  Mrs. McGucket gasped, her hand covering her mouth.  Mr. McGucket turned pale.

              “A prince married a scullery maid?” Mrs. McGucket squeaked.

              “No.  A prince married a knight,” Angie said.  It was Mrs. McGucket’s turn to go pale.

              “Banjolina Quinn McGucket, you didn’t,” she scolded.

              “I did.”

              “You-”  Mrs. McGucket stood, her hands resting on the table, fury in her eyes.  “I explicitly told ya not to pursue knighthood!  A young lady don’t belong anywhere near that nonsense!”

              “Like I’ve ever cared where a young lady do or don’t belong!” Angie snapped, standing as well.  “It’s over and done with, anyways!”

              “Sally, Angie, sit down, please,” Mr. McGucket said.  His wife and daughter slowly sat.  “We won’t resolve anything like this.  And I don’t think we’ll make much headway askin’ more questions, neither.  We need to let Angie and her husband tell us the whole story.”

              “That’s gonna be the way to go, yeah,” Stan agreed.  He looked at Angie.  “Should you or I start?”

              “Yer the prince,” Angie said cheekily.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Fine.”  He turned back to the McGucket parents.  “It all started a few years ago, when I jumped out of my bedroom window to sneak out…”

#I have been avoiding mentioning this particular major plot for the AU #bc I wanted it to be a surprise when I finally got around to writing it #so yeah! surprise! this big thing happens in this AU! #Shining Armor AU #Stangie #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Gravity Falls #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

[toorurs]

a polished stone swept to the shore

synopsis: a night sky full of stars and questions. aventurine can't help but wonder what significance he has to you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content and warnings: insecure!aventurine, hurt/comfort, bit of aventurines backstory | ficlet

authors note: dropping this in the night where aventurine realeases jsjejjwwj. also im not really content with how this turned out due to the ending being quite short and rushed.

tags: @azullumi

“what am i to you?  

the words nip into the tense atmosphere, ascending into the air like a plump balloon, floating around until a gust of wind blows by and lets it drift away into the distant sky that is draped in the misty blanket of clouds. 

“what am i to you?” can be interpreted as two different things. the meaning varies from one to another, depending on how one perceives the question. 

“you’ll wait for me won’t you?” a question where every letter plays a significant role. but still, they take over the same role, the letters are equal to one another. fragile, delicate, unsure words that are drowning in uncertainty, that’ll eventually be unable to float above the surface. instead they’re being led to his blood, infusing it with the ugliness of insecurity. 

(but to aventurine it’s a familiar emotion, one he’s been acquainted with ever since he was a child - it’s not a novel feeling. after all, it has always been like this. every time, when he felt a tad of excitement he mistook it as the adrenaline rushing and pumping through his blood, only to be hit with the realization that it was uneasiness - it has always been uneasiness. his hand that trembles under the duvet grips the bed sheets tightly, clutching at the sateen fabric with his fingertips, as he awaits your answer.)

“what am i to you” also translates into “why do you love me? how come you love me? what significant role do i play to be held like this?” puzzlement is the noun that depicts these questions well. he doesn’t understand but at the same time he does. when you love someone, you’d learn and get to know all of their flaws, all of their struggles and problems, all of their wretchedness and misfortune. 

absurd to think that someone who was blessed by a sheer amount of luck experiences misfortune. he’s the blessed one, his luck is a protective charm that keeps him at a distance, but at the same it is also a curse. his good fortune, the good luck that accompanies him is like a blade, a sharp weapon that leaves scars and inflicts pain, to none other than himself. it's his protective charm, the one that preserves him from the cruel world - although everything he wanted to protect was his family. 

he doesn’t understand why it was him, why he had to be gifted with this so-called fortune. he loathes it for making him the sole survivor of his nation, he resents it because he survived every tragedy that fell upon him like the rain. the rain that fell on the day of his birth, the gift of the god, or rather her tears? but he can’t help but love his luck, the only fragments, the only remnants he has left of his beloved parents, sister and kakavasha. 

but then again, was his luck the one that made the two of you cross paths?

was it a mere coincidence that he fell in love with you and you reciprocated those feelings? but how come? 

aventurine wishes to understand.

aventurine isn't the sun. he's not the one that spreads warmth over the people, he isn’t the one who was tasked to make their hearts pump in joy. he doesn't fulfill any of the criteria to be considered a star that shines brighter among the others. even if he were, he’d be all alone, surrounded by his own warmth, a coat draped over his body. aventurine isn't the one that people yearn for when they feel upset.

aventurine isn't a god. he doesn't possess any powers that'd be considered out of this world. he's not the one people stride after and look up to, not the one people plead and pray to when in need. he isn't able to take away the wounds of others, rather, he's the one who inflicts them. scarring their frail skin and putting it in a painful condition, staining dirt.

aventurine is simply just the gem. but, without the sage green crystal he wouldn't even be considered as aventurine. he wouldn't be the gambler that is bound to the shackles of the ipc. he wouldn't be the final victor then, the one that has each and every move precisely planned out. those are the traits that make him aventurine. without them he'd just be a rock then, a mere pebble to be kicked around. abused and tormented by others, used as nothing else but a stepping stone. cheap, worthless, useless, like the loser he is.

he doesn't understand what you see in a hollow shell like him. 

“what you mean to me, you ask? your voice resembles the rain outside that is currently kissing the glass of the windowpane and platters against the big windows. It’s a comforting sound that soothes him and lulls him into a peaceful slumber.

“mhm.” aventurine hums in agreement and tries to stay as quiet as possible, fearing that he might break this dainty moment if he were to utter a sound too loud. 

“well.” you say in an amused tone. “if you really wanna know, you're like a prince, prince charming kind of?” your voice cracks a bit at the last part, its sweet aventurine thinks. 

“oh yeah? how come?” aventurine tries to sound confident, masking his curiosity with certainty. 

“well you know. i’m like the damsel in distress and you’re the knight whom i wait for. you know in those fairytales, when they wait for an eternity for someone to rescue them and immediately fall in love head over heels with their savior who never gave up on them even after so many failed attempts from others and himself, right?” you ask him.

(aventurine isn't too well acquainted with fairy tales. he never got to read them when growing up, he never had the chance nor the opportunity to do so.) 

“yeah of course.” aventurine plays it off smoothly, fearing that you might question or judge him and his past. (he knows you wouldn’t but he can’t help to think so.)

“well, there you got your answer!” you giggle. 

your words translate into: i’d always wait for you, even if it meant to wait for an eternity. but they also translate into: you’re determined to have me, to know me, to love me and so do i.

aventurine isnt the sun, neither a god. the man that you had lying beside you was the man of your dreams - or rather your fairytales.

e/n: it's 1 am and i have a math exam tmrw which i havent learned for, instead i wrote this 😔😔 © TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine imagines #aventurine x gn reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #aventurine x you #toorurs #—stellaronhvnters.