#i'm writing fluffier things i SWEAR

[watatsumiis]

Sitting in their lap - part 3

I'm really enjoying writing this series, so here's another part! :D

Content: Gender neutral reader (referred to as 'you'), described/implied to be physically smaller than most of the characters (simply because I am and that's how I project, but if you'd like an alternate version, send me an ask and I'll whip it up!), pre-established platonic relationships (though this may border into romantic if you consider physical affection to be that way, so be warned)

Part 1 - (Ft. Albedo, Al Haitham, Ayato, Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe)

Part 2 - (Ft. Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Gorou, Itto, Kaeya)

Characters in this one: Kaveh, Kazuha, Lisa, Morax, Pantalone, Pierro

Kaveh is a bit of a squirmer - he loves being kept company though and will do anything he can to make sure you're comfortable. If he's particularly absorbed in a project, he may barely acknowledge you, but you'll find that he just absently starts to fidget and toy with you, stroking your hair and touching your face, tugging at your clothes, as if he's just making sure you're still here. Sometimes he may even ask for your opinions on what he's working on and will just absently chatter away to you. You don't have to listen super intently, he doesn't mind either way, it's just like he enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice.

Kazuha tends to get up and move around a lot, even when he seems to be settled. He finds that moving around can help get the creative juices flowing - but he'll still himself for a while if it seems like you're in need of some attention. He mutters to himself a lot and may even be working on more than one thing at once (sometimes even holding pencils in both hands), catching little snippets of inspiration before they're gone with the wind. Sometimes it seems like he's looking for your input on a quote or idea, but he always seems a little shocked/startled when you provide a response - but not at all displeased, he really likes having someone to share his ideas with. You notice that his writing tends to border into softer/fluffier sorts of stuff when you're sitting with him - perhaps the physical touch affects him more than he lets on.

Lisa thinks it's super cute and sweet of you to seek her out this way - she certainly doesn't mind having an excuse not to do her work (though it's not like she was going to do it in the first place). She'll chuckle and tease you a little, then settle in for the long haul. She may disturb every now and then to ask you if you need anything or if you can shift your position just a little, but other than that you're pretty much left alone - except for the odd occasion when she's particularly bored and might prod or poke you to make you squirm or giggle. She really does enjoy the company - it gets rather lonely in the library sometimes, especially when people are just dropping in and out for books.

Morax, despite his spiky, horned exterior, really enjoys some snuggles, regardless of his current temperament. The clashing of cold blooded dragon and warm blooded human can mean he has difficulty regulating his own temperature, so having something warm curled up in his lap is often just what he needs to even himself out. He'll curl his big tail around you and rest his chin atop your head - you swear you can feel some kind of purr resonating from somewhere deep in his chest. It's almost possessive, the way he curls his unnaturally tall form around you, puffing out a little sigh into your hair. If he happens to be in a talkative mood, you cuddling up to him may also prompt him into telling you a story or reciting a poem he heard long ago - his voice sounds different from behind those wickedly sharp fangs inside his mouth, but it's still unmistakably him. He'll always make a point to thank you for keeping him company once you get up to go (or if he has to go for whatever reason).

Pantalone acts aggrieved at first - don't take it as a personal slight, he's just dramatic. He'll quickly figure out how to continue his work around you (though you may get booted off if someone walks into his study) and you'll find that he starts to absently use you as a fidget toy, twirling your hair around gloved fingers and pressing his cheek lightly against you as he lets out a content hum from the back of his throat, so quiet that you almost feel like you imagined it. If it becomes a regular thing between you two, he may eventually organise for his workers to bring up extra snacks, and maybe a book or something to keep you occupied. His work is mind-numbingly boring and he doesn't really have any way to entertain you personally. He may get a little strict (or even downright mean) if you fidget and squirm too much, and will remind you "You're only in here because I'm gracious enough to allow you to occupy both my time and space. That opportunity can be taken back at any time." Meanie :(

Pierro has a bout of initial confusion and shock, but doesn't really let it show. He'll just let you climb into his lap, giving you this stern and vaguely-disapproving look as you do so, but he won't say anything or make any move to discipline or redirect you - that's pretty much him giving you the go-ahead. He'll hardly even acknowledge you, just working around you as he does what he needs to do. If anyone happens to walk in, he'll act like you're not even there, just go about his business as usual. His resting temperature is a little cool, but not to an unpleasant degree. You may find him setting a hand on your hip or back every nod and then so that you don't tumble off as he shifts his weight around or reaches for something on his desk, but other than that it's like you don't exist at all - unless you get too wriggly or start asking questions, in which case he just lifts you off of him and sets you on your feet somewhere off to the side of the chair like a mother cat repositioning a kitten.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin self insert #my writing #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #platonic genshin x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader #genshin kaveh #kazuha #kazuha x reader #genshin kazuha #lisa minci #lisa minci x reader #genshin lisa #morax #morax x reader #genshin morax #pantalone #genshin pantalone #pantalone x reader #pierro #pierro x reader #pierro genshin #lisa #lisa x reader

[mint-yooxgi]

Forever - Yandere!Kitsune!San

Yandere AU & Gumiho AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: San X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,873

Warnings: Possessive thoughts, some smutty thoughts, and minor violent thoughts. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Oof, so I finally got around to writing this one and I'm honestly really happy with how it turned out!! It's a lot fluffier than I thought it would be, but Sannie is just a very excited boy in this imo. Anyways, as always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Eighth of The Feral Drabbles

The full moon is bright tonight. The leaves of the forest do nothing to hinder its glow, the light filtering through the branches and dancing across your skin. Yet, you are what truly captivates me.

Your hands are so soft, held delicately in my own. We fit perfectly together, as if you were made for me. A fact of which I know to be unquestionably true, for I am now certain that I have been made for you.

In all of my long years on this earth, I have found no other like you. It is you that has captivated me ever since the moment that we met, and I don’t think I will ever stop loving you. You have claimed my heart in a way I never thought possible, and now, all I want to do is consume you in the same ways that you have consumed me.

It’s nothing malicious, I promise. I could never hurt you. I would rather cut off my own tails than so much as bring you any ounce of pain. Besides, I wouldn’t be holding true to the promises I just made you this evening, now, would I?

There’s more than one reason why I asked you to meet me tonight. The moon was only one of them. I wanted it to set the scene - to be the unmistakable backdrop to the start of our forever together.

I had to have you. I love you. I need you, and I think it only fair that I tell you this.

You’ve always known what I am. You’ve known from the very first moment that we met. I honestly don’t think I could have hid it from you even if I tried. You’re very perceptive that way. A fact of which only made me fall for you harder.

You never feared me. In fact, you welcomed what I am with open arms. I can still remember your curiosities that came spilling out of your mouth when we first met, and even now, I don’t think I will ever grow tired of them.

I could never grow tired of you.

I have guarded this mountain for as long as I can remember, and now, it shall be ours. This will be our path that songs are written about; our love that legends get told of. Nothing, no one, will ever change that. I’ll ensure of it, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.

Gently, leaves fall all around us. Their vibrant colours of red, orange, and yellow only serve to make this moment all the more special. After all, this time of year is important for my kind. It’s when we choose our life mates, if we ever find someone worthy to be called that.

I most certainly have.

I found you.

Courting you hasn’t been easy. I am, unfortunately, bound to this mountain, so I could never go and visit you like I constantly wanted. I always had to wait for you to come see me. Being away from you is like suffering from a severe drought without being able to ever quench my thirst no matter how much water I drink. Without you in my life, I am empty; I am lost.

I’m pretty sure I made a fool of myself more often than not whenever you finally came to see me, but waiting for you to show up each time drove me to the very brink of insanity. So, really, you can’t blame me for all of the times I tripped over myself as soon as I sensed you cross the boarders of my land. Besides, seeing you smile - hearing you laugh - and all because of me made me- makes me happy beyond belief.

I knew I had to have you, to make you mine. I can’t live without you.

You- you complete me.

Every time I saw your face I would immediately become overjoyed. I could barely keep my heart from racing, just as it does now as I lead you back to our home.

Our home.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I won’t lie to you, My Precious, I have desperately been waiting for the day where you finally come to live with me. I have been fantasizing about it for too long. I’ve always wanted to curl up next to you in bed, pulling you in closer as I wrap you in my tender embrace. I want to cook for you, and watch your face light up like it always does when I bring you special treats meant only for you. I want to hold you while we gaze at the stars, of which could never compare to your beauty.

More than all of that, I want to love you unconditionally. I want to be the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you know before you sleep. I want to kiss you breathless, and wrap you up in my tails when you’re cold. 

Fuck- speaking of my tails, I want to hold you close as we make love, wrapping one or two around your waist as we cling onto each other desperately. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you, and I hope you can say the same for me.

I’m not blind, I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know I can make you shy. Heck, just the other day you started stuttering when I was showering you in praise! You looked so cute trying to hide your face behind your hands. Really, all I wanted to do was take you into my arms and kiss you, but you weren’t mine yet.

If I’m going to court you, then I’m going to do it properly.

And I did.

Now, I don’t have to worry about holding myself back! I can hold your hand whenever I want. I can shower you in all of my affections like you’ve always deserved! I can kiss you, and hug you, and hold you close like I’ve always dreamed. More than all of that though, I can reassure you of my never ending love for you until the end of time. Those doubts and insecurities will have no place in your mind any longer. Not while I’m around to quell them.

Of course, I will always make sure to do everything with your consent! I’m not a monster. At least, not to you.

I can’t promise I’ll be able to stay as calm as I usually am with you if anyone were to try and take you away from me. Anyone that dares to hurt you, cheat you, steal your heart from me, or anything of that sort will know the true wrath of the mountain spirit that guards that which is most precious to him.

In case you’re wondering, that’s you. You are the most precious thing to me in this world. That’s why you’re My Precious!

Oh, how I cannot wait to fall asleep beside you tonight! I’ll do my best to control myself, but you seriously have no idea what you do to me. Simply being this close with you, and knowing you fancy me, too, is making my head spin. Already, my thoughts are consumed with absolutely ravishing you when we get home, and completing every mating ritual I know of to solidify that bond between us.

Maybe I should stop holding your hand…

No.

Impossible.

I don’t think I could tear my touch away from yours, even if I tried. You’re mine now, and I’m yours. Feeling your fingers intertwined with mine only solidifies that.

Though, it’s certainly not helping my wandering thoughts…

This is what it will feel like holding onto your hand as I make love to you. This is what your warmth will feel like radiating against my own as our bodies intertwine in the most intimate of ways.

It only makes me even more desperate for that which has still yet to come…

I want to serve you, My Precious, and I want to make sure I do it right. Too many nights have been spent living in my fantasies of all that I want to do to you - all that I want to do with you. Nights exactly like this.

Oh, I know it’s still quite early in our relationship - we only just agreed to live together - but I can’t help it! I have spent countless hours thinking about all of the different ways I will claim you, and everything in between.

If I’m being honest, I desperately want to do so beneath the light of the full moon on my sacred grounds near the summit of my mountain. It’s a place only I can get to, and now that you’re with me, only you are allowed to set foot upon such a sacred part of my territory. I can just picture how your skin will glow, just as it is now, beneath the uninterrupted radiance of the moon. 

Your back will arch upon my alter as I lose myself between your thighs. Lips, tongue, fingers, cock: all of me belongs to you. I live to serve you, and I can think of no better place to do so than on my most holiest of spaces.

I worship you, and I will spend the rest of our lives proving just that.

Oh, please, Precious, won’t you let me get lost in you? All I want is to feel your body pressing against mine. I want to feel your thighs trembling around my head as I give you yet another earth shattering orgasm. I need to feel your juices dripping down my chin as an offering to the ecstasy I’ve provided for you. I want to feel you pull me closer, your nails scratching into the skin of my back as your legs squeeze around my waist. I so desperately want to feel you brush a delicate hand over my tails- hell- all over my body.

I know from the way you stare at me that you want this, too.

You’re not subtle in the least, Precious. I’ve seen you admiring me when you think I’m not looking.

Do you also think about what it would feel like for my arms to wrap themselves around you as I roll my hips so sensually into yours? Do you long to run your fingers through my hair, only to grip it tight to pull me in closer to you? I bet you’ve longed to know what I’m capable of, if I’m truly capable of pleasing you as your lover should, just as I have, haven’t you?

Don’t worry, Precious, even if it takes time, I promise to learn every little detail about what makes your body sing. I promise to please you in every way I know how: physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I want to see your soul come alight with me, for you have already begun to make my own shine.

I promise you’ll never have to worry about anything again.

Everything that I am belongs to you. For now, though, let’s take it one day at a time.

For now, let’s start with tonight.

The start of our forever.

#cultofdionysusnet #yandere san #yandere ateez #san scenario #san smut #ateez scenario #ateez smut #kpop scenario #kpop smut #yandere kpop #kitsune au #kpop au #chubby reader

[heartthrobin]

and let our hands make art (3)

mechanic!eddie munson x farmgirl!reader

wc: 7.5k

warnings: reader is a going thru a lot, swearing, half-assed space terminology (writer is not an astronomer), cheesy ending (everyone cheered)

an: ahhhhh !!! it's the last part. i'm so proud of this fic and i hope you loved reading it as much as i loved writing it :)))

summary: for what it's worth. you'd tried. tried hard not to let him in, but he was slick and greasy and the hot sun had melted you all over. and maybe sometimes you're allowed to want things.

part one & part two

Eddie stepped into the muggy kitchen. Your eyes flickered behind him where daddy was shaking Carl’s hand out on the porch, he handed Daddy a pocket-size bottle of rich brown whiskey.

Your gaze returned to the man in your kitchen.

For what was definitely the first time since you’d met him, Eddie was dressed like he didn’t live elbow deep in engine grease.

His hair was fluffier than usual, not matted down with sweat as it was most afternoons. He wore a black buttoned shirt, it was cuffed at the elbow.

“You— uh,” your gulp was embarrassingly loud: “you look … nice.”

To be fair, “nice” wasn’t nearly an accurate enough description to describe how the sight of him all crisp and dapper standing just close enough to smell the aftershave had turned your stomach into a high-power washing machine.

“Hmm, a compliment?” His eyebrow pinched against his forehead, his smirk was unavoidable. “Better park the truck in the barn, it’s gonna hail pigs tonight.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head. You hoped he didn’t notice where you felt your cheeks warming. “You know what, I take it back—“

He laughed loudly, “Wait, wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment.”

His eyes glittered even in the dim room.

He surprised you by speaking again. “And you look … beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

Fiery streaks raged up your cheeks. Of course you don’t look beautiful, he’s just teasing.

The thought didn’t console your thumping heart, however.

“There’s the little miss!” Carl’s voice was booming in the limited vicinity of the kitchen.

His wide warm hand found purchase against your shoulder, shaking you jovially.

You wobbled slightly, “Good evening, Mr A.”

“I hear you been working my boy real hard out here in the dust, hey sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered between Eddie, who was harbouring a curled lip, and Carl where his grip tightened around the edge of the back of a chair at the table.

“Hmph,” you guffawed lightly. “I’m sure he thinks so.”

Carl’s stomach vibrated with laughter, he fell down into his seat across from where you stood. Eddie hesitantly pulled out the chair beside him.

Your eyes clung desperately to the buttons struggling against his chest.

Fuck. 

“Cherry, won’t you grab the salad from the fridge there.”

You felt the heat of Eddie’s gaze against your face: your eyes shifted quickly from where they’d been practically rubbing up his torso to meet the deep brown stare. 

His brow was cocked, amusement alight in his face.

“Cherry?” He mouthed.

Your eyes rolled back. 

“Shut up.” You mouthed back just quietly enough to evade a scolding from Daddy where he was carefully pulling the hot dish from the oven. 

Carl and Daddy did most of the talking that night. 

Forks scraped loudly against the plates between conversation of car engines and peaches and gas prices and incapable senators. 

Keeping your eyes on your plate proved difficult, just as it did most of all those afternoons in the barn, when Eddie was chewing animatedly around his mouthfuls of food. 

He crunched his salad loudly between his teeth and would sigh softly around particularly sweet pieces of chicken. A faint smudge of orange gravy lingered just below his bottom lip and the thought of licking it off was driving you to point of insanity. 

Somewhere around when Carl had dished up his third serving of cornbread, the chatter steered over to the tattooed mechanic at your end of the table. 

“So tell me son,” Daddy sipped at his glass of iced-tea, “How’d you end up in lil ol’ countryside Tennessee? Carl says you’re out from Indiana side?” 

Eddie nodded, swallowing a mouthful. Your gaze greedily watched his Adam’s apple bob at the action. 

“Yes sir, that’s right.”

He shifted in his seat, clearly searching for his next words. If you didn't watch him as much as you did, allow his words and actions to haunt you most nights, you might not have noticed how his hands curled into nervous fists. 

“I-- uh, I graduated late from high school and felt like I needed a new start. So I left and started working, nearby states and the like.”

Daddy surveyed him, clearly interested, “Oh yeah? Whereabouts?” 

Eddie shrugged, he caught your eye for a fraction of a moment before pulling it back to the man at the head of the table. 

“Over the last two years, Kentucky, Arkansas ... Virginia for a while.” He spooned another heaping of mash into his mouth, “Never stay in one place too long.”

His last sentence struck you harder in the gut than you’d anticipated.

So you were right. 

He isn't staying. 

You hadn't even noticed that the conversation had steered to you before Carl rapped his knuckles loudly against the table -- 

“Caught in her own world this one, huh?” He was chuckling again, a laugh that sounded like dragging a bag of fertiliser over tar. 

“Beg your pardon, Mr A?” 

The old man stuck a persistent hand in your direction, swallowing roughly around a mouthful. “Was just asking what you get up to ‘round here, when your toes ain’t between the soil. Surely you got somethin’ keeping you busy.”

“Oh, there’s nothing really--”

“All I mean is I don’t see any young farm boys hangin’ round in the evenings, sure ya old man’s glad for that.” He was jostling Daddy in the arm. The look on Daddy’s face was blurry, like you couldn’t read him, but you swore his eye flickered over to where you could feel Eddie’s gaze on your cheek from across the table. 

“Nope, none a’ that.” He said. 

Carl turned back to you, face twisted in anticipation. 

You shifted the mash on your plate. “Nothing really, Mr A. Lots of work to do, I stay busy with my toes between the soil.” 

“Now that’s not true, Cherry.” Daddy piped up from his end of the table, he waved his fork in the air. “Tell him about all your space things.”

“Space things?” Carl’s brow tightened. “Oh yeah?” 

“Space things?” 

Eddie. 

He was looking at you through those thick lashes, waterline dark with black liner. 

The racing blush heating your face was impossible to miss, you were sure.

“Well, it’s not really--” 

“Yeah, Cherry loves all that stuff. The stars, and the planets and the atmosphere: all that Star Track and Star Worlds--”

“Daddy.”

The unfolding interaction was only brightening the amusement in Eddie’s eyes. He set his cutlery down. 

“Star Trek, hey?” 

“No. It’s not that stuff,” you fought to defend your quickly deteriorating reputation. “The real science, not that crap on television. Real constellations, milky ways, foreign galaxies. Distant stars. Stuff like that.” 

Eddie’s head was tilted against his shoulder, he was watching you unabashedly. 

“I’d say. With all the textbook and posters I’ve bought over the years. Her room is covered in ‘em. Stars everywhere.”

“That’s ... that’s cool.” Eddie sounded out of breath when he spoke. 

“I ain’t smart enough to understand all that.” Carl shrugged, forking more food down his gullet. 

“Sure is cool, ‘least she thinks so.” Daddy pressed. “She’ll show you all her books and that after dinner, Eddie. Won’t you, Cherry?” 

Somehow the mash had hardened upon his words, it lodged like a stone in your throat. 

You coughed loudly. “Daddy, I don’t think Eddie’s interested in my--”

But between the food and the incessant pester of three men who love the sound of their own voices, not for the first time since you sat for dinner, you were unable to finish your sentence. 

“I would actually love to see your posters and your books.”

The edge of that grin could slice a fat, ripe peach all the way across in one go.

Carl overtook table talk again. Something about a memory from when him and Daddy were in high school, something about an old football player with a bad knee. 

It stretched beyond plates scraped clean. 

“How about a bit of that Daniels out on the porch, huh old boy?” Carl asked finally. 

Daddy sighed, hand rubbing over his stomach protruding over the belt on his jeans. “A’ course.” 

He turned to you, he referenced over the plates with his hand. “Cherry would you mind, dear?”   

You nodded enthusiastically, desperate for relief from avoiding looking up to Eddie’s figure across from you. 

The chairs scraped loudly. 

“You’re welcome for a drink, Munson.” Carl pressed. 

A wide hand chased back loose hairs, “No, no, I’m alright. Thanks boss.” 

The plates clattered against each other where you stacked them. A warm grasp made you jump when it closed over yours. 

“Let me take that.” 

He was much closer now when you met his face. 

“It’s-- don’t worry I got it.” 

Warm familiarity lapped at your brain, the memory of that first hot afternoon between the peaches. A crate of fruit against your hip. 

His voice softened, just as it did that day. “Come on. Let me help you, love.” 

The word settled deep into a cove in the pit of your stomach. Love. 

“Okay.” 

Cool water rushed noisily into the depths of the sink, soap frothed happily on the surface. The plates swum below the surface. 

“You washing or drying?” Eddie asked at you where you were searching the cupboard for a sponge. 

He fidgeted with the end of his shirt that was tucked into his jeans, not for the first time that evening. 

God, this shirt is itchy. 

But it was his best one. The one he’d dug out from the back of his cupboard a couple minutes before Carl pulled up and whistled at him from the driver’s seat.

“All dressed up to see ya’ princess, ay Munson?” 

He’d washed his hair, opened up a bottle of shower gel that had been hidden in one of the many boxes scattered around his place and even had a second to struggle against black eyeliner in his bathroom mirror. 

But he hadn’t seen her all week. Seen you all week. 

Like a siren song you haunted him in his dreams, on his drive to the shop and when his fingers fumbled between filthy engine parts he thought of you then too. 

“Uhm, whatever you want.” 

“I’ll wash then.” 

The sight of you in the kitchen with the muddy ends of your jeans and your hair shining with the afternoon sun through the window was enough to convince him that all the dress up hadn't been in vain. That you actually did exist and you weren’t some mirage he'd dreamt up in a haze of Tennessee soil and engine grease fumes. 

His hands sunk into the warm water, you tossed the sponge where he caught it: wetting the side of his shirt. 

The yellow sponge squeaked over the plates. 

You hummed quietly. Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining. Players only love you when they're playing. Say, women, they will come and they will go. 

He was taken back to the drive home from Madison’s. Fleetwood Mac again. 

Eddie could listen to the soft hum of your voice forever, he only wish you’d sing.

Instead you stopped, stopped Dreams to lean over and pick up a dry towel. 

“Nice dinner.” He commented into the silence, head down towards the water. His hair tickled at his nose. 

You smiled only briefly, from what he caught from the side of his eye and between the tendrils of his hair. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Carl’s got a real mouth on him.” 

Eddie chuckled, “Yeah. He likes your old man.” 

You laughed, soft like a butterfly’s fluttering wings. “Clearly. He talks like everything was just yesterday. When they ran track, when they got drunk at Mr Alistair’s house--”

Eddie blew at the piece of hair against his lip. 

He could feel you turn to him, trepidation lingering at your fingertips that had slowed to a stop. 

“You ... you need a hand there with that mane?”  

The question surprised him, but he nodded nonetheless. A little bit of a chuckle preceding his response. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

From around your wrist, you produced a yellow hair tie. 

You laughed in return, “Kind of scared to get my hands into this jungle on top of your head.” 

“Come on: you love it, doll.”

You huffed, “Shut up, Greenie. Lean your head back.” 

He brought his head to rest back against his shoulders, where with absolutely no warning your warm hands reached between the tendrils. 

A sigh escaped him, one he prayed you never heard. Fingertips climbed from the base of his head to just above his forehead, his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Looks clean for once.” Your voice was soft. 

He barely heard your jab. 

“Mhm.” 

Eddie felt the hair lift off his shoulders. 

Your fingers chased longer than they should have. It was quiet. 

He was plagued with the wonder of what those hands would feel like against his own palm. Against his chest or behind his neck. Maybe in the space at the bottom of his back. 

“It’s soft.” You whispered. He speculated on whether you intended on him hearing it at all. 

A plate slipped from his grip. It banged against the floor of the sink. 

Your hands were gone.

His eyes flew open, in the reflection of the window he noticed how you’d tied the hair up into a bun like how he wore it most days. 

You coughed quietly. 

“Looks--looks good.” He clarified, a wobble to the edge of his voice. “Thanks.”

Your hands sunk into the water, you shrugged. “That’s how you wear it most of the time.” 

“So you noticed, hm?” He tried to steady his voice again, falling back into playful banter.

“Yeah.” But your voice missed it’s usual teasing lilt, “I like it like that. Can see your face better.” 

Eddie’s eyes flickered up from the soapy plate. You were wiping away like you hadn’t just made all the hair on his body stand straight up. 

He forwent acknowledging your words.

  “So ... Cherry, huh?” 

You laughed again, it melded with the clink of the plate against the others where you sat it down. “Yep. Cherry. He’s always called me that.” 

Eddie’s brow tugged, motioning over his shoulder back towards where the barn sat behind the house. “Something to do with that Cobra stuck up in the barn, does it?”

“Indeed.” You nodded, “You couldn’t get me out of that thing growing up. Daddy would come fetch me in the driver’s seat long past sunset fiddling with the steering wheel.” 

He smiled at the notion. The image of a younger you sitting, humming Fleetwood Mac behind the wheel of a stationary, cherry red Cobra. 

“That barn is fucking hot.”

That made Eddie laugh harder. “You’re fucking telling me.”

The laughter filled every crevice in the kitchen, enough that he spotted your daddy and Carl looking back over their shoulders from their rocking chairs out on the deck. 

It took a minute before his chest rumbled to a slow, low chuckle. 

You shook your head, the huffs of a last laugh escaping you. “It was my mother’s.”

Eddie’s hands stilled. His brow creased, “What?”

The air had grown stiller. Your smile was weaker. “You asked me that first day, how does a car like this end up on a farm in the middle of nowhere?” 

His chest tightened, his words sounded worse coming from your mouth now than when he’d said them first. 

He nodded slowly. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. The only thing left of her ‘round here.”

The plate squeaked beneath his fingertips, the last one. 

“She ... is she--?” 

“Is she dead?” Your words slipped out with a strange-sounding chuckle, “No, not at all. Just a deadbeat. Walked out. Left the car though, thank God.” 

“Shit.” Eddie didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. “I’m ... I’m sorry.” 

The stark reality of your trooping around the farm washed over him warmer than the already stifling kitchen. Why you patrolled and frowned and worked and shrugged off every grease-head that came traipsing up on the farm. 

It was just you. There was nobody else to do it. 

His thoughts were cut in half when you bumped your shoulder against his arm, wiping down your hands with a cloth before offering it to him. “Don’t be. It’s better without her.”  

You were looking right up at him for the first time since reaching the sink. Your eyes brought him comfort. “Right ... you wanna go join the men outside for a drink--”

He caught you by your wrist before you’d even moved to turn, “Uh, uh, uh.”

Your eyes rolled, already knowing where this was going but still not pulling your arm from his grip. 

“You thought I was gonna forget?” He grinned, “I wanna see your space stuff.”

 “You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” 

His touch moved from your wrist to your hand, shifting it gently against his palm. Still, you didn’t take it back. Instead your lashes rested annoyed up against your eyebrows.

“Fine.” 

Eddie’s heart thrummed against his ribs as you lead him through the kitchen, attached by the hand towards a darkened staircase and pounded harder when you moved slowly up with heavy steps. 

This wasn’t how he’d imagined being lead to your room the first time, but somehow it felt more fitting. 

“I can practically hear you forming a bad joke about going to my room.” 

He scoffed, wondering momentarily if you could really tell what he was thinking.

“No, I wasn’t.”

A narrow corridor, two doors. The tall one at the end. 

“Yes you were.”

The brass knob whined beneath your hand. 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Just admit it, I know you were cooking up some perverted comment under that big head of hair, Munson.”

The door creaked open.

“Perverted? I wouldn’t dare dream of such--”

Eddie stopped. Talking and walking. 

Your hand broke from his. 

He’d fallen into a technicolour acid trip. 

The sky lunged at him, an expanse of stars and red and blue fog as far as he could see. 

Clippings, posters, little squares of text cut from what he was sure was magazines and newspapers. They covered every square inch of the room, the colour of the wall a discarded mystery. 

A single bed leaned against the wall closest to the window, a side attraction to the universe engulfing it. There was a blonde wooden desk in the corner, barely discernible from beneath the stacks of newspapers and textbooks leaning precariously upon it. 

“Well, this is it I guess." you wrung your hands, shoulders pulled up against your reddening ears. "I told you it’s not much ...”

Eddie’s eyes found you again. The most beautiful thing between the galaxies, he’d decided. 

He was reminded by your short nervous breaths that he still hadn’t said anything. 

“It’s ... this is amazing.” 

Your shoulders slumped slightly, letting him know that he’d spoken appropriately. You took a small relieving sigh, it was followed tentatively by a smile. 

“Thanks. It took a long time to collect everything, magazines and books and ... posters from yard sales.” 

Eddie took a slow step towards the nearest wall, watching how the stars climbed to the ceiling. “Do you know what they’re all called?”

His finger pressed against what looked like a pink and orange cloud. 

You stepped quickly from where you’d been standing hesitantly by the door, a warm richness to your tone when you spoke: 

“I mean, not all of them, but that one is Orion’s Nebula.” You pressed your finger against his and goosebumps ran up his arm. “It’s in our Milky Way and on some clear nights you can even see it in the sky without a telescope! It’s thirteen hundred lightyears away--”

You were so close against the side of Eddie’s face. His heart was swelling like a parade balloon in his chest, he thought he might collapse at the sound of your voice. 

His finger moved quickly to the next, “And this one?” 

“That’s the Crab Nebula, the reason it’s called that is because--” your words were punctuated with your giggles, “--the guy who first discovered it drew a rough sketch and people thought it looked like a crab.”

His finger moved to the next, “This one?” 

“This one’s a star. Betelgeuse. It’s also called Alpha Orionis--”

But Eddie couldn’t stop. Couldn’t get enough. His finger shifted to the next and the next and the next until you’d been speaking for nearly twenty minutes and Eddie could see every single constellation behind your eyes as you did, quickly losing grasp on his sense of sanity. 

“-- and they’re building this telescope, it’s called Hubble, that they’re gonna launch in the next ten years and it’s gonna be able to take much better photos than these that I’ve got.”

Maybe you’d finally caught him staring, but you stopped suddenly. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been talking too long.” He watched how your shoulder came back up close to your ears in embarrassment. 

“It’s amazing.”

You’re amazing.

“You’re making me fall in love with space.”

You’re making me fall in love with you.

You nodded slowly, “I’m glad. I’m surprised that not everyone is.” 

“Why didn’t you go study space or something after high school?” He waved over the lengths of stars and galaxies and planets around the room. “You’re the smartest woman in this whole town, if not the state.”

Your mouth opened to respond, then closed again. You chewed around your words for a long moment before eventually spitting them out. 

“I did.” You sounded ashamed. “I applied to astronomy in Arizona and California and a couple other states.” 

“And?” 

Suddenly your hands felt hot. You pressed them down the sides of your filthy jeans. Eddie’s confused eyes held you in place against the wood floor.

“I got in.” 

He took a step towards you, shortening the distance you’d allowed yourself to breathe. “Why didn’t you go?”

The laugh you let off was short and humourless, cold and sensitive to the touch. You motioned your hand over your shoulder at the window. 

“I can’t leave here. My daddy wouldn’t survive all alone.”

Eddie took another step, shorter this time but enough to bring him where his breath tickled your cheeks. A sweaty hand reached to find yours.

“Did he ever tell you that?”

It pressed against your own warm palm. 

“He doesn’t have to.”

There was a couple strands of black hair peeking out around his face and his eyes crinkled at the edges. He was too close, far too close. 

“There’s a planetarium in Chicago, I saw it on TV once. A big one.” His voice was soft like Sunday wind blowing against linen on the line. “We could go. I could take you.”

Your heart leapt up to your throat, your lips open in a silenced gasp. “The Adler Planetarium?” You asked softly. Breathlessly. 

Eddie inched forward and somewhere within yourself you found the courage to allow him to. He chuckled softly, his furry top lip reached out to yours if only for a brush. “I’m sure that’s the one. I’m not as smart as you, doll.”

For a hot fleeting second, the vision crossed your mind: you and Eddie in his white pick-up, driving hours across the country. Seeing a real planetarium like how you’ve dreamed for so long, seeing another state, seeing Chicago. 

Maybe it would be cold like how you never saw in Tennessee. Maybe you’d have to wear snow boots and maybe Eddie would hold your gloved hand the whole time. 

Suddenly, you found his thumb at your jaw. You couldn’t recall how it found it’s way, but it stayed. He twisted his face so as to press his hot lips against your cheek. He kissed there once, then again. 

Your eyes rolled closed, imagining for a moment to be beneath the starry Illinois sky with Eddie pressed against you the way he was just then. 

He moved slowly down, catching your breath at the top of your throat with each peck down over your jaw, to the column of your neck and at the junction of your collar bone.

“Will you come with me?” He whispered. His hand was still tight between your fingers, the other stroking against your jaw. 

“I--”

Somewhere in the distance, Cowboy barked. 

“Cherry!”

Your eyes flew open as if ripped from a dream in the dead of night. The icy cold hand of circumstance tightened over your throat. Visions of Chicago dissolved quickly from behind your eyes. 

You stepped back out of Eddie’s grip.

He straightened up, confusion deep-set in his thick brow. “Uh, I think your old man is calling.”

“I heard.” You were avoiding his eye, wiping a hand over your neck where you could still feel his lips. “We should go.” 

Despite your best effort of trying to pass him towards the door uninterrupted, Eddie caught your wrist. His face dripped in sincerity.

“So, Chicago?”

You shook your head, waiting for the lump in your throat to allow you to speak. 

“T-That’s two states away. I can’t afford to leave, Eddie.” You pulled your hand from his grasp. 

“Cherry, Carl’s heading out!”

The way his cheeks sunk at the fall of his smile made you nauseous. 

“It’s not that far, just a couple hours. We could go for a weekend, or just a night. Or even just a day--”

The rolling waves of embarrassment you’d become achingly familiar with washed over you again. The same ones that drowned you when your friends would visit from college or send pictures of their new lives at the coast or on the road. The waves that reminded you of the decisions your mother made, the same ones you can’t repeat. 

You didn’t want to leave, you couldn’t. 

“Eddie, I just can’t, alright?” You pressed, a sharp edge to your voice. “Not all of us can just jump state to state, I have a family. I have responsibilities--”

“I have a family.” 

It shut you up. Quickly.

It was a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind, you realised selfishly. A thought that paused you in your tracks. 

Eddie’s face was pulled tightly, in a way you’d never seen it. 

“I have people who care about me back home too. I have responsibilities.”

“Eddie, I--”

“Cherry!”

“Doll, if you didn’t want to go you could have just said so. I can take a hint.” 

He moved faster past you than you had opportunity to blink away the tears prickling at the edge of your eyes. 

By the time you’d given up on swallowing around the lump in your throat and reached the landing in the kitchen, Eddie and Mr Abernathy were nothing but a cloud of dust over the driveway. 

- 

He returned the next day. 

You didn’t go down to greet and he didn’t come near the house. 

Around midday the white pick-up pulled into the driveway. You watched down on the yard from the window of your room, the Orion Nebula glaring a hole into the side of your head from the wall. Eddie emerged with a red toolbox and disappeared around the house. 

You didn’t make him lunch and he never came to ask. You hoped he might. 

But the hours passed and the sun sunk while bitterness and guilt tugged at either end of the same rope across your chest. 

I shouldn’t have snapped at him. 

He should learn to mind his own business, he knows nothing about me.

It would be nice to go with him to Chicago, he’s sweet for asking. 

He’s just gonna play with your heart and then jump over to the next state to do the same thing with some other poor broad. And who’s gonna have to pick up the pieces when he leaves? Me!

Your head rung until you were sick in the stomach. 

Past sunset the truck still lingered in the driveway. The air was muggy with the promise of a storm. 

You were packing pesticides in the shed around the back of the house with Cowboy’s tail thumping against the wood when you heard footsteps passing. 

The dog leapt clumsily to his feet, keen to chase after his most favourite person. 

You heard Eddie’s soft coo at the dog, “hey big boy”, and his foot falls up the three porch steps. Then the knock at the door. 

Daddy answered, you tried to listen but the conversation disappeared between the wind and the swaying peach leaves. 

He called for you, Daddy, but you pretended not to hear.

Embarrassment and shame and guilt and anger bubbled too close to the surface. You didn’t want to see Eddie. Maybe not ever again. 

You knew it to be a lie. A temporary comfort to your troubled mind. 

Thunder rumbled grumpily far out above your head. 

His lips still hadn’t left your neck and when your eyes shut you still heard his laugh against your cheek. You thought he may just have driven you insane. 

Only once you’d heard the jostle of the car disappearing down the road did you slip out from the shed under a sheath of lightning strike into the yellow lit kitchen. 

A set of keys was watching you from the counter. Daddy was scrubbing a pair of dirty jeans in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at you. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded as if he could see you, but your eyes never left the counter. “Those the Cobra keys?” 

Daddy gave a triumphant huff, flicking his hands off by the sink and reaching for a dish cloth. “Indeed it is. Eddie came by just a couple minutes ago, said she’s all fixed up. We can give her a go in the morning.” 

Your heart dropped like a hot stone into your stomach. 

It was done. 

The car was done-- he was done. 

“Oh.” 

Daddy’s barely dry hands pulled the keys off the wood, he cradled your hand and let them fall into your palm. He smiled and you worked hard to smile back. 

“These are yours, Cherry.” He spoke softly, tightening his hand over your own. “She’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. You just need the courage to get behind the wheel.” 

Against the pinching in your chest, you managed a mostly genuine chuckle. “Don’t be so cliché, daddy.” 

He watched your face with an earnest you hadn’t seen from him in a long time. It unsettled you. 

“Daddy?” 

“I called you when he handed in the keys. You didn’t come.” 

Your hand grew hot between his palms. “I didn’t hear you.” 

He knew you were lying, you could tell. A pause hung between you.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter, Cherry.” 

He sucked in a breath, reaching a damp hand to pat against the side of your face. 

“But you’re allowed to want things, sweetheart. To want something more, or want someone to share it all with.” 

“Daddy ...” your thoughts swirled like whisky in a dancer’s cup, “I-- thank you for the car, I’m happy. I don’t know what you’re--”

“You’re not your mother, Cherry.” 

His words stung like steaming coffee tossed over your face. 

You blinked. The pain eased. 

The edges of your eyes prickled and suddenly your throat burned. “I know. I don’t want to be.” 

“Well, you’re not. And the world deserves some of you, too.” 

Daddy had never spoken so candidly, maybe from a shared well of fear you’d both drank far too long from. 

“Where is this coming from?” 

He shrugged. Rubbing a thumb down your cheek, then back up again. 

“Maybe the pathetic look on that mech’s face when you didn’t come say goodbye after I called.” 

“That’s--”

“And maybe something about a planetarium in Chicago.” 

Your stomach jumped violently. “How did you--”

Daddy laughed, head tossed back and old age hanging off his face. “Carl’s a big talker, you know that.”

Reeling from the tug of a conversation twenty years in the making, you nodded slowly. “Right.” 

He leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead before turning to pick his hat off the counter. “And you’re welcome, Cherry. For the car. It was always yours.” 

A smile found your face. “Uh, you wouldn’t mind if I took her for a quick spin?” 

He stalled at the base of the steps where he’d slowly been creeping to bed. Daddy took a glance out the window. “There’s a storm lingering. Don’t be long.” 

- 

The wind was whipping wildly when you met the doors of the barn. 

Night was stronger than the back porch light and Cowboy’s soft upper lip flickered from the force of the gale. He was watching you in concern. 

As the doors opened, the dust from within swirled into a cloud of brown up through your hair and over your face. The keys jingled in your hand. 

You noticed that Eddie had moved the crates out the way, stacking them neatly in a corner behind the car. The same crates you’d leaned against on hot afternoons. 

The door clicked open in the dim air, making the car look a blackened red in the dark barn, and Cowboy was the first to leap in: desperate for an escape from the biting conditions. 

Following him, you collapsed into the seat. 

Stiff knuckles wrapped around the smooth leather wheel and you weren’t sure if you could cry or throw up or even start the car. Alas, the key was slotted with shaking hands into the ignition and she purred to life. 

You didn’t bother with the sentimentality of enjoying the sound - because then maybe you’d really be sick out the window - instead you pressed a hard foot down on the accelerator and let the car fly against gravel out and around the farmhouse. 

The path was dark, following the only road that went anywhere. The first pats of rain were smearing the window before where the headlights reached into the collapse of darkness ahead. 

So I begin not to love you.  Turn around to see me runnin’, I say I loved you years ago. 

Against the thrumming of your brain behind your forehead, you barely noticed that the radio had been playing since you’d left the safety of the barn. The sound of Silver Springs grew softer as the rain began to collapse brutally and unceremoniously against the windscreen. Lightning cracked over Tennessee and town teased you in the distance. 

Beyond the rumbling above, within and below, the warmth streaking down your face had gone amiss until Cowboy leaned his wet nose against your jaw from the passenger seat. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks against the back of your sleeve and with your vision progressively blurring, patted his wide head dismissively. 

The ground passing beneath you plagued little on your mind. Will you come with me?

The car was the only thing your mother hadn’t been able to pack fast enough on her way out. 

You’re not your mother, Cherry. 

The ghost of Eddie’s hand closed over yours on the wheel. You thought for a moment that maybe the car could take you all the way to Chicago without stopping and he’d be there waiting for you. Or maybe San Francisco, he’d be there as well. Or Pheonix or New York or Miami. He’d be there every time. 

You couldn’t say how far you’d driven out by then: surely not as far as Chicago, but not yet close enough to town. The storm roared around you and the streetlights were few and far between when the car gave a long whine and a jerk. 

Eyes flying wider open, your grip tightened around the wheel. 

Was I such a fool? I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you. Give me just a c-chance--

Stevie Nicks stuttered at you before stalling to silence. 

The dial behind the wheel was slowing, winding closer to zero and the car fumbled beneath you. 

“Fuck ... fuck--” your eyes chased wildly over the dashboard, you slapped the wheel. “No, please not now, please--”

But she did. The car dragged to a roll before a steady stop. Cowboy pawed the dash. 

“Fucking idiot, that son of a bitch--!” 

Behind the fizzled car headlights, you could make out the cloud of smoke rising from the bonnet. 

A scream like a shot bird rang from your lungs through the depths of the car, you slammed reddened palms against the wheel, again, again. Cowboy whined loudly, barking softly and clearly confused. 

You threw the door open with as much force as throwing an axe over a log, tearing out into the pouring rain. The dog leapt after you, barking loudly now at your heels.

Pain chased up your ankle through your foot from where your boot connected with the tire of the car. Your voice ripped again, out into the space between the raindrops and into the flat plains of land.

By then, you hacked and swore against the sobs tearing at your chest. The tears mingled against the rain that weighed your clothes down and stuck your hair to the sides of your face. 

You kicked the tire again. You tugged on the bonnet and it flew up. 

Equipped with limited knowledge of cars, the inky darkness of night and pouring rain: you simply stared into the depths of the car wishing to melt into the tar.

A freckle of light in the distance made you turn. 

The freckle grew to a speck as it neared. A speck to two headlights. 

Cowboy stood firmly beside you, barking hysterically in it’s direction. 

Maybe someone heading to another farm further down the road?

There was a limited range of individuals who would be out at this hour so far from town, but as the car neared it was impossible for the driver to go amiss. 

The white pick-up slowed as it neared you, pulling to a stop just a few metres off. 

You threw your hands up, “Just my fucking luck!”

The door opened, Eddie held his arm up against the rain. Cowboy ran up to and then past him, leaping into the driver’s seat he’d just abandoned. His headlights shone on you.

“What are you doing out here!” He yelled against the sky, “You’re gonna get struck by--”

“I wouldn’t be out here if you had actually fixed this fucking car, Munson!”

You turned against him, back to the bonnet. 

It was in his character to sigh dramatically, you could practically feel it against your back. 

“Let me have a look at it.” He stepped closer, but you raised a hand at him, meeting his eyes across the steps of tar and rain dividing you. 

“I don’t want your help.”

His hands met his hips, hands curling into tight fists there. Eddie was a vision in the mingling headlights of his truck and your Cobra: hair soaked through and framing his face, he was in the same muddy pants and stained shirt he’d left the farm in less than an hour ago.

“So what?” His voice was tight, annoyed and laced in exhaustion. “You gonna fix it yourself? Leave it here and walk home, then?” 

“Maybe I will!”

Eddie took a controlled step forward again, finger raised at you where you’d afforded him just half a glance up from the bonnet. 

“You’re stubborn as a mule, you know that?” 

Your throat still burned. You turned to the Cobra again. Everything was blurry beyond your lash-line. 

“You knew that a long time ago, Eddie.” 

Lightning split the sky and thunder cracked. 

“When are you just going to admit that you like me, too, Y/n?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!”

Your eyes found him again, blinking away your tears against the rain. The vision reminded you of the warm afternoon he’d first appeared: from a haze of dust and bonnet fog to rescue you. Tonight again.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Your head shook, your chest rumbled with sobs. “You only think you like me now, Eddie--” 

His black eyeliner ran, he stepped closer. The cold was seeping into his bones, his brain rattled with the sound of the crying sky but mostly he shook at the sight of you so weary. A reflection of the girl he was coming to love, a ghost of the one he’d been privileged enough to unravel. 

“That’s not true.”

“But it is true. You’re gonna grow bored of me, of what I can offer, of who I am. Then you’re gonna leave to Phoenix, or Dallas or wherever else and find someone else to love and I’m gonna have to piece myself back togeth--”

The sight of your shaking shoulders and shivering hands was making Eddie’s stomach ache. He took the last step into the stretch of road diving you and him, taking your freezing frame into his hands. 

Eddie’s head shook, he couldn’t seem to get it to stop. “Never, my love ... never ever. I’ll go where you go, I’ll stay where you stay. I’ll sleep on the floor of that fucking barn every day for the rest of my days if you’ll allow me.” 

Your forehead fell into the space between his neck and shoulder, you were crying still. “Eddie ...” 

“I want to listen to you talk about stars or galaxies and I want you to make us sandwiches and talk like you know better about everything, because you mostly do. I just want you, I’ll never leave this town if you never want me to.”

He took your face into his trembling hand, lifting you from his shoulder so your gaze sunk into his. Your lashes were tear-stained and still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You swallowed hard.

“What do you want, doll? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Your hand found the side of his face, your head shook. 

“If you want me to leave,” he whispered to you, “I’ll go, my love.”

There was a long moment where Eddie thought you might not even speak again. You blinked against the rain.

“I want to go to Chicago.”

Your hand sunk further past his ear and into the depths of his hair, curling your nails against the root. “I want to see the planetarium, I want to go to Indiana ... I want to meet your family.”

You hiccuped, then laughed, then kept talking:

“I want to see San Francisco and NASA with you, and I want to wake up next to you. I promise I won’t make you sleep in the barn--” He laughed and pressed his forehead to yours, “--And I want to do grocery shopping with you and tell everyone in the store that you’re mine. Tell them that I’m so sick on loving you.”

Eddie nodded. “We can do that. I can do that.”

You watched him wearily. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.” His nose bumped yours, “Can I please kiss you now, farm-girl?”

Your body melted against him in response, surging forward so that your lips found his. Eddie’s body slumped against yours, like his body had found rest. 

The taste of rainwater and peach jam swirled against his lips and Eddie was sure it was the sweetest thing he’d ever taste in all his days gone and to come. He grasped deliriously for your hips, his head spinning from your kiss, and nudged you until he fell over you in through the open door into the front seat of the Cobra: a shelter from the rain. 

You laughed beneath him, against him, and his hair dripped over your face. 

Eddie’s knee pressed against the red leather in the space between your legs, he leaned over your sopping frame. 

He gasped for breath, you did the same. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, doll.” 

You captured his face between your hands, flushing red in your cheeks despite the cold. “Don’t be cheesy, Greenie. I like it too much.”

Silence fell for a moment. Eddie watched your brow crease. He kissed you again, he was drunk on it.

You tugged him off by the root of his hair.

“Why were you driving this way?” You asked, shifting to lean up on your elbows: suspicion heavy in your gaze.

Eddie chuckled sheepishly, eyes falling to your waist. 

“I ... well, I was coming to apologise.”

“What for?”

He shrugged bashfully. “For last night, and ... and for this.”

From the depths of his pocket, Eddie pulled out a piece of something that definitely looked like it belonged somewhere under the bonnet of the car that had so readily given up on you. 

You gasped. “You bastard.” 

Eddie laughed, “I needed you to have a reason to come talk to me again.”

Sighing softly, you moved some hair out of his face. “I’ll always find a reason to talk to you again.”

“Well, well. Who’s being cheesy now?”

You rolled your eyes, catching him by his silver chain and tugging him against your lips again. 

“Shut up.” You mumbled.

-

taglist:

@corrodedcoffincumslut @akiratoro420 @pricelessemotion @chloe-6123 @tiny-bird-of-sunshine @allthefandomstogetheratlast @wyverntatty @munsster @jokersgrf @anicosa-ironlung @sleepy-bunnie @pricelessemotion @sweetgladiatorfesival @eggo-segual @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @introvertedmouse @ctrlaltdel3te @multifandom-l0ver @inarinine @sillysteveharharhar @buckystwilight @hey-lucille @akiratoro420

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #fic rec #fic recommendation #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

[peterman-spideyparker]

Cheesy Hash (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: So this is probably not great and I apologize in advance. I've only watched the pilot episode of Kin because it's the only one that's been available where I am without having to buy another streaming service our buy by the episode, but I'm obsessed with the gifs and clips I've seen and the fics I've read I just had to write this idea when I had it. It's definitely a fluffier and lighter fic for him, but, he deserves it! Enjoy! :)

Summary: Things are new and exciting with Michael, but at the same time, they feel established and comforting, and nothing is more established and comforting than waking up with Michael on a Saturday and him making you breakfast.

Warnings: Fluff (kissing and tooth-rotting sweetness), angst (Michael's trauma and family baggage), implied smut, a sprinkle of swears

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 990

The pins and needles that begin to prick at your hand is the thing to stir you from your sleep. The gentle trace of warm, calloused fingertips running up and down your arm help pull you from your sleep entirely as you slowly open your eyes to the bright light starting to stream in through the blinds. 

“I didn’t mean ta wake ya, love,” Michael rasps softly, trying to preserve the quiet of the peaceful early morning—something you know he doesn’t get to enjoy often, if at all. 

“Y’didn’t,” you hum as you open your eyes and look up at him and his gorgeous honey hazel orbs sparkling down at you. “Hand fell asleep.”

“Ah,” he tuts with a soft smile before he leans down to press a kiss into your neck, slowly dragging his lips to your shoulder and collarbone before slotting his lips over yours. You hum into his lips, chuckling softly as his beard tickles at your face. 

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Good morning, Michael.”

He softly runs his hand up and down your arm in adoration. “What d’ya want fer breakfast, pet?”

“Mm, I get breakfast, too?”

He smirks and pulls you closer to him in bed. “Course ya do. I have no intention of lettin’ ya leave all weekend.”

“Ooh, scandalous, Mikey.“

Michael smiles and kisses you once more. “What d’ya have a hankering fer, princess?”

“Surprise me.”

“Alright. But you stay here. It’s a surprise, after all.”

“‘Kay,” you grin. Michael leans forward for one final kiss, twisting you back into the mattress and kissing you deeply, making you giggle into the embrace. 

“Stay,” he murmurs against your mouth before pressing a final kiss into your lips before he rolls away. You get a very lovely view of his butt as he looks for his discarded boxers on the floor, shimmying them on just enough for them to stay on his hips. “Roll yer tongue back in’ta yer mouth,” he chuckles. 

“Sorry, Mikey,” you hum. “Just enjoying one of the lovely views of Ireland.”

He just chuckles some more and shakes his head as he walks out of the bathroom. “Yer a menace.”

You watch him leave, wondering how the stars aligned where you could be with this amazing man, so kind and gentle despite all the hardships, the heartaches he’s gone through  and demons he battles night and day. The way that he never tries to burden you with the darkness that weighs on him over and over, the way that when he finally cracks and breaks down, how he weeps when it all becomes too much, how he can turn into a towering, dominant figure when he needs to work through frustrations with intense passion. . .

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear a clatter from the kitchen. 

“Mikey?” you call. “You alright?” You don’t hear him respond, and he sounds like he’s fine in the kitchen, but you can’t help your mind from wandering. “Michael?”

You know he told you to wait, but you can’t help yourself. With a sigh—and against your better judgment, knowing you should stick to what he requested— you slide out from under the covers and find Michael’s discarded sweater on the ground. Sliding it on, you’re immediately wrapped in Michael’s smell, as if he's wrapping you in his signature warm, tender hug. Slowly shuffling down the stairs, you turn into the kitchen and find Michael happily working at the stove, shuffling something in his pan before flipping it with a flick of his wrist.

Mm, so sexy.

With a smile, you shuffle over to him, not so quiet where you scare him, but not as loud as an elephant shuffling about. You can tell by how Michael stands at the stove that he hears you, slightly adjusting his posture, readily accepting your arms that slink around his waist.

"What're you doin', pet?" Michael says in amused surprise as he looks over his shoulder while you rest your cheek on his bare back. "I told ya to stay in bed."

"I missed you. And you took all the warmth with you,” you hum. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” he says with a chuckle of his own. “I really don’t have much and need to run to the market. But I had some eggs, cilantro, Parmesan, and potatoes. ‘M goin’ for a cheesy hash and eggs sort of somethin'.”

“Sounds delicious.” You press a kiss right between his shoulder blades. “Reminds me—I need to go grocery shopping, too. We can make a little date of it.”

“I like that idea.”

“Maybe I can convince you to get a beer that isn’t so shitty.”

“Yer an American—you don’t know anything about good beer,” he laughs, turning around from the pan with the cooking shredded potatoes to kiss you and sit you down on the island. “Now sit and behave.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, yer eggs and hash will burn, and we won’t do the fun little activity I had in mind after we eat.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really meant all weekend.”

“‘Course I did. ‘M a man of m’word.” Turning around, he has two plates of fried cheesy hash brown circles with two sunny side up eggs on top, extending one of them toward you. “Fer you.”

“Mm, why thank you,” you say with a big smile as you take the plate. “This looks delicious. It smells delicious.”

“T'ank ya,” he says with a kiss, twisting around to get you a fork. You each cut off a bite with your forks, clinking them together before you take your bites. “Damn, I’m a fuckin’ good cook.”

You giggle as you pull him as close to you and the kitchen island that you can, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder. “Yes you are. Good at a few other things, too.”

“And ya say I only have one t'ing on my mind.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x fem!reader #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x reader fluff #michael kinsella x fem!reader fluff #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella fanfiction #kin amc #charlie cox

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Movie date?

Steve Harrington x Female Reader (Fluff)

Word Count:562 (short I know sorry.)

Warnings:Just some badly written fluff I guess?

Authour’s Note:I wanted to challenge myself by writing something that was on the fluffier side of things and I honestly found this so difficult. Not my best writing, but here it is nonetheless.

MASTERLIST

“Y’know, if you asked her out she’d probably say yes” Robin said as she nudged Steve with her elbow to get his attention.

“Huh?” 

"That girl you've been staring at for the past 10 minutes" she said as if it was obvious.

"I wasn't staring." Steve said defensively. 

Busted. And by Robin no less.

He knew that he recognised you, but he just couldn’t place you. All he knew was that he thought that you were cute.

"Uh-huh, you keep telling yourself that, Steve" Robin teases with a pat on his back "All I'm saying is that she's been here eight times this month, and she spends 20 minutes looking at all the tapes on the shelf only just to rent the same tape she's been renting for last eight times she's been here."

"Nothing wrong with having a favourite film, Rob" Steve points out.

"I'm not saying there is, but I've been watching her-"

"Oh! And I'm the one who's staring?" Steve throws back.

"-Shut up, Dingus. As I was saying, she only ever checks out her tapes when you're behind the counter. Her name’s y/n, she’s nice." Robin explains.

“Wait, you know her?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, she’s in band with me, she asks about you a lot, you know.” 

Yes! That was it! You were in the school’s band. You were in the year below him when he was graduating. 

“Steve, Footloose isn’t that good of a movie. I don’t know why, but for some weird reason, that girl is into you, I’m sure of it.”  

Steve chances a look over Robin’s shoulder, to see you. Steve’s eyes flick over and suddenly his gaze catches your eyes, before  you look away with a slight look of embarrassment at having been caught looking at him.

“Ask the girl on a date, Steve, otherwise all this pining might actually kill you.” Robin jokes.

Robin walks away just as you’re walking up to the counter with your video in your hand.

“Footloose again, huh?” Steve winces at his awful attempt at small talk. What happened to him? He used to be good at flirting. What was it about this girl that turned his brain to mush and had him grasping for the right words?

“Yeah I just really like this movie I guess?” you chuckle.

“I noticed. You come here a lot and you always pick it out. Not that I’m like watching you or anything, I swear.” He cringes. “That came out really creepy, didn’t it?” He laughs, fighting the blush that’s rising to his cheeks.

“Maybe a little, but I don’t mind.” You offer with a smile.

Steve huffs out a breath to calm his nerves before he thinks over what he’s about to say to you.

“Look, maybe I’m reading this situation all wrong, and I know we’ve never really talked to each other and I could be a complete dork for asking this, but can I take you out sometime?” His honey brown eyes look to you hopefully.

“Sure! My name’s y/n, in case you were wondering, Harrington” You can’t help but gently tease him.

“I know you like movies, how does the drive-in theatre sound? Maybe this Friday?” 

"It sounds good, Steve. I'd like that" You smiled.

"Good, good, great! How about I pick you around 7?" Steve offers.

"See you then, Harrington. It's a date." 

#steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve 'the hair' harrington

[thebleedingeffect]

Hmmmmmmm I really want to write just to warm myself up back into writing before jumping back into writing Sky's introduction, so I've been thinking of writing a quick lil scene for hyrules curse >:]

I'm split between either writing something pretty cute and on the fluffier side between the hyrules curse group or something of a group scene with Cia!!

The first scene is just a scene of Warriors and Wild tormenting Twilight as he rides behind a 'Sky who's still learning how to ride a horse after steering birds all his life' while on edge the entire time cause Sky had no idea what he's DOING. Time is leading the group while just enjoying the fresh air before a ecstatic Sky and panicking Twilight rush past him, he can swear he can hear laughing behind him.

The other scene I've been thinking of happens sometime after all them have had their memories wiped and replaced as well as Cia being queen. They're her royal guards and there's an audience scheduled today between her and all of hyrules fellow leaders. The piece would detail how hyrule is healing from the war, but it's only under Cia’s oversight that such things are allowed. Towards the end of the scene, the yiga bring Cia a gift. It's the master sword, Twilight’s specifically, they had uncovered it from the bottom of the Arbiter's Grounds. Following scene shows Cia ordering Twilight to retrieve the sword from him and his internal struggle because he can tell that something is wrong.

Anyway help me choose I cannot for the LIFE of me!!

#I'm spliiitttttt one is genuine feel-good scene. just bonding and fluff really #but the other scene is a more tense one cause cia has been purposely trying to collect the master swords #as well as purposely testing twilight to see if her magic holds and if he fights against her at all even with the master sword in his hands #its the perfect opportunity to harm her. will he do it? has she successfully tamed the hero of twilight?

[ashes-writing]

hysteria pt five | stranger things ; t.hagan

tag list babes || req rules / fandoms+characters || got a req? || masterlist

CHAPTERS ; 

one two three four can all be accessed by clicking. stranger things masterlist can be found here. pls note.. needs to be updated real fuckin bad.

AUTHORS NOTES;

Oh god, where to start. There were so many directions I could have gone with this but after a long discussion with @aries-arcade (you are an actual angel and I love you sm) this is the direction that felt best and made most sense and they totally inspired this part and for that I love them so so so damn much. I really love writing this because I'm trying new things and one of them is to make things a little bit more of a slow burn.. ya know, add a little angst for the spice.

Huuuge thanks to everyone reading - putting up with my bullshit in it's entirety, and you guys, ahhhh.. your interactions with my bullshit always fill my heart so full and you honestly don't know how much they've kept me going at times, the likes, the comments, the reblogs/reblogs with tags - i loove the tags omg and just oh my god, I want to kiss you all, okay? Okay.

SUMMARY;

-- neighbors with crushes who used to be friends to neighbors who are practically strangers to neighbors who might be reconnecting.

PAIRING;

Tommy Hagan x Fem!Reader ( beyond female parts/organs outfits, hints of personality and occasional hairstyle descriptors, she's a blank slate, blanker than most).

WARNINGS;

uh so here's the thing.. there are real strong hints here that Tommy is dealing with some issues mentally. In this chapter though, angst. Lots of angst. Maybe comfort if you squint at the end. I swear this will get fluffier at some point but honestly, I feel like it'll be slower and more subdued.

TAGLIST;

@AURUMBELIS

@ALLELITESMUT

@ARIES-ARCADE

@COLE22ANN

@ebonybloom

@HEYAITSKLAUDIA

@HCLOANGCLS

@hoeshii

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@ICEQUEEN1371

@KRYS-ORION

@LETSBEDRAGONSTOGETHER

@LOUDERFORTHEBACK

@MUSICHEALSSCARS

@SECRETSICANTHIDEANYMORE

@SCOOBIESSNACKS

@THECHOICESLOOKGRIMM

@UNTITLEDAREA - these are all the names on my stranger things taglist. if you’d like to be added, please click the link at the top of the post.

OTHER STUFF;

Set in s2 minus the Upside Down / the monsters and the deaths but keeping the teenagers drama (the Steve/Nancy thing and Tommy's falling out with Steve) and adding more drama (Because I fucking have to). There are several very very subtle hints here of Tommy maybe having been in love with Steve (and reader, at one point in time) to stay in keeping with Tommy possibly having been bi. There are also several hints in here that Tommy has a lot of shit going on inside his own head and things he needs to deal with / struggles with.

It’s hotter than usual tonight. You can’t sleep and you’re not sure whether it has everything to do with the heat or whether it’s you, worrying again. You roll over onto your stomach in bed and burrow your head beneath your pillow and punch it in frustration when sleep doesn’t happen after an hour. You wind up slipping out of bed, making your way over to the window seat. And you pull open the bedroom window, letting a little breeze into the room. As you’re leaning back into your window, you notice Tommy Hagan is sitting in the window of his room across the street.

You give a little wave and you’re not expecting him to wave back, but he does. Exhaling smoke into the night sky as he leans his head back against the frame of the window. Once again, your gaze settles on the old pink flashlight.

But honestly, you’ve been worried enough about him lately that you’d rather walk over. So you tug on some orange shorts with white piping around the legs and you grab the flashlight as you hoist yourself out of the window and onto the roof. From the roof, it’s a little bit of a drop down but not terrible. You land on your feet and you jog across the lawn, stopping on the sidewalk in front of your house to look up and down the street.

Both for nosy neighbors and cars.

Seeing no sign of either, you make your way across the street and onto the Hagan’s lawn.

Tommy nearly chokes on the smoke from the drag he’s just taken when  you hiss at him from the ground below. He’s a little tense. Today was rough, it’s been one of his worst days yet. He and Steve very nearly had a physical fight and it’s bothering him. It’s bothering him way more than he cares to admit. It’s bothering him on a really deep level. The fact that Steve won’t open his eyes and see the situation for what it is is frustrating. A little hurtful too, because Tommy thought they were best friends. He tries to tell Steve that he’s having a rough day and somehow, the damn conversation turns back around to Steve and Nance and their ongoing shit show.

It’s like he’s losing Steve. There’s a sense of panic when the thought comes and he tries again to shove it down but it’s settled in.

He’s so dazed that he doesn’t even realize you’re halfway up a ladder you dragged around from out back of the house until you’re sitting on his window sill next to him. Staring at him intently. Like you want to say something but you’re not sure how.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?” he takes another drag, blowing the smoke up into the night air.

“I’m worried about you.” you say it quietly, turning in the sill to face him so that you’re straddled over it. Fidgeting awkwardly. You haven’t really spoken to him since you ditched him back then and now, here you are.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He feels like there’s a chance that this is just setting himself up for yet another disappointment. You already abandoned him one time, the odds are pretty fucking high you’ll probably do it again.

 And maybe it’s not the nicest thing he could’ve said when his mouth opens, but he can’t help the bitter laugh that comes. “You’re worried about me?” he goes quiet. “I’m fine.” his entire body tenses as if he wants to fold into himself and you wince a little, the harsh tone he used settling in. You take a deep breath and rummage through your pockets to find your own cigarettes and lighter and for a minute or two you don’t say anything, you’re both just staring up at the sky.

“Why’d you come over?” Tommy asks quietly.

You shrug. And then you sigh. But then you decide that maybe holding onto everything is just stupid, pointless. There’s not much time left until you each go your own way in life after all and you just miss him.

“To apologize.” you answer quietly.

Tommy’s brows knit and he picks up the old flashlight, twisting it around for a few seconds. “Yeah?” but he’s shocked because it’s the last thing he expected. He pretends not to know why you’d be apologizing mostly because he needs to hear you say it yourself.

And maybe you need to say it.

You’re fidgeting with a loose string on the bottom of the thin,oversized shirt that nearly covers your shorts. You’re not looking him in the eyes. You can’t. It’s easier this way. So much easier. Because if you’re going to apologize, you’re going to tell him everything. You’re going to get it all out there so you can finally move on and hopefully, you can just forget everything.

It probably won’t change anything, after all.

“I kind of abandoned you, Tommy. But I..” you pause, rubbing the bridge of your nose as if that’ll coax the words out a little better. You stare up at the sky and think really hard about what you want to say next, how best to phrase it. “I did it for you.”

That bitter laugh again. “For me, huh?”

 He's leaning in a little closer. Studying you. The way the moon highlights your facial structure. You’ve always had a cute nose and as soon as the thought forms, Tommy shoves it down. “We were friends. Why would I want you to abandon me?” he scoffs at your answer because it doesn’t make any sort of sense. If this is all you have to say for yourself, he’s curious as to how you’ll explain doing it.

“Mhm. Well..” you take a few shaky breaths, “I wanted you and you wanted her. I.. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I tried, I really did.” and suddenly, as the words are leaving your mouth, you want to climb back down the ladder and run all over again. You don’t dare look at him, you can’t.

Tommy coughs quietly. And he doesn’t really say anything. It’s turning over and over in his mind right now and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with what you’ve just said. 

You’re tensed up, cigarette pressed between your lips and he’s torn at least three different ways. On the one hand, deep down he knows you mean it. On the other hand, his father meant it every single time he’d use “I did it for you” as an excuse for whatever dumb fucking thing he did that hurt his mother and finally, he’s a little angry. It feels at least partially selfish, you cut all ties just because you couldn’t handle something when you should’ve known you could have talked to him, you could have told him anything back then and he’d have moved a goddamn mountain to give it to you. And then his mind decides to chime in. Remind him that he’s never been enough and he’ll never be enough and therefore, your reasoning for abandoning him when he really needed you back then has to be a lie. Maybe you saw what he really was, -do you even know?, that thought creeps in, intrusive.

He lets out a ragged breath. And he still can’t say anything.

“I just wanted to say that.” you’re swinging your feet and he happens to notice that yeah, you walked across barefoot. Nevermind that he saw busted glass on the asphalt earlier. He doesn’t say anything. It’s not his business. You feel like you can look him in the eye now, this can’t possibly get any more awkward than you’ve already managed to make it, so you turn so that you’re facing him on the sill, one leg in his room and the other on the outside to mirror the way he’s sitting. ‘Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am sorry.” you repeat your apology, shoulders slumped just a little. “Are you okay?” you ask the question because you really are worried about him and after overhearing the argument that happened between him and Steve in the hallway, you’ve spent all afternoon doubting your decision to just cut ties. You thought they’d give a shit. You thought they cared enough to notice when he might be struggling a little. You thought he’d be okay, someone would take care of him.

If what you witnessed earlier this afternoon was anything to go by, they haven’t. At least Steve hasn’t.

“I said I’m fine.” Tommy answers quietly. Shrugging. What’s it matter anyway? He’s tried to talk to Steve, he’s tried to talk to Carol, he just wants someone to fucking listen and hear him. He needs someone to listen but nobody seems to be willing. Even after he apologized to Steve for saying too much in the heat of the moment, it still wasn’t enough to encourage Steve to try hearing him out and this is killing him.

“You’re not.” you mumble quietly. “I know you’re not. I know you.” you want to choke yourself because the jealousy makes you pop off and it makes you say something that’s not entirely true anymore because you really don’t know him like you used to. Maybe he really has changed.

Maybe you both have.

But you care and you hate seeing him like this and it just hurts so much. You have to do something, you have to try.

“You knew me.” Tommy answers with a calm little shrug. He wants to laugh when he says it, because if he’s being honest, nobody really knows him. They know whatever version he feels like he has to adopt just so maybe just once, somebody might stick around.

“Yeah, you’re right. I knew you.” you retort, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Because you’re definitely not the boy I remember.”

“People change, doll.” Tommy says it with a little shrug and if you hadn’t seen just the slightest hint of a tear in his eyes, you probably would have written him off and gone home. You probably should have. But you saw the hint of a tear and you couldn’t walk away a second time. “Damn it.” you say it under your breath, dragging a hand through your hair. “I..I didn’t mean that.”

Tommy laughs and gazes at you. “You did. It’s fine though. No big deal.” he looks down again and you can just feel it, you know he looked down because he knows he’s about to cry and he has always hated people seeing him cry.

His father, the asshole. He’s the one to thank for that one.

You take a shaky breath. “Damn it.”

“You can go home.” as the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back, he wants to take back the entirety of this conversation. Rewind it and do things differently.

“Yeah, well I’m not.” you lean back against the frame of the window and take a deep breath or two. And you think you’ll both sit there, fuming in silence until you eventually do leave but then he speaks up. Wavering voice like the time one of the boys in second grade said something to a much more sensitive and younger Tommy and it hurt and he cried. “Just go, damn it. It’s not worth wasting your time..”

This is what breaks you. You’re still irritated because he’d been a jerk earlier, but you care about him and you always have and he was the boy who protected you for so long back then. You owe him something even if you know he wouldn’t take what you’d really rather offer him.

You move so that you’re sitting closer, your legs over his thighs and you reach out, grabbing his jaw gently to make him look up at you. “It is, okay? You are. Christ, Tommy.” you shake your head at him and go quiet. Swallowing hard. “I really fucked up.” you muse quietly. “Maybe you didn’t, though.” Tommy hates the fact that you’re holding onto his jaw but he also loves it. You're being so gentle. You were always so fucking gentle. Even on his worst days. Your hands are soft and warm, your finger dragging over his face. You sigh and it’s almost sad when you make the sound. “I did. I never wanted to do it. I just…” you go quiet. Focus because this isn’t about you, you’re more concerned about him. “It’s not important. What’s important here is you. Why the hell would you say something like that?” you question, moving closer to him so you’re not stretching your arm quite so much. Tommy gulps. Stammers for a second and then shrugs, “Because I’m not wrong, alright?”

“You are, though.” you mumble quietly. “Do you wanna know why I really came over tonight? Hm?” you roll the pads of your fingers over his freckled skin as you stare into his eyes. You’re both nose to nose right now and to anyone passing by on the street below, this might look like your typical teenage couple, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night. But that’s not what this is.

He grimaces because he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear what will come out next. Parts of him dread it because parts of him are more than half sure that it’ll have nothing to do with missing him but something he can do for you and as this thought hits, he’s tensed up again and you notice it. You lower your hand and play with the faded blue plastic flashlight as you stare down at it. “Because I miss you and I made a fuckin mistake, alright? I… I guess I just wanted to try and fix it?”

He doesn’t have the first clue what to even say because he wasn’t expecting you to say it. He chuckles quietly and you look up. A weak smile when you lock eyes with him and stick out your tongue. “I missed you.” you repeat it, firmer. You maintain eye contact when you say it even though it’s hard and you’re flustered because you’re not good at stuff like this at all, but you just need him to know that you really do miss him and you mean it when you say it.

And he wants to believe it but he’s not entirely sure he can. Because of this, the coming back part. It’s not something he’s used to at all. He’s used to people leaving. Being replaceable. Because he truly feels that he is.

You yawn. Drained and lightweight because you finally got it out of your system. And when you see the red numbers on the alarm clock next to his bed, you gape. “Holy hell. We really need to sleep.” you’re yawning again as you pull yourself off of the sill and hold out your hand to him. He gazes at it warily for a second or two and he starts to protest that it won’t do any good, he hasn’t slept in days at this point, not decently anyway, but he reaches out and takes hold of your hand, pulling himself off of the seat too. “C’mon Tommy Tiger. Into bed with you.” you coax, pulling back the navy colored comforter as you nod to the bed.

“Fuckin hate when you call me that, Strawberry Shortcake.” he retorts, grumbling. But he goes along with what you’ve asked, just this once. You pull the comforter up over him and sit down on the edge of the bed. “We’re gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay, Tommy.” you mumble, staring at your bare legs as you pick at your chipping nails to distract yourself. “If you need me, you know where to find me. Just… Please do?” you gaze over at him and he nods. Managing a smile. “Yeah.”

You make your way out of his bedroom window and he lays there awake for another hour or two. Sometime around 2 am, he finally dozes off and when he wakes up again at 5:30 for his usual jog, he tells himself that a little sleep is better than none at all, which is what he’d been getting lately. 

#tommy hagan #tommy hagan imagine #tommy h #tommy hagan x reader #tommy hagan x fem!reader #tommy hagan fanfiction

[kitkatt0430]

Random Numbers! 4, 6, 7, 12, 17, 21, 29, 35

4.) Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

I've answered that one over here :D

6.) What's your ratio for rating your works?

So I mostly write gen/teen rated fics - it's not quite a 50/50 split between those since I do occasionally write M or E, but maybe a 48/47 percent split between G and T? Something like that anyway, I'm too lazy to do the exact calculations.

If it's T there's probably swearing and some violence to them, harder themes, maybe some kissing fades to black implied sex. My G rated fics might still wind up with swearing in them, but otherwise they're more likely to be of the lighter and fluffier variety. Not always, since I do enjoy leaning into angstier stuff sometimes.

I've been overly cautious with a few of my M rated fics that could probably actually be T rated, but I tend to be of a better safe than sorry mindset with those. Though the few E rated fics I've done have absolutely earned their rating.

7.) Your favourite ao3 tag.

Fix Fic/Fix-it/variations thereof. I absolutely love a good fix fic for canon ailments. :D That said, I'm a sucker for enemies to lovers too, so when I can get a combination of both? I will probably stay up reading waaaay to late as a result. Hello three AM, where did you come from?

12.) If you write in more than one language, what's the difference?

If it's not complicated and in, say, Spanish then I'll usually put the actual Spanish into the fic with a translation below in the end notes. Spanish in particular I did learn some of in high school though I admit a lot of that's faded. If what I'm trying to say is complicated enough that I don't want to risk online translators screwing it up for me (or my memory being too hazy), then I'll write it in English with something to denote it's intended to be another language. Usually italics, though too much italics can become difficult for me to read through when I go back for edits.

I'll also look up common phrases and idioms to try and throw those in where they'd work most naturally - especially when I remember to play with Hartley and Eobard's tendency to use Latin as their personal secret language.

17.) Past or present tense? Why?

Past tense tends to flow most naturally for me, though sometimes I'll slip up into present tense. I tend to mostly read books that are past tense, so that's probably why it feels more natural/flows better when I write.

21.) Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

If they're a one shot fic then, most of the time, they stay that way. But if the fic is longer than a one chapter fic? I'm probably not going to be able to predict very well. The shorter a fic is, the better I can guess. The longer the fic is, the more I risk having it wind up on hiatus with x/? chapters sitting there mocking me.

29.) What's the hardest thing about writing?

Keeping my focus on one idea long enough to complete it. I've got so many ideas knocking around in my brain and I want to write them all.

35.) Thoughts on writing challenges/contests.

I like participating in events like prompt weekends/week long/month long events. Or bingos. I like the self imposed challenges there of completing on time. But I'm not really into contests or gifting events. I'm not really a competitive person, I tend to find it amusing in others but exhausting when I try to be too competitive myself. It kind of sucks the fun out for me. So writing contests aren't really interesting for me to participate in for that reason.

#thanks for asking #kitkatt0430 answers #writer ask game

[minkkumaz]

awee omi,, ur so loved hopefully u and ur friend are able to reconcile <3

ur such a sweet sweet hardworking person everything better work out for u soon!! glad ur able to rest during the weekends! no need to force out some content for the readers if u arent feeling well :)

the fansign is on jia’s twt!! (jianextdoor) it was around 13-14hrs ago? only a bit of scrolling and you’ll see them in racer jackets. its been on my fyp for hours ❤️🙏

bonus yungyu hc for u!!

>> ever since he cut and dyed his hair to blue, he obviously knew it was way shorter and less fluffier than before.. but he still wants someone to play w his hair!!

>> definitely gives gf privileges.. he’d get mad when someone enters his room without knocking, but when it comes to you he’ll gladly accept you into his room for cuddles anyday

>> his members feel BETRAYED.

>> swings hands whenever hes able to hold urs :))

>> whenever you have a bad day, yungyu would do everything he can to have a break from work to provide you with love and care,,

>> if he cant, he’s returning home with flowers, stuffed animals, your favorite snacks and an exclusive pc of himself (he KNOWS u find him SOO attractive)

>> one time you made him those kiss hoodies (the hoodies with like kiss stains on it ifykyk!)

>> when performing, he’d ask (BEG.) his stylists to he could wear it and all of a sudden his stage presence increases

>> when filming videos he does little secret inside-joke hand motions specifically for you to see ><

>> definitely has a thing for cupping your face with one hand, then whispering into your ear to tease

>> when its winter, he lets you go inside of his big puffer jackets

-🍉

i love you melon anon thank you for always being so supportive of me. when all my remaning friends get sick of me ill come live at your doorstep using my yungyu photocard collection as a blanket.

AND BRO I SWEAR I MANIFESTED BONEDO IN RACER JACKETS INTO EXISTANCE! everyone thank me on the way out >:D

also don't get me started on your headcanons. i read yungyu's name and immediately started flipping my shit and doing cartwheels off the walls. THE EFFECT THAT MAN HAS ON ME.

he likes his haircut and color, but he only likes it if reader does it for him. i've always had this imagine in my head of dying yungyu's hair for him in the middle of the night, trying not to laugh too loud while the rest of the boys are sleeping in the dorms. i'm probably gonna write that sooner or later hehe.

the way i gulped super hard at the thought of him giving special gf privilege's. (with the exception of seungheon. seungheon is everyone's exception.) yungyu just has so much love to give and i can imagine him doing his utmost best to treat his lover (me).

BUT HIM GETTING ME AN EXCLUSIVE PC IS SO CANONNN like i genuinely believe he is the most godly attractive human on this damn earth. if me and yungyu were dating i wouldn't hesitate to tell him every second how handsome he is. also the fact that ive spent $300+ on his photocards probably means something LMAOOO

agkjasdfhg the jacket one also got me feeling a little dizzy. when i wasn't single and lonely i liked going in my lovers jacket when it was cold out. i didn't quite fit but i'll shrink so that i can fit in yungyu's (my real lover)

#∞ ₒ ˚ omi's chats #༊*·˚ anonymous peoples #🍉 anon ·˚ ༘ ✎

[threeletterslife]

hi just had a recent nostalgic moment to when i was an active bts fan cuz i watched a tiktok video (its this one 🥲: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSLVVNqTQ/) and just remembered how miserable my life was during the pandemic but the only thing that got me through it was reading fanfics 😅

and your society series was just THE BEST *chefs kiss* like seriously i was INVESTED in all 7 plots and thought how it was a genuis move for you to make seokjin's story to combine all previous stories into one. and every single time, without fail, im left SOBBING after reading your fics!! 😭😭

it was a gut and heart-wrenching moments, but still, it was a bliss to experience ☺️🩷

so i guess im saying that im thankful that u published all ur stories FOR FREE for any army to read 🥹 hope ur having the best days of ur lifee!! u helped me and a lot of people soo much!! *mwah* 😚🩷

ohmygod. i also haven't been the most active fan for years and that tiktok really brought me back!! i'm surprised at how many of those photos/videos i recognized

on another note, i'm glad to hear you're through the hard times (and that reading fanfics helped you get through it!)

i write mainly because i want to give others something to read, and it makes me really happy to hear how invested you were in my society series!! it'll probably be the last ot7 series i write, to be quite honest, and sometimes i wish i took more time writing them because i swear i could've probably executed those ideas better since inevitably, my skills have developed since then LOL

it's funny though, because i subconsciously ordered the society series (the exam -> for everland -> all you see is blue -> it runs wild -> true love at first sight -> fleeting forevers -> across the madness) so that as the series progressed, the stories got fluffier and fluffier! i didn't even notice i did that until i nearly finished writing the series LMAO. and thank you! i was also a bit proud of myself for coming up with the whole seokjin's-story-will-encompass-the-6-other-societies idea haha, although i wish i could've developed it much better and added more nuance to it :') oh well

i'm honestly so grateful to even have people read my stories, so thank you for taking the time to read my verbose, fictional spiels! and i also feel so honored to have become a part of your life in the sense that my stories have uplifted you some time, somewhere in the past :) writing is also my solace, and when kind people like you message me about it, it really makes my entire day <3 so again, thank you!

#ask #anon #this ask made me so unbelievably happy #sometimes i forget how long i've been writing on tumblr #i'm not a sentimental person #but this ask really made me think back and remember why i write in the first place #so thank you for the reminder! #i really appreciate it <3

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Forever’s Not So Long

(hi, major apologies but I actually wrote something canon compliant and it hurt lol. also preface: this is not me advocating for or demeaning religion or Catholicism. my family is Catholic but I don’t call myself religious. I just listened to DeVotchKa and cried over Billy)

TW: mentions of Catholicism, questioning religion, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, major character death

(it’s also on AO3 if you’d rather read it there)

---

Billy never understood it: going to church every Sunday when he had cartoons and corn flakes and PJs at home. He never understood having to wear his fanciest, itchiest shirt, especially because only the one would do so his mother had to wash it and iron it every week- even though she burned herself on the iron a handful of times through all her distractions. He never understood wanting to go somewhere where they told you what to do. It was all they ever did there, and there were few things he hated more than being told what to do. Stand and sit and stand and kneel and sit and stand and sing and speak speak speak. There were too many words he didn’t understand. There were too many people talking at once. There was too much and yet not enough going on to the point that he felt under stimulated and overwhelmed and desperate to crawl out of his skin and that incredibly itchy shirt.

There was no sense to be found in his grandmother either, and the way she clutched at her bible on her way to church. They used to drive her every Sunday, but then they moved further away and trips to church got less and less frequent until they stopped altogether. Still, she walked herself to church every week, some weeks every day. Billy only knew because his mother complained and worried herself sick over it. His grandmother insisted she wanted to. She had to.

“Just because you lost your devotion doesn’t mean I’ll lose mine.”

It took a couple years for Billy to understand the words.

And still it was nonsensical. So many questions of why sped through his head.

Billy would spend some weekends at his grandmother’s house and on those weekends, she’d drag Billy to church with her small wrinkled hand on his limp and sore arm. It didn’t matter how old he got- he was 9 and insisting his parents had let him stay home before and still she made him walk with her there. Stand and sit and stand and kneel and sing and speak and speak and speak.

“It’s good for you.” She insisted. Billy thought wistfully of TV and his grandmother’s pet cat that would lay next to him on the couch.

And on those Sundays, as Billy stood bathed in the bright light of the morning sun slipping through the colorful windows, somewhere in the middle of all those serious people, in his itchiest shirt that had wrinkles in it because his mother had been too sad to work the iron lately... his grandmother wept. Every time. Wept silently, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets of quiet emotion Billy couldn’t understand for the life of him. Eyes shining brightly, drowning in something indistinguishable, speaking the same words as everyone with a hushed voice like a promise to the world or herself or maybe someone Billy couldn’t see.

Billy never understood. More than that- he never forgave. He couldn’t help but turn angry eyes onto the building around them and the man at the front and the book gripped tightly in her hands. Too many factors in his grandmother’s anguish over something he couldn’t even understand.

But some moments etched themselves in Billy’s mind, and brought themselves to light on quieter days, in quieter moments of reflection and wondering. Moments when she would grasp his face… when she held out her shaking hands and stilled them on his cheeks, wet with tears because he was just a toddler and he watched a cat die in the street and he couldn’t understand. When she looked deep into his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like one of those promises and shed a tear for him and pulled him close. When she brought him over to light a candle to whisper a promise. When she gripped his shoulder and guided him to the kitchen to get a treat. When she prayed over her ice cream and over his too… maybe it made sense.

The time she introduced him to friends at church that smiled bright and friendly smiles and said “what a good kid”. The time she guided him through the church in the early morning when they got there before the service and she explained every picture and every story. The time she made him that fish pot pie that warmed him up from the inside out, because Easter was quickly coming and she explained why they couldn’t eat meat as they sat in front of the window and listened to the rain.

All the times she gripped her beaded cross over his bedside when he would fall ill, and closed her eyes tightly and rocked back and forth with it when one of the sicknesses got more serious. When he recovered just fine, and she laid a necklace with a woman on it over his neck and onto his chest- that same woman he saw everywhere in the church, the Mother. And then she looked at him with teary eyes and a watery smile as she allowed him to run off to play.

Maybe… maybe then, it made sense. In fractured moments of love and cherish, he could understand somewhere inside of him. Sometimes the devotion he saw in her eyes and felt in her actions made his heart feel right in ways words couldn’t describe. And those times, he could almost understand, as her passionate belief licked his wounds.

And he tried to hold onto that. Damn did he try to hold onto it- he’ll tell that to anyone. But it angered him still. Kind and beautiful moments never overshadowed the pain. It drove him wild with confusion and sadness and maybe something close to fear if he thought about it. At times he saw her as a woman possessed- obsessed and clinging to words and wishes and pleas of humanity. She clung to her book instead of taking her medicine. She yelled at his mother as she cried to her, begging her to listen. She walked and walked and walked even when she could barely keep herself up. She accepted rides only when she was begged to.

She gave her book to Billy’s mother one morning, after she had finally convinced them all to join her at church again. She handed it over with shaking hands and healthy eyes- healthier than Billy had seen them in a long time. Bright and clear. A smile that was a comfort. A look that was so serene.

She died suddenly the next day. His mother got a call from the neighbor who had gone over to check on her and ask if she wanted some baked goods. His mother wept the rest of the day and tried desperately to hide her tears behind smiles in front of Billy.

And Billy feared the book. Then he hated it. Then… he craved it.

A classmate mentioned the death of her own mother in class. She walked like she was in shock still. There was sadness in her movements. Billy learned the word “mourning”. He felt the despair encapsulate his heart as if he was mourning too- could imagine the pain and the sorrow and feared ever losing his mother. He remembered when his grandmother helped him understand death, so he wandered to his parent’s room and over to the book. He snuck in and stole it away and read what he could- the start of the world and the good deeds and the stories his grandmother once told him in the church.

He read about sacrifice.

Seven feet…

He read about hope.

You told her…. The wave was seven feet.

He read about humanity, and compassion, and understanding.

You ran to her… On the beach.

And he wanted that with him.

Yelling matches began. Infrequent until they weren’t. Crashing and shattering began. Quiet until it wasn’t- until it made its way nearer and nearer to his room. Until words became wails of despair and agony to “stay away from him”. When Billy began to clutch the book in shaking hands, began to rock back and forth, began to mumble words to himself he still wasn’t sure he understood.

Until he started taking sacrifice seriously. When his mind decided things were literal.

Stop it! Don’t hurt her!

Because she sacrificed. He heard so much. He figured sacrifice happens in lots of ways, in many forms. And he could sacrifice, too- get between it as well as his small body would allow. For the good in the world, and he saw a lot of good in the world, and she was the brightest.

So he could sacrifice.

But then she stopped. The book didn’t prepare him for when she would give up.

He wrestled with it for years.

How long? How long?! I miss you…

He thought sacrifice was a thing that always happened for the good. She told him he was all the good in the world- he was the sun and the moon and the stars and the Earth. He was every fantastical being. He was the light in her days.

But then she was gone- in a sudden and dizzying whirl of memories and pain, she became intangible. He watched, tired and dizzy from sleep, in the late late hours of the night as a cab raced her away from their home and into the darkness. It was an attempt to sneak away. Not even one last hug.

She left without her son, and Billy couldn’t fight the thoughts that in her flight, he became her last sacrifice.

I don’t understand… why not? Please Mom, don’t do this…

And he fought with himself more than anyone. In less than a month he was dodging jeers and anger and resentment and pain. He found himself mourning. He clung to the book while his ears rang from the yelling. He clutched it with red and shaking hands, clawing into the cover with desperation. He held it to his chest and begged for it to help him. He laid in bed and listened closely for the sound of the liquor bottles being slammed onto counters and he held the book. He mumbled the words he knew. He wondered if his grandmother could hear him up in the better place- if she was disappointed that he got the words wrong or just proud of him for trying.

Phone calls were frequent until they weren’t. Bruises weren’t frequent until they were. Billy clutched at his chain and the pendant and let hot tears hit his arms for the only Mother he had left.

And then the anger rose again. He quickly realized how he never forgave, and never should. How he couldn’t. Tears to books weren’t worth it- they only wrinkled the pages and blurred the words.

Sacrifice wasn’t worth it. Not when it involved leaving him in hell anyway.

Loud music drowned it out. He could make his ears ring all on his own.

Fights numbed it. He could bruise his body up on his terms, or bruise another body just the same.

Pushing away feelings fixed it. It can’t hurt to be someone’s sacrifice if you don’t care about them.

There were seagulls.

And he didn’t care.

He shoved the book in the back of his closet. He berated himself for ever thinking the words were real. He kicked himself for believing words and pleas were safeguards against anything physical. He sat and wondered to himself angrily, angry as all of Hell and every wretched being inside it, how he could remember his grandmother’s empty tears and think it was sane. Think it was reasonable. How he could experience her death and think it was understandable.

Fuck feelings and wanting and pleading. He didn’t care.

Not then.

But now...

She wore a hat… with a blue ribbon.

Now now now...

A long dress… with a blue and red flower.

Days have been gray for years. He also left his sun. He didn’t pack it with him.

She left him then she left him and then he left her too. Left it all behind.

Y-yellow sandals… covered in sand.

But he never found a way to leave behind the memories. Even when they fade in pulses, they don’t leave him. In the dark of night, he sees them. In the light of day, he sees them. In the sunshine and the shadows.

He sees them now.

She was pretty.

He sees her and her smile. Feels her and her warmth. His body has been so cold for so long… has been freezing for days but maybe also for years. He’s been cold for so long. But the chill of the ocean that he remembers like he turned 9 only yesterday… he remembers that differently. He remembers that’s different.

Her laugh is a song and her eyes hold prayers. The sand is so soft beneath his feet. The seagulls are calling him home.

He feels tears and he sees them too… on another face, bloodied and saddened and desperate as the flames of Hell themselves. Desperate, perhaps more like the clouds of a more promising place, beckoning him to something better.

Maybe desperate like the Earth. Like the trees and the leaves and the grass. Desperate like a human.

She was really pretty.

Yes… yes she was.

She was the sun… she was the sun and the moon and the stars and the Earth. She was every fantastical being. She was the light in his days.

And just because light fades, doesn’t mean it can’t come back. The book has told him. Told him light can return. Told him light is there if you only search for it. Told him sacrifice is for light.

Oh god that book… Where is it....

He’s been in the darkness for days. Weeks months years. There’s been so little light. But there was one… one that came into his mind when he was wallowing and forgetting himself. A girl, who held her hand out and looked at him like a human. Made him feel human for the first time in a long while. Let him shed a tear before the monster took over him. Let him show her all the fears of his life.

And that light is here now, talking him out of himself… now now now-

And you… you were happy.

Yes.

Sacrifice is for others. Sacrifice is for those who depend on you.

Sacrifice is for the light brushing his cheek. For the child in his heart still, begging in pleas he’s borrowed from his grandmother.

He stands on shaking legs, with the light of the sun in his heart and with hot tears filling his eyes, and he wishes with all of him that he had that book. His fingers twitch at the memory of feeling it in his hands. His heart lurches at all the memories- memories of women who held him close and begged to some invisible force that his life be easy.

He remembers, briefly and vaguely, the pleas of his grandmother. That he be happy and healthy and safe. That life be easier for him than any of them because he deserved it. She begged and pleaded all the time. She hoped and she wished.

His body aches standing here, staring down the monster that mirrors the evil that’s taken over his body and made it its own. And still, he’s within himself again. He sees it as clearly as he can with tears and with headaches and with every last memory and every last strike of pain.

There’s fear coursing through him… but that’s what comes with sacrifice. He knows that better than anyone, he thinks. He allows himself that last, tiny bit of selfishness.

Sacrifice isn’t easy. It’s pain and it’s fear- it’s the worry that maybe it won’t work. Maybe it won’t be worth it. Maybe the pain searing his hands at holding every evil thing back is only giving mere seconds of grace before the world ends anyway, putting all his actions in vain.

But this monster is him too. It’s the thing consuming him. With every strike it takes to his body, it’s attacking itself, and he knows this. Even mere seconds of grace can be worth it… maybe sacrifice isn’t always about success, just for the chance of hope. Isn’t that right? Just for a chance...

It’s violent… does sacrifice always have to be so violent?

His body falls… does sacrifice always have to end with someone fallen?

There are shrieks, distant and muffled…

Light fades and enters and fades, pressure appears on his arms and his name is being spoken. His mind briefly registers the face, the face of a girl he’s sacrificed himself for enough times he couldn’t count. A girl he’s stood in front of, metaphorically, to block any pain from reaching her. A girl he’s inflicted pain on, despite.

“I’m sorry.” is all he can force out, even through the desperation licking at him to say more. Say it all. Say everything.

In his last breath, the pain fades until all he can feel is the stickiness of the pendant on his sweaty and broken chest- the Mother pressed to him.

And he thinks of his grandmother. Thinks and wonders, with the wispy, fleeting thoughts going dark and black… thoughts of a place of hope and how his grandmother must be there- waiting with her clear eyes and kind smile and shaking hands to help him through it. To grab his arm and show him around. Just like she always did.

He wonders if he should thank her for the book.

#Billy Hargrove #Stranger Things #fic #writing #major character death #religion #angst #uhhhhhhh #i'm sorry? LMAO #i'm writing fluffier things i SWEAR #i've got a year old project i'm still working on for my beautiful friend #i just heard this song and i wrote this in a fit #in a daze #i had to get it out of my system #canon compliant #canon compliance fuckin sucks my dudes #also like.... don't let the pope come after me for this LOLLL #i'm not trying to make a big statement about religion #or offend anyone #i just wanted to talk about my own reflections on religion through the pain of Billy #bc it's so interesting to think about him and his mother #and also him and religion #and how it must all feel for him #y'know?????? #anywayyyyy #i'm sorry i've been gone so long i've been struggling a fuckin lot okay bye

[veeples-archive]

remembrance

✨ pairing: implied mason x faustus valentine

✨ rating: t, for language

✨ word count: 1.2k

✨ warnings: general death and grief feelings

@wayhavensummer day 4: flowers

i meant to write something a little fluffier for flowers but... i did not! unedited, because i'm just in feelings mood for my idiot man.

🌻🌻🌻

Rook liked sunflowers.

At least that’s what some faded pictures with well worn edges Faustus found stashed in some of Rook’s belongings suggested. They feature a younger Rebecca, her face rounder and skin unmarred by wrinkles, and what Faustus assumes is a younger Rook too, hair dark and smile crooked the way Faustus knows his own is as well. Handwriting he doesn’t recognize -- neat, crisp, with big loopy Rs and bs -- notate Rook and Rebecca, June 1982 on the back of them.

They look happy standing in front of a near endless field of sunflowers. Maybe Rook liked sunflowers for how yellow their petals were, or maybe because they dwarfed even Rebecca’s taller height and softened the severity of her posture.

Maybe Rook didn’t give a damn about sunflowers at all.

Faustus couldn’t say. They seem appropriate, though. Better than roses.

“Hey,” Faustus begins, unsure of how to refer to the plain grave marker. Father? No, who the fuck is he, some begotten Victorian child? Dad? Did Rook earn that in his heart? His name-- “You.”

Nothing about this feels right or natural. Skirting a visit to the cemetery was no accidental act Faustus had managed for twenty some odd years.

The last time he’d visited he was ten, maybe. Maybe a little older. Rebecca hadn’t been the one to take him -- she preferred her visits to be solitary, as every bit as selfish with her vulnerability and her grief as he was. It was his nanny, a kind faced woman with graying hair, who set him in her beat up car with a box of cleaning supplies and fresh flowers tied together with ribbon, so that she could wipe the marker clean and leave Rook a token of remembrance.

“Rook was never neat in life. Shirt always creased, desk lost underneath all those papers and folders,” she had said once while she wiped away the dirt clinging to the gray stone. “I know he wouldn’t mind the mess, but he always showed me such kindness. I want to do the same for him.”

Faustus liked her. He didn’t keep the monthly grave clean routine when she left due to some nameless medical issue Rebecca didn’t elaborate on, but he liked that she wanted to do it at all.

“I brought you flowers. Sunflowers.” Faustus fingers the smooth stems, keeping his eyes pointedly away from the marker. The marker’s nearly blank. It states Rook’s name, his date of birth and his date of death. Nothing else. The emptiness unnerves him and he’s already halfway ready to spin around on his heel and leave.

God, what the fuck is he doing here?

“I wish I could say this was a visit of fondness or remembrance.” Faustus smiles thinly. “Your son grew up to be an avoidant prick, do you know that? Selfish, too. Lost.” He kicks a clump of dirt away. “Confused.”

No one answers. There’s nothing but wind shifting through the trees, rattling the leaves and whispering through the long grass that Faustus thinks the maintenance should be mowing soon.

“There’s this. Person. A man.”

The words scrape against the dryness of his throat. Right to it, then.

“A vampire, actually. By the way, got caught up in the same bullshit you did, love the legacy.” Faustus laughs shortly. It sounds strained. “He’s such an asshole. Smokes nonstop. Steals my damn laundry detergent all the time. Has one of the most vulgar mouths I’ve ever heard and still manages to say the most tender of things in a handful of words.”

Faustus shifts his weight. A breadth of emotion he hadn’t given acknowledgement to is welling up fast in his chest, bulldozing its way through. If the sunflowers shake in his hand, he’d swear it was only because the early morning is gray and chilled.

Haltingly, he continues. “How did you deal with trying to charm Rebecca? God knows I wouldn’t have put up with her shit if I were you. She’s a damn headache of a woman but.” Faustus bites his hips, clenching his fingers harder around the sunflower stems until they begin to bend. “I’m as big of a mess as she is. And Mason deals with me all the same.”

There. He’s said Mason’s name. It feels all at once like pressure relieving his throat and like a vacuum emptying himself out. He feels cavernous inside, cold and dank.

“‘I’ve never met anyone like him. It’s so easy to just… be with him. With the others, when it’s just me and him watching a shitty horror movie or watching the sun dip below the tree line from the roof I feel so distinctly me with him.” Faustus says, eyes focused on a cluster of dandelions next to the toe of his boot. Their buds are full, yellow peaking out, on the precipice of blooming.

Gross. Too on the fucking nose. He looks away.

“I like him, Rook.”

He says it as a whisper, but it sounds like thunder in his ears.

“I like him so much that I don’t think my body’s big enough to hold it all in. I feel like I’m being crushed from the inside out.”

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes and blur the grass he’s glaring at into a haze of pale yellow and green. Faustus hunches his shoulders in like if he just tried hard enough he could curl himself around the aching wound in his chest and keep himself safe.

He feels small. Smaller than any person of his height and stature should rightfully feel.

“I’m scared.” He says, throaty and horrifically raw. “Not of him, never of him. He’s all muscle and looks like he’s made up of all edges and sharp teeth, and you’d never know how damn soft his hands are. Firm, yes. Strong, yes. Steadier than anything I’ve ever known, but his hands are so soft it’s laughable.”

Faustus inhales sharply. He’s deflating, slowly. Like air leaking from a balloon.

“I’m scared I’m gonna ruin this. I’ve ruined so many other things in my life,” Faustus finally focuses his blurry gaze on the headstone, looking for something there. Some sign of acknowledgement, some show of strength that he does not feel. “I don’t want to ruin him too.”

There is still no answer. Of course there wouldn’t be. There aren’t ghosts, in a world teeming with supernaturals who occupy mundane spaces like being a husband to Verda or parents grieving for their child it’s fucking ridiculous that ghosts don’t populate their ranks, but Faustus desperately needs to believe someone is listening to him.

There’s still only rain tinged wind sliding against his cheek, stinging where his tears have dampened his skin. Almost like a caress, if he wanted to be romantic about it. The cemetery is just grass and dirt and stones for the living to pay their thoughts to the ever silent dead.

All Faustus has done is give his grief to the Earth to turn to silt and soil. Maybe it’s enough that it’s been received.

“Here.” Faustus says suddenly, crouching down in front of the small stone vase to arrange the sunflowers neatly. Might as well forgo leaving an untidy pile of flowers. “Little bit of sunshine for you.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavensummer #faustus valentine #specialist agent mason #fauson #veep writing #so........ i think faustus has mega depression LMAO #death mention

[aflour]

wip tag game 🌸

I just remembered @holistic-alcoholic tagged me a while ago! Thank you :)

Rules: List all your WIP titles, all meaning even the ones that are vague or nonsensical. Tag as many people as there are WIPs.

ari lives with arthur and eames (Inception) - Ariadne is going through a really bad time and Arthur, her only friend in that point of her life, invites her to his and Eames' house for a couple of weeks until she gets a bit better. At first things go well but with time Eames starts to have an issue with Ariadne having so much of Arthur's attention. It's a lot more fluffier than it sounds. Maybe I'll finish it. It's special to me.

Chemist!Ari and Forger!Mal thing (Inception) - This was for an event but I can't remember which one. Abandoned.

Cherik 1 (X-Men) - I'm working on this one! It's set in First Class and it's just Charles and Erik talking the night before going to Cuba. I wish I watched the X-Men movies sooner :(

Debbie x Ruth in the tent (GLOW) - I really really wanted to finish this, but I'd have to rewatch the show. Maybe some day I will.

zombie fic (Dying Light) - If you don't know this game, it's about zombies. One of the main characters (I won't say who in case anyone reading this is playing it lol) gets infected and slowly turns into one. I honestly really like all the little ideas I had for this story, but I feel like I don't have the skill to actually write it.

Hurt/Comfort dream husbands thing (Inception) - I only wrote a very vague introduction I honestly don't remember what this one was supposed to be about. Abandoned.

kate and yelena paint their nails (MCU) - Just the girls having their nails done and then making out. It's cooler than it sounds I swear

robbie x cecilia (Atonement) - I got super inspired when I finished the movie. I only wrote two paragraphs though :(

Unofficially Aware (Venom) - Eddie throws up every day because of Venom's eating habits. It doesn't really make sense. I won't finish it.

I have many many character x oc wips but those are a secret shh

Tagging @lolahardy @rayelovesgreen @iamanonniemouse @finelydressedspacemen

#tag game #text

[heavenlybarnes]

21, 22, 23, & 34!! ❣️

hello jaye!! thank you ever so much for the ask <3

this is gonna be another long one, and we're gonna do 3 for each again!!

3 favorite lines of prose:

1. from soap in your eyes:

It happens like this sometimes, though not quite so frequently now. But on rare occasions—mostly when your husband is off on one of his missions—life simply becomes too much. The only word you can think of to describe it is sticky: going through each day feels like trudging through a vat of glue, or a mound of quicksand; every step you take drags you further into darkness, and the only thing that keeps you going is the knowledge that to stop means to sink.

2. from to have and to hold:

If he is letting you hold him, maybe he will let you love him, too.

3. from if loving you is a nightmare, i never want to dream:

But hope—hope is fleeting. Like a flower, it is flimsy, and delicate, and easily crushed; only when swathed in its sweet fragrance do you recognize the loss of it.

But the lack of Bucky Barnes is no perfume.

3 favorite lines of dialogue:

1. from his glorious purpose:

"My my, don't we have a massive ego? It's not as if Thor had any pictures to share with the class."

2. from if loving you is a nightmare, i never want to dream:

"Because every night you fall asleep in my arms, I am reminded of how much I love you, and how much that scares me."

3. from soap in your eyes:

"I would never leave you," he says. "Not now, not ever. You are the reason I fall asleep every day looking forward to the next, the reason I keep breathing. You're my whole life."

3 favorite pieces of imagery:

1. from soap in your eyes:

"I'm broken, Buck," you breathe, a sob bubbling in your throat. I'm so broken, and empty, and you deserve more than—than this." You gesture to yourself with flapping hands as though to show him what you mean, the emptiness that envelopes your insides like a creeping fog. You're all hollow bones and bloodless veins, skin stretched thin over a vacant skeleton. And tired, so damn tired.

2. from to have and to hold:

How eerily calm he'd been, just a moment before. Now, shaking, tremors rippling through his body like a wave crashes along the shore, seafoam quivering on its surface. If he concentrates, closes his eyes, he swears he can taste saltwater—but no, no, that's just blood. Just blood. Iron filaments coating his tongue.

3. from if loving you is a nightmare, i never want to dream:

Your heart stutters, contorts, doubles over in a rush of sadness, and if you could wring the pain out of Bucky's own like a sponge you would do so in a heartbeat. Watch it swirl down the drain, a soapy mess of guilt and shame and self-reproach, of never being good enough.

and lastly, 3 of my favorite wips for 2022!

touch-starved bucky fic (this one is probably going to be a bit fluffier/spicier than anything else i've written so far)

another newlywed bucky x reader fic (angsty, of course) that ties in to a small detail from soap in your eyes!

and i'm hoping to get this out before the end of the year, but it's my first-ever request and steve rogers fic :)

send me some end-of-the-year writing asks!!

#ask #jaye 🐈‍⬛

[donghyuckcuyhgnod]

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE. (THREE)

mark lee x fem!oc

genre » angst, fluff

warnings » illness/cancer, major character death, swearing

tilly williams had wrote a letter to her first and only love, mark, shortly before her passing. she disposed of it in quite a peculiar way.

wc » 1k words

previous | final part

i sigh as i quickly stuff the lengthy note under my leg. mark approaches me, with no suspicion whatsoever, which i thank god for. he sets down the variety of foods, sitting next to me on the blanket. the smile on his face never leaves, and i swear that i just died a little as i watch his dark hair fly in the wind. his deep brown eyes look into my own, and his smile falters. it's instead replaced with a frown.

"tilly? why are you crying?" he asks, and i mentally facepalm myself. how did i not realize i was crying!?

"oh, nothing. i'm just—i'm going to miss you, babe. a lot," i say, attempting to cover up my real reason for crying: writing that stupid, heartfelt, long letter. but at the same time, the excuse i used isn't a lie. i will miss him. a little too much.

he looks down at the sand, gulping as he avoids eye contact. "i'll miss you, too, tilly. more than you'll ever understand. you know that, right?" he breathes out, grabbing a hold of my hand as he caresses the top of my palm with his thumb. "and i love you. you know that, right?"

i nod my head, quietly whispering the words back. "i love you too." he smiles, bringing me closer to him as i nuzzle my head into his shoulder. i sigh in content, my eyes drifting to the boy that holds me in his arms.

the way his lips twitch when he smiles, or the way his eyes twinkle when he looks at something he admires. and i'm happy to say that his eyes twinkle when he looks at me.

the way his hair does it's own thing, like how his thick locks are so messy that it makes it look fluffier than it really is. how his eyes sparkle in the sunglight, and how his lips have the ability to put me in a trance whenever they connect with mine. everything about him—every flaw, every mark, every quality that he possesses—are what drives my love for this boy.

he groans, rolling his eyes as i look at him weirdly. "i forgot the fucking drinks," he admits, and i chuckle lightly at his annoyed tone. "i'll be back," he says. any other time, i would tell mark not to worry about the drinks and to just sit and lay with me to enjoy the moment.

but today, i needed him gone for another minute or two. it was my only time, my only chance to let this letter go. so i take the glass bottle out of my bag, making sure he's far away enough. i roll up the few pieces of paper that has my messy handwriting on it, and shove it in the jar, managing to not wrinkle the paper.

i then put a thick cork in the opening, in order to prevent water from dripping through. i look over my shoulder one last time to make sure mark isn't in sight. when i see that the coast is clear, i chuck it into the water from where i'm sitting.

i watch as it glides through the air, landing a little ways out in the ocean with a small splash. i smile as i see it drift away. i don't know if mark will ever receive the letter, but i hope he does one day. even if it's sixty years from now, i want him to be reminded of the love i have for him. but my thoughts are interrupted as he sits down again, and i smile at him as he sets down the two drinks.

"now, where were we?" he asks, pulling me to his chest again. i could feel his heartbeat against my back, and it's so soft that it almost puts me to sleep. but something else was doing that for me.

as mark and i watch the waves in silence, i slowly begin to feel myself fade away. it's happening, it's really happening. i know what falling asleep feels like, and this isn't it. is this what dying feels like? my eyelids are starting to feel extremely heavy, and i can't feel much. it's weird, i'm starting to feel. . . happy? it's like all of the pain i've ever felt, both physically and mentally, is slowly fading away and i can't feel any of it anymore. i feel happy. i feel joyful, bright, grateful. i feel free.

my eyes are shut, now, and i can't seem to open them. wait, where's mark? i don't see him anymore, i can't feel him. i can’t feel anything.

is this really it? is this how i go? i guess i don't mind, considering that i know i'm in the arms of mark. even though i can't feel him at the moment, i know he's there. because i remember. and that's more than enough for me.

all rights reserved, © euphoriclele 2021

#mark nct #nct fluff #nct angst #nct mark #mark lee angst #lee mark #mark lee #nct dream #nct 127 #nct u #nct #nct blurbs #nct scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop #death mention #cancer #character death #fluff #angst

[grassvillenews]

April 15th

The Grassville Paper

A new citizen has joined us today Grassville, and how excited are we to have them! Their name is Twerk President, and now the official citizenship list has two people on it(and one Vampire)! Go pay them a visit in the Twerk House on Skin Avenue! After only being here a day, they’ve already been voted favorite citizen. They have a bath and a horse named “Twerker’s Pimpin Ride”.

In other NEWS, Oswald, you know, the vampire? Well, he’s opening up a strip club right next to the Cafe. There are windows everywhere so you can see inside from the street/ It has a gothic theme and is right on the corner, pretty hard to miss. How do you feel about this new edition Grassvillian? Any complaints? If yes then whisper them quietly into the corner of your house, the council will hear you, and they can relay the information back to Oswald. Or if you’re more of an old soul and like doing things the old-fashioned way, stop by our print shop and let us know! We are located on Explosion Drive, right across from the strip club.

Did you know that the dog hotel is made out of real skin! Isn't that neet folks? The attention to detail is incredible! And to think, our mayor(who is currently hiding out in a secret location that is definitely not your basement so don't check. “Do I even have a basement?” you may be wondering. The answer is yes, it may not even be under or near your house but you do, in fact, have a basement) built it with his own two paws! Some other buildings that were made by our mayor include the Bank and the Post Office. So next time you see him(which will not happen) give him a big thanks! I think we should have a holiday to honor Gus for all he’s done for our town, don't you think?

Someone Just ran into my print shop as I am writing this! Communicating with me through dance he told me, “Twerk kings dog isn’t a dog at all, that is literally a sheep, have you guys not noticed the difference in size? Or fur? Do you all just not care?” and to that, I say shame, on, you. So what if their dog is a little chubbier, or a little fluffier, or a little taller, a dog is a dog and the next time I see you in here is the last. Twerk president is our favorite citizen, they’ve only been here a day and you're already trying to drive them away. How do you feel about yourself? Are you happy? Do you feel fulfilled? I sadly didn't catch his name since he didn't have an official citizenship card but I swear if I see that man again grassville, it will be the last time anyone does. I'm sorry Twerk President, but I promise one bad apple does not spoil the bunch, all of us adore Dwort. Besides that pathetic excuse of a man. Who does he think he is anyways? Running in here and breakdancing at me? I have a job to do okay? You don't need to be here throwing a fit if Dwort isn't good enough for you.

This has been the Grassville Paper written by NEWS

Goodday, Grassville have a lovely evening

#Old news