#and I have a soft spot for curly hair <33
Note
..AHEM. HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE.
Thigh riding luke.
Also can i be 🌷 Anon?
umm yes ma'am ?? i will b hearing u out on this !!! also ^_^ im back haiii :3 n yes ofc u can b 🌷 anon !! welcome 2 m blog <33
warnings : rusty writing , needy reunion stuffs , post tlt!luke
luke had iris messaged you again, spending the last of his drachmas to tell you to meet him at your spot— the spot in question being just on the outskirts of camp, where an oak tree dips down weirdly and there's always poppies scattered about. it was the place he had asked you out at when you were both seventeen.
you debate not going, you knew that he had betrayed you and camp. you really shouldn't be going, but you pack a bag anyways just in case this is the last time you see camp.
you walk quietly and quickly through the woods, leaves crunching with every step as you don't even have to look around to know where you are. you pause when you see that familiar silhouette, his curly hair fizzing, and you can smell the sea on him from here.
"luke?" you ask, slowly walking to him. he turns over quickly, sword drawn just in case only to drop it when he sees it's only you. he looks more mature, there's more scars along with a glint in his eye that almost scares you until he speaks.
"princess," he whispers, his sword hitting the ground as he wraps his arms around your waist. his hands are more calloused, rougher to the touch as they almost immediately snake under your shirt to grab your sides. "i missed you, so fucking much."
you felt relieved, pressing a tender kiss against his scar before kissing down to his jaw and up to his lips. "i missed you so much." you mumble against his skin, you couldn't bare to part with his skin. your lips collided with his roughly, teeth clinking together and lips bruising with how much want was in the kiss.
he backed up against the tree, pulling you with him until your bodies were fully intertwined with each other. his leg between yours while his hands grabbed at the softness of your sides, bruising your skin while leaving soft kisses down your neck.
you felt a heat build up inside you, your hips moving before you fully realized. grinding down onto his thigh desperately, "fuck," he whispers against your neck, leaving hickeys in his wake. "keep doing that baby, i got you."
he reassures you, whispering praises and 'i love you's' against your bruised and bitten neck while he forces your hips to move. your clothed cunt grinding against his thigh, the fabric of your sleep shorts vs his rough denim creating the perfect friction.
you whimper against his shoulder, clinging onto him as his hands travel down to your thighs— teasing the inner parts as he ignores the most obvious part, he smiles against your neck before shifting his head away to watch you. his fingers tease at the hem of your shorts, almost laughing when your hips jerk.
"please luke," you complain, using your needy tone as you shift towards his fingers. his hand grazes your clit just slightly before sliding back up, going under your shirt and lifting it up. the cold air bites at your tits, no bra on due to sleep and knowing he'd just rip it.
his hands cup them, fingers teasing at your nipples just to watch you shudder and jerk against his thigh again. "i don't want this to be over so soon, baby," he chides, sliding a hand back down to stop your hips. "let me have some fun first, then you can cum, 'kay?"
#cosywriting#cosynsfw#cosyreqs#castellanswrld#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan smut#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan oneshot#luke castellan fanfiction#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan fic#🎀 asks#🌷 sweetheart
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Farmer’s Market Crush
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
warning: self indulgent fluff, can he please be my farmers market crush???, the reader has curly hair and is southern, the hair detail can be skipped over its not that important, his smile so pretty <33
She stood at her booth when she spotted him, in front of her was a variety of jams. From blackberry to peach all fresh and homemade. They were in adorable little glass jars that looked professional almost. “Can I help you with anything?”
Hotch hadn’t noticed her until she spoke his eyes focusing on her. He was a bit startled as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.
She stood with a smile on her face as she looked at Hotch. “I’m sorry did I startle you? I apologize if I did…you just looked as if your mind was somewhere else!” She said sweetly.
Hotch had to stop himself from smiling at the question she just asked, he was most definitely zoned out at that point. That was until he heard that voice, so adorable and sweet sounding, with just the right amount of twang in it, it took all of his concentration to stay focused.
When she had asked if she startled him, Hotch simply shook his head, “No…no you’re fine… I apologize. It was….”
What should he say? He didn’t wanna tell her he had zoned out when he noticed her behind her booth.
She laughed softly as she shook her head, “don’t worry we all zone out sometimes..” she said in a understanding manner.
She was still smiling at him as if it was permanently etched onto her face. She found him handsome and truth be told she was staring at him for a bit before she finally spoke up.
Hotch cleared his throat not sure what else to say, he then saw her looking at him. Her sweet smile making her look sweeter than she did at first. Yet something about her…something about her was familiar. He knew what she looked like but it was also a certain way she carried herself…and that accent…that southern belle twang that made him almost melt in her presence.
Hotch finally remembered where he had seen her before. But she beat him to the punch when she spoke again.
“You look familiar,” she said tilting her head causing her curls to drape over her shoulder. She leans forward a little over her booth, “you’re with the BAU right? I think I spoke with you before at that little coffee house on Main Street..” she finally said.
That was it, he remembered her from that coffee shop. And in the back of his mind he had thought it was because she was involved in a recent case. He couldn’t explain just how happy that fact made him. And her accent only made his smile grow.
He looked over at her and nodded, “Yes…yes I am.”
Her accent making even the simplest sentences feel like love songs in his ears. “Your name is Y/N right?” His voice was soft and calm like a cool breeze on a summer’s night.
“Yeah Y/N!” She said with enthusiasm as she nodded her head at him. She knew he looked familiar as she had remembered hearing that voice before. Along with that face that seemed to hold just the right amount of endearment and warmth.
He nodded his head before he looked over at her booth, now noticing the sign that read “fresh jams, homemade. By: Y/N” and adorable little jars of jam. “You make these?”
“Yeah it’s a hobby, I make other things too! I make my own breads and even pecan pralines I like to think I make ‘em the best.” She boosted slightly. “I have all kinds of jams today…I hadn’t had the time to make breads in about a week.”
He listened intently as he examined her booth, seeing her homemade jams and baked goods was truly astonishing to him.
“You make bread?” Hotch’s voice was soft still as he thought back to one moment in his past.
“What type of bread?”
“I make French loafs, sweet breads, multigrain, whole wheat bread, honey wheat bread, sourdough, rye! I started making brioche that’s my favorite one!” She tells him with a smile.
His heart raced when he heard this. French loaf, sweet breads, honey wheat bread and homemade brioche…was this some sort of gift from above?
As he watched the gentle breeze blow her curls around her face he spoke up again. “You know, you make the same bread as my mother did when I was growing up.”
“Really? Does she still make bread?” She asked with interest. She found the idea of someone older making bread amazing. In her small neighborhood not many did or showed interest to continue.
He looked over at her. His eyes looked as if they had a glimmer of sadness to them. “Unfortunately she…has passed away.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said with a compassionate smile on her face. She had genuine sympathy in her E/C eyes as she spoke.
Hotch looked away for a moment, he didn’t want this woman to feel bad for him, he had come here to see the market. “What do you recommend?” He asked softly, looking over at her.
She took the hint as she looked back at him, “from any booth?” She asked. She knew each booth pretty well so recommendations came easy to her.
He truly appreciated how kind she was, just like his mother used to be. He then nodded his head once more “yeah, any booth. Since you work here you’d probably know the best recommendation, right?” he smiled again.
She points around, “if you’re into fresh produce Mr. Cook’s booth is perfect he spends his time with the vegetables he grows. He also sells them for dirt cheap because he just enjoys doing it! Oh and Mable the little old lady over there makes the best macarons! She has this hazelnut praline one that’s so good! But if you lack a sweet tooth and like savory…Henry the tall fella over there he has the best homemade chips. He mixes them with different things, I’ve never had honey chips before until I tried his.” She rambled with a smile.
Hotch was amazed at how sweet and adorable she sounded. Her voice was comforting in a way. When she was finished talking Hotch nodded in response, “okay. I think I’ll have to try out a sample of your home made jams. I also think I’ll go try out the honey chips too.”
His voice was calm, and his smile was warm. It was as if he was looking at the girl of his dreams. But maybe he was just being a bit overly dramatic.
She grins, “tell me what’s your favorite jam?” She said as she looked at him. There was subtle kindness in her eyes as she spoke to him.
He looked back at her, “blackberry is my favorite.” He wasn’t so sure why he was so flustered, “what’s your favorite jam, Y/N?”
His name sounded lovely whenever said with the southern accent and his heart raced even more with the look in her eyes. It was a genuine look, not of judgment or pretend, there was only sweetness and playfulness. Something about her made him nervous yet excited.
Y/N looks through her jams before picking up the blackberry one. She thinks for a moment, “mine would be apple jam…on a piece of toast it tastes like apple pie. It’s so good especially if you use honey crisp or cosmic apples..” she says.
She holds out the blackberry jam, “this one is on the house…call it a getting to know you gift.” She tells him.
He watches as she picks up the blackberry jam, his eyes gazing at her for what feels like forever for him “you sure? I can pay for it of course, you work very hard for this I can’t imagine you’d be giving this up for free.”
Hotch was almost too mesmerized by her beauty to speak at this point he was still flustered and nervous. The feeling of her kindness and charm was making him feel as if he was floating and in a dream.
Y/N waved her hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it…usually Mable comes through here and pretty much buys me out for the holiday seasons.” She reassured him.
Hotch was still worried but at least he knew she wouldn’t be losing money if he took that blackberry jam. “If you say so…thank you Y/N.”
Hotch then looked around the market. He hadn’t yet noticed Derek and Penelope standing watching the scene unfold.
“You’re always welcome Aaron..” she said in a soft tone. She noticed the onlookers before letting out a small laugh. “Hey…I think we should get to know each other better..” she started. “If you want to that is..”
Hotch felt the world go still and quiet. Her words felt like honey dripping from her sweet lips. Her accent made his stomach grow with butterflies and warmth and her sweet tone was like the lullaby he had been needing to hear.
“I…I would like that.” He spoke firmly. But his voice had more confidence now as he couldn’t stop gazing at her.
Derek then taps Hotch on the shoulder, “come on Hotch, let’s not hog this lovely ladies time.”
She watched as Hotch was lead away by his friend as she waved goodbye. As Hotch was walking away while being pestered by Penelope and Derek for answers he turned the jar in his hand. His eyes widening for a second as he noticed the number on the back of the jam label.
***-***-****, we should get to know each other more <3
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch fluff#criminal minds#x reader#fluff#aaron fic#farmers market crush
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Anyhow here's the timeline for heads of the Institute i was talking about. Part 1. Disclaimer some of this information is canon but most are my own headcanons or like. Literally stuff i made up on the spot.
Jonah Magnus (1818-1872)
Born 1785, which makes him 33 when he founds the Institute.
Trans!!
Pocket-sized (like REALLY short. He wears the tallest heels known to mankind and still only manages to be kinda short), auburn curly hair that gets a bit wild, thin eyebrows and face, button up nose. Those cheekbones bring all the boys to the yard. There's a sharpness to him that remains even as he ages. Ngl he's a ball of energy and can't really be stopped when he gets into a mood.
Did the Eye extend his life? Probably did
In 1867, attempts the Watcher's Crown after Smirke's death (he was 82 then, Smirke was 93)
It fails, he gets Panopticon powers, starts making preparations to both move the Institute and move his counsciousness into another body.
Disappears in 1872, at 87. Body is never found.
Julian Morgan (1872-1898)
Julian is a name that means Youthful. Little easter egg lmao
Ngl he kinda looks like Ben Meredith because I thought it was funny.
Facial hair!! Jonah went a bit buckwild. He will calm down after this don't worry
Has a face that flushes easily, straight nose and dark, striking eyebrows, full lips. Big ears. He has light, straight hair. Jonah likes having light hair, it reminds him of his original but without being, you know, a ginger (he was bored of the jokes). Neater hairdo than Jonah ever had. Soft voice.
Finished moving the Institute to London, overseeing the construction of it. He didn't like leaving his body too far out of reach. (<-author has no idea how long it takes to make a building btw)
Was 34 when Jonah took over, 60 when he died. Jonah got scared of death and strokes and allthat and perhaps switched sooner than was necessary.
Michael Lewis (1898-1903)
Another Michael!!!
Round/full cheeks, very nice skin (circus approved for sure), thick eyebrows, curling mustache. Dark and curly-ish hair, is starting to bald. He does look a bit older than he is, he was 29 when Jonah took over and 34 when he "died". Is perhaps a bit on the shorter side.
I don't know what happened to him, but something sure forced Jonah to switch out vessels sooner than he was expecting.
Anyways, we're done for this part! I still need to color the others lol. And give Richard a weave. Planning on doing some full body outfits too. Bye for now! Also @jonahfagnus you wanted to see so here goes
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〄 NOW PLAYING : NSFW ALPHABET WITH JOHN DOE<33
JOHN DOE + FEM!READER
18+, DARKCONTENT, period blood, DUBCON/NONCON, monster fucking (?), bondage, a little fluff, knife play, blood, marking, overstimulation, public sex, yandere themes (obviously), biting, scratching, horror elements, mentions of violence, readers skin color is not mentioned, all characters are over 18
I love this emo so much :( i just wanna hug him :((
> AFTERCARE
Oh he would take care of you when he's done using your beautiful body...
if he would know how..
the first time he literally almost ripped you apart you were the one doing the aftercare, he was so pussydrunk and out of it that he just clings to you even more than he normally would, which would be annoying if you werent so in love with this big creepy babyboy. and used to him being on your ass 24/7..literally.
> BODYPART
HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE WHEN EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS PERFECT?!
But he loves your soft and pillowy tits, he loves laying his head on them, kissing, licking them and burrying his head between them when he's stretching you out and fucking you like a rabid animal
But then again..your thighs are his favourite too..holding onto while digging his sharp nails into them to see some pretty bruises afterwards makes him crazy!
> CUM
He loves to see his sticky, thick cum on your face most of the time, because you just look so beautiful with his semen on your angelic face! Collects it all back onto his fingers and makes you suck the cum off of them
But to be frank.. he would love to see you just drowning in his cum
> DIRTY SECRET
Well the secret is not even really a secret, because you found out a long time ago..
it's that he takes pictures of you while you're working and hurries off to somewhere Private to furiously jerk off to them, but he only does that when the Gas Station has customers, if not..well then he just watches you from where you can't see him with his hand down his pants, stroking his cock to you literally doing ANYTHING
> EXPERIENCE
Baby, no..he doesn't have any experience..he wanted to save himself for you!
When you first hopped onto his lap he just got flustered and let you do whatever before he just started sweating, panting and drooling like a little puppy. Don't get me wrong, he likes it when you take control of him but he likes it even more to see your eyes fill with tears and you scream as if he was killing you when you're under him and he slams himself in and out of your sloppy and tight cunt
> FAVORITE POSITION
John doesn't have a favourite Position, he loves to see you in any of them!!
But it depends on what his mood is, when hes feeling good he will just Stick with missonary or cowgirl.
But when he's horny out of his mind (which is most of the time) he will either have you folded up for him in a mating press while his long tongue doesn't stop fucking your throat or he'll just pounce on you like a wild animal finally attacking its prey, and just fuck you from behind while his suprisingly strong arm is around your neck, restricting any air fron entering your lungs until you finally cum for him.
> GOOFY
Yeah John can be pretty goofy during sex. For example when you try to talk but he was just done choking you, your voice is rasped and you cant get a single word out he just laughs at you, but then he tells you how cute you are<33
> HAIR
Just like on his head, a lot. He doesn't take care of himself unless you force him, you do wince a lot when he rams his cock down your tight throat and that forest of dark curly hair brushes your face over and over again. But you love the way his happy trail looks, honestly..so you don't force him to shave it off.
> INTIMACY
He's VERY intimate of course, sometimes he just holds you as close as he could against his body, John just loves the feeling of being conected to you. His favourite thing is when you're about to cum and just hug him as tight as you could, Johnny boi just cums with you on the spot<3
> JACK OFF
Yes.
Just yes.
He jerks off as much as he can when you're not around, he can never stop thinking about how perfectly your small, delicate little neck fits in his big hand, or how cutely you whimper when he Cuts your skin just deep enough for blood to drip out. OR the way your pussy clenches and begs for him to go harder and harder. The only downside is that he feels way too watched at his place..
> KINK
Where do i fucking Start? Ahem.
First place has two favourite kinks of his :
Fearplay, of course. He loved seeing the fear in your eyes the first day he met you, it never left his mind! He loves seeing your eyes widen and your body tremble when he runs the cold metal of his knife across your supple breasts or even your throat~ it turns him on more than anything ever could!
blood kink. He loves to see your blood AND his blood on you, he just loves the look of the pretty red substance on your pretty skin~ but he loves loves loves it when you're on your period and he can see blood flowing out of your—HIS cunt..but licking and sucking it up with that long and talented tongue of his and tasting it just makes his cock trob and leak, sometimes the poor baby even cums untouched when you cum on his tongue with that pretty blood of yours pouring out along with your juices
Choking is second, but im not talking about that pussy shit to just keep you in place, no no. I mean that hard-ass grip till veins prod out on the skin of his hand or till your face turns red and tears begin pouring out of your eyes and drool drip from your glossy lips.
Sizekink is third, no matter who is in control in that moment he just loves seeing how small everything about you is compared to him <33 and even though he might not look like it, he is very, very strong..i mean he isn't quite human so..yeah.
Fourth is breeding, pulling out is never an option, even when you scream at him to NOT cum inside of you. He cant even hear you through the need of breeding your pretty little womb~
> LOCATION
Oh he could care less, because when he's horny he needs you now. It doesnt matter where you two are! But he loves loves loves to take you anywhere in his weird ass home, seeing you, such a beautiful angelic being in a place like this, being taken, tainted, ruined by a thing like him just really gets him going
> MOANS
John is Hella loud. Just..very loud. But its cute, very cute actually! The way he whimpers, cries, moans and whines when you tied him to his bed with some cords you found lying around because he wasn't listening to you to stop touching you already when you're the one on top! His begging and whining to :
➤ "PLEASE- L-LET ME TOUCH YOU, MY LOVE- P-PLEASE!!"
Is just too cute.
But he's also pretty needy and loud when he's the one in control, he just cant stop huffing, moaning and telling you :
➤ "you look so cute like th-this, my love...those tears make you look like an angel..h-haah.."
> NO-GO
Threesomes. He doesnt want ANYONE else being able to see you like he does, you're his! The furthest john would go would be letting that fucker who works with you and always tries to flirt with you watch as he bends you over the counter and chokes you to the edge of passing tf out
Cucking him is also a HUGE no. He could never go through that, it would hurt him to see you with someone else. He would honestly kill you and the other person then afterwards himself because who is he without his precious angel?
> ORAL
He loves recieving and giving,
knowing that you love to have him down your throat turns makes him so happy, not to mention that it feels like heaven. To have you slurping and sucking on him is just a toe curling sensation! And he normally just cums from you just spitting on his cock
BUT GIVING. He lives for eating your pussy, and yes. He bites. Not hard though, of course..
maybe..
depends on his mood, really.
He loves fucking you with his long tongue, wriggling it around in your cunt and seeing you writhe and cry, you look so pretty when you cum too. Sometimes you look terrefied at how hard you cum, which is also just heaven for john<3
> PACE
It also depends on his mood or if he is in the Power Position, if he is, he will go as fast as he could possibly go (which was really fuckin fast) and when he was fucking you like a rabid animal his long tongue would roll out and he would drool onto your already wet face from all the sweat, tear and your own drool
> QUICKIE
Quickies dont do it for him, plain and simple. But when he begs you for a 'quickie' in the morning when you had to go to work, he always found a way to make you stay longer on his cock by teasing you and not letting you cum by saying :
➤ "what? You said you have to go to work, my love..dont you wanna leave soon?"
Which makes you beg for more saying stuff like "i-it can wait, b-baby! Please just- nghh..m-make me cum!!" You whined. And when you beg like that he just has to slam you down onto the bed and pound into you<33
> RISK
Oh he loves taking risks, for you, he would do anything. You asked to go to the Beach with him and first he said flat out
➤"no"
But when you fake pouted and said "aww..then i will have to go alone to try on my new tight fitting bikini.." you knew you would get him like that, but it wasnt going to be that easy. As soon as you laid down on your towel he laid his head on your thigh, you already felt kind of off when he kept nudging his cheek against your thigh. And soon enough he slid his overly long tongue beneath your bikini, sliding along your slit "j-john! Wh-what are you doing?! There are people around!" You whisper screamed and lifted your sunglasses. But he just grinned knowing that you wont push him off. You tried so hard not to moan, you were just thanking god that people didnt suspect anything..you soon felt really close and clenched your thigh against his head, that was making people actually look so John pushed your thigh back down with his hand, pressing it back onto the towel
➤ "don't be so obvious! It's like you want people to know, i had no idea how dirty you actually are, my beloved~"
> STAMINA
Bitch he can go as long as he wants..he doesn't know what 'slow down' means..it's almost like he can't stop when you look at him with those teary, begging eyes just moaning : "p-please! S-slow down!! I-its so sensitive- i-im gonna cum again!!"
> TOY
If a knife is a toy, its that.
He loves, loves, loves the way your pussy throbbs around his fingers when he runs the knife along your skin, or even carves his name below your tits, watching the blood gush out of you. When he feels you're about to cum he leans down and licks the blood up, finally making you cum.
> X-RAY
BIG. H U G E
about 11 inches, uncut with pretty veins decorating his cock. its very sensitive, so be careful with this poor boy (jk he loves to be overatimmed)
> YEARNING
John yearns for you all the time, he cant stop thinking about anything you do. Everything you do is beautiful to him, he could just drown in you!!
> ZZZ
Babyboy falls asleep pretty fast, because at the pace he was going before, he just lays his head on your chest clings onto your body as your thighs hold onto him, and when your hands start to caress his back or run through his long, black hair he just starts humming happily and Falls asleep, he's just a big baby <33
#jojo writes#john doe horror game#john doe game#john doe x you#john doe x reader#john doe smut#john doe game smut#cw noncon#cw dubcon#cw blood#cw breeding#cw knives#cw horror#cw periods
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where you go (i will go) — epilogue
Summary: The next chapter of your story begins.
Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!Reader
masterlist
. . .
ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Close Your Eyes by Michael Bublé
0:00 ───|────── 3:33
. . .
epilogue
“C’mon, kiddo, you can do it. Say, ‘dada.’”
“Matt, she’s still a little young for that, don’t you think?”
“No, my kiddo’s a smart one. She can do it. Isn’t that right, Seline?”
Seline is all curly blonde hair and brown doe eyes as she flashes her parents a one-toothed grin. The sound of her tiny hands clapping together echoes through the Kemper’s living room, which is positively littered with toys.
Ava scoffs, eyeing her husband with amusement. “You’re right, she is smart. That’s why she’ll say ‘mama’ first.”
Matt reaches for her hand where it rests on the floor between them. When he raises her knuckles to his lips for a kiss, his eyes are soft and adoring. “You’re right. She would be smart to say ‘mama’ first.”
Molten warmth floods your chest at their interaction, at the way that their attachments glow and sing with every word, laugh, and look. An unseen bystander, you reach forward from where you sit cross-legged in front of them to graze your fingers over the green storge attachments that tie their little family together. As your fingertips pluck at the threads like harp strings, they ring and strengthen.
Was it necessary to fulfill every attachment? No, not anymore. Now that all philia, eros, and agape attachments were ensured, that only left pragma, storge, philia, and philautia to fulfill. In spite of this, you’d realized over the past six months that you still liked to walk through your daily assignments, fulfilling all of the attachments that made their way onto your list. You are a creature of habit, after all. Plus, the way the threads sing when you pluck them never gets old.
Thank you, the storge attachments say, their threads bright, warm, and alive beneath your touch.
“You’re welcome,” you say in turn. “I’ll see you all again tomorrow. Don’t let her say any first words while I’m gone, got it?”
Got it.
With a pleased grin, you rise to your feet. As your attention shifts from the Kemper family, a new sight grabs your focus—a radiant stream of red, orange, yellow, blue, purple, and white. The threads unfurl from your chest, mingling and weaving into a delicate braid of light. They trail from your heart, out the Kempers’ front door, to a place far beyond this realm. Their whispers coax you to a realm of dreams and nightmares, to a man with a touch like cashmere and stars for eyes. At the mere thought of following them, your heartbeat quickens.
Philia. Eros. Agape. Pragma. Philautia. Erotoropia. Even after six months, there was still one attachment that you and your Dream Lord had yet to foster. Green, unconditional, familial storge.
You can’t help but wonder if today is the day. It is a very special day, after all. In fact, a quick glance at the clock on the Kempers’ living room wall informs you that it’s time for you to depart for the Dreaming. Lucienne will be expecting you soon.
Before you go, however, there’s one last stop you need to make. A friend to see, and a promise to fulfill.
. . .
The morning sun shines surprisingly bright upon London as you step onto the street outside The New Inn. Far removed from the main roads, the sound of morning traffic only faintly reaches your ears on the pleasantly warm breeze. As you push through the entryway, the door handle’s bells jingle a tune that is all too familiar to you now. The New Inn’s windows have been pushed open to welcome in the early summer air. Several patrons sit at various tables sipping tea or coffee and nibbling on pastries that Hob purchases from the bakery a few blocks over.
When your gaze shifts to the bar, you spot him—dimpled chin, stubbled jaw, chocolate eyes. When he begins to chat up an elderly gentleman sitting at the bar, offering to refill his coffee, you can’t help but beam. “‘Morning, Hob! Is the coffee pot still hot?”
Hob‘s gaze darts to you at the sound of your voice. As he begins pouring coffee into the elderly man’s cup, he waves you over. “Wouldn’t turn it off until you came through. Get over here.”
There’s an undeniable bounce in your step as you walk to the bar and hop onto one of the leather-topped stools. Hob makes his way over quickly, grabbing a clean coffee mug as he goes. When you spot the red apron he’s wearing over his normal attire, you have to suppress a snort. You rest your chin on your palm when he stops in front of you, gazing up at him adoringly. “You make a pretty barista, you know.”
Hob lifts one dark brow at you, lips drawing into a smug smile. He begins filling your coffee cup without so much as breaking eye contact. Show off. “I’m flattered. You don’t think the apron is too much?” he responds, dark eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Not at all. In fact, I’m going to buy you a fancy one with the little pockets for pens and the loop for towels,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. He chuckles at your teasing, earning a satisfied grin from you. The warmth of the coffee seeps through the ceramic mug and into your hands as he hands it to you. “Thanks, Hob. I really did need the pick me up today.”
Hob returns the coffee pot to its hotplate behind the bar before turning back to you. “Ah, yes. Today’s the day you become the Queen of Gloom, right? The Monarch of Melancholy? The Sovereign of Solemnity?”
You couldn’t hold back your laughter if you tried. Silently, you thank the Maker above that you weren’t mid-drink when he said that. “Alright, you’ve made your point,” you say, swallowing another giggle before taking a long sip of your coffee.
A sly grin pulls across Hob’s lips as he rests his forearms against the counter. “Glad to hear it. You’ve yet to convince me that he’s not the God of Pessimists.” One dark brow shoots upward, curious and inquiring. “But you know what would? You telling me what’s really going on here.”
Fondness blooms in your chest, warm and supple. Before your temporary death, your blossoming friendship with Hob had been limited to occasional check-ins. Working to combat Desire had been a full-time job, after all. In the six months since your sacrifice, however, life had slowed down a bit. This allowed for many morning coffees with Hob, during which time your friendship had deepeed, and his questions about Dream had never ceased. “Secrets, Hob. You know they’re Tall, Dark, and Broody’s to tell, not mine.” You smile as another long swig of coffee warms your throat.
Hob rolls his eyes at you good-naturedly. “Right, right, secrets. Just you wait. I’m going to trip you up someday,” he says with a wink. A contented silence settles between you as you chuckle at him, closing your eyes and savoring the rest of your coffee in long, grateful sips. When you open your eyes, placing the empty mug in front of you with a contented sigh, you find that Hob’s expression has softened. When he leans toward you, it’s with a kind smile. “Well, I’m wishing you luck today. Really, Love. You deserve this. You deserve love.” His hand rests atop yours gently, but firmly. “You deserve to be happy.”
When the gratitude swells up at the base of your throat, it takes you off-guard. Sudden and powerful, it steals your breath away. The familiar prickle of tears stings at the backs of your eyes. It’s only when he gives your hand a gentle squeeze that you finally find the strength to speak. “Thank you, Hob. So do you.”
Off to your right, a new customer approaches the bar, waving Hob down for service. Hob gives your hand a quick pat before he slips away to take the patron’s order. The distraction gives you a moment to collect yourself, to swallow the lump in your throat and wipe the wetness from the corners of your eyes. You know it’s time for you to go to the Dreaming. But before you do, there’s one last thing you have to do.
When Hob finishes waiting on his customer, you wave him back over. As you rise from the bar stool, you flash him a dazzling grin. “Well, Hob, I’d better head out. I’ve got a wedding to go to, you know. But before I do…” You reach across the bar, planting a hand on each of his strong shoulders. Surprise flickers in Hob’s brown eyes as you hold his gaze firmly, intently. “A new patron is coming to the Inn tonight. Should be around eight-o'clock. A word of advice from me…” You give his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “…make conversation.”
You can see the exact moment that your insinuation lands, the precise second that the meaning registers. Hob’s chocolate eyes widen in astonishment; his lips part in awe. Stunning the innkeeper into silence is no easy feat, but it seems you’ve done it. It’s several long moments before he slowly smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. They glimmer with excitement, with promise. “Right. Yeah,” he breathes. “Make conversation.”
You pat his shoulders once, firmly. “You’ve got it, my friend.”
When you slip out The New Inn’s front door, it’s with the jingle of bells, a levity in your heart, and a smile on your lips.
. . .
The sweet scents of pollen and nectar greet your nose as you walk the fields of Fiddler’s Green with Dream at your side. Between crafting dreams and nightmares, visiting Cain and Abel mid-murder attempt, and listening to Mervyn complain about another blood-and-perrier mishap by Fashion Thing in the main hall, it had been a hectic morning for the Dream Lord. When you’d popped into the Dreaming from a morning walking amongst the mortals, you’d taken quick note of the overcast sky and heavy, humid air. One look at the particularly deep crease between Dream’s exasperated eyes, and you’d known just what was in order–a walk.
As you trek into one of the grove’s lush meadows, Dream Country’s sun beams down on you, fat and gold as an egg yolk. The air, once thick and oppressive, is now crisp and refreshing. A sea of blue flowers greets you–dancing periwinkle, bobbing hydrangeas, rustling forget-me-nots, and swaying hyacinth. A few days ago, when Lucienne was dusting the shelves of ‘1800’s - W’ in the library, you’d made the off-handed comment that Robert William Wood was one of your favorite painters. The fact that you’ve stepped right into the scene of Fields of Blue is not lost on you. You can’t help but smile.
As you enter the field of blues, a strong gust of wind sweeps the meadow, stealing blades of grass and stray leaves from the earth. As the breeze gathers the array of foliage into a familiar humanoid form, you come to a stop. Dream falls into place at your side.
When two blue poppies settle into place on the dream’s face, you smile. “Good morning, Fawn. You’re looking particularly radiant today.”
Fragile iris petals unfurl as Fawn offers you a smile. While you adore all of Dream’s creations, the dream of freedom has always been close to your heart. She was your first collaboration with the Dream Lord, after all. “Thank you, Miss Love. The Dreaming’s sun shines so much brighter these days. My leaves adore it.”
You shoot Dream a knowing glance out of the corner of your eye. A small, pleasant quirk of his rosebud lips is his only response. “As do I, Fawn. You’ll bring sweet dreams to my friend Theo tonight, won’t you?”
Fawn bats her dandelion eyelashes at you, giving you a wide grin. When she spins in a giddy circle, blue petals dance around her like confetti. “Absolutely, Miss Love. He’ll have so much space to run, he won’t know what to do with himself. I’ll make sure he runs himself silly.”
The sun is warm on your cheeks as you beam at her. “Thank you.”
With one last grin, Fawn dissolves in a flurry of leaves, departing for the Waking World. With a happy sigh, you step further into the meadow, relishing the warmth of the sunlight against your skin.
After several long seconds of silence, Dream speaks. “The Dreaming loves you,” he says, his voice a soft rumble on the honey-sweet breeze.
“And I love the Dreaming,” you say, crouching down amid a gathering of hyacinths. You press your lips to their blue petals fondly, drawing in a long, savoring breath.
“Then wed her.”
Stillness. You misheard him, didn’t you? Surely you must have. You straighten slowly, stunned. “What?”
When you turn to Dream, you find a tension in his form that is foreign to him. His pink lips are pursed, his shoulders pulled back, his hands held rigidly at his sides. He looks…hesitant. No, you realize suddenly. He looks nervous.
“Become her Queen. Her monarch. Her partner. Her caretaker,” Dream continues, his voice soft and tight. When he swallows, his throat bobs like sea foam on the tide. “Let us stand together. Officially.”
A powerful stirring is rising in your chest, like the rapid flutter of hummingbird wings. The dizzying mix of awe and disbelief grows and grows, warm and insistent, leaving no room for air. “Is this your Endless version of a marriage proposal?” you breathe, taking a small step toward him.
There’s a subtle shift in Dream’s form when you draw closer, like the coiling of a spring. He wants to touch you, you realize, but nerves have gotten the best of him. “In a sense,” he murmurs quietly. His ocean eyes study you intently, desperately. “You were expecting something more elaborate.”
You could laugh out loud. You could tackle him to the grass and kiss him silly. “No. Yes.”
“Clarify, love.”
“No, I don’t need anything elaborate. I’ve never wanted anything elaborate. All that’s ever mattered is you.” You step forward, taking his hands in your own. “And yes, I’ll wed her. I’ll stand beside you. Officially.”
Dream’s rosebud lips part in awe at your words. Was it possible that a small part of him was surprised at your acceptance, even after all this time? You bring his hands to your lips, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles one by one, as if pressing promises into his flesh.
Dream leans over you, regarding you softly. “To become Queen of the Dreaming is to wed her. And to wed her is to bind yourself to her creator,” he murmurs, lifting one thumb to caress your chin.
His skin is warm against your lips as you smile. Slowly, you draw his hands to your chest, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “You think I don’t understand the implications?”
When a small smile lifts Dream’s lips, Dream Country’s sun gleams like a golden yolk, an extension of its master’s heart. “You are certain, then,” he says. Though his voice is quiet, there is an energy beneath it, a thinly-veiled eagerness. Excitement.
When you lean forward to brush your lips against his, the grove’s birds chitter with glee. “As certain as I am that you are mine.”
. . .
In all your months in the Dreaming, you’re certain you’ve never seen the palace halls so busy. Dreams and nightmares of all shapes, sizes, and colors hustle back and forth through the halls in a blur of movement and chatter. As they pass by carrying trays of food, baskets of linens, and armfuls of decorations, they peer at you with wide eyes and even wider smiles. The excitement in the air is electric and infectious. You smile kindly at each resident as they pass, cheeks flushed and bashful, mind buzzing with glee.
“Your coronation attire will be waiting in your chambers within an hour’s time, Miss Love.” Lucienne’s voice cuts through the chatter around you, capturing your attention. You turn to where she walks at your side, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, reading over a list of tasks left to complete. “The beachfront is prepared, and the Dreaming’s residents will gather there at twilight.” Lucienne turns her head to you, brown eyes wide and attentive. “Will you still be reading your own oaths?”
Your lips lift in a nervous grin. “Yes,” you answer, heart fluttering in your chest. It had been your idea to do so, after all. Another mortal custom, you’d explained to Dream. Quiet as he was, you’d thought you might be the only one to write your own vows. When Dream had agreed to do the same, it had taken you aback in the best way possible. You’d been working on writing them for weeks, rehearsing them each morning before you left for your duties.
Lucienne’s lips draw into a wide, pleased smile. “Excellent. If you wouldn’t mind, prior to the ceremony…”
As you round the corner near the palace ballrooms, two approaching figures quickly steal your attention. Lucienne’s voice, once loud and clear, fades to a quiet hum in your ears. You watch in silence as Dream and Mervyn Pumpkinhead stride briskly in your direction on the opposite side of the corridor. Mervyn gestures wildly, features pulled into his characteristic frown, while Dream listens intently, his dark brows drawn inward.
The nature of their conversation, of Lucienne’s discussion, of anything else going on around you grows distant as Dream draws nearer. With each step, the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears becomes louder, the coaxing in your chest growing stronger. You picture each thread between you glowing brighter with each footstep, whispering more insistently with each inch gained.
Come closer.
Come closer.
You need to be closer.
There is a moment as you pass ways when the spell suspends, when your transfixion takes a deep, yawning breath. When Dream’s eyes flicker to meet yours, your mouth turns dry as cotton. There is a brush against your knuckles, a featherlight touch that you feel from the tips of your fingers to the marrow of your bones. Fire and ice drip down your spine in equal measure. You shiver.
And then, he’s gone. In a blur of black and orange, Mervyn and Dream stride past you, their conversation uninterrupted. Your eyes trail after them, still halfway spellbound. You’re almost convinced that the moment never even happened. Only a lingering tingle against the back of your fingers makes you wonder otherwise.
“Miss Love?”
Your head whips around so quickly it verges on whiplash. When your eyes lock with Lucienne’s, she levels you with a knowing smile. “I was just inquiring whether you could bring me a copy of your oaths prior to the ceremony?” she prompts, voice lilting with amusement.
Heat creeps up your neck as you give her a quick, sheepish nod. “Yes, absolutely. No problem.”
“Splendid,” Lucienne says brightly. She removes her pocket watch with deft fingers, coming to a stop outside the tall wooden doors that lead to the palace kitchens. “This is where I must take my leave, Miss Love. I have a very zealous chef to attend to.” She gives you a wide, assuring smile. “Perhaps you should retire to your room for a while. There is much left in store for you today. It is best to be well rested.”
As the two of you come to a stop, it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve really paused today. Between your assignments, visiting Hob, and preparing for the day’s festivities with Lucienne, time had passed in a blur with scarcely a moment to think. There was much of the day left to live. You wanted to be ready for it, to enjoy it wholeheartedly, to savor every moment and commit them all to memory.
“Thank you, Lucienne. You’re right. I think I will.”
With a nod and a bow, Lucienne departs, heading into the palace kitchens with her task list in hand. Likewise, you turn and head in the direction of the staircase that leads to the palace’s living quarters.
As you walk the halls, you pass dozens of dreams and nightmares discussing the festivities, carrying decor, and so on. Now that you aren’t busy with Lucienne, several stop you to make brief conversation as they go about their duties. You smile and greet each one, thanking them for their hard work preparing for the evening’s events. Though the excitement in the air is palpable, you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your chest. The gravity of the day’s events is far from lost on you. In fact, it’s been a persistent occupant of your headspace ever since Dream proposed in Fiddler’s Green.
I am going to become Queen of the Dreaming.
No matter how many times you think the words, they still leave you in utter disbelief.
When you step off the staircase and into the palace’s lodging area, you find the hallways quiet and empty. The quiet padding of your sneakers against the stone floor echoes off the walls as you walk to your room at the end of the hall. Your mind slips in and out of focus, rehearsing your vows, reviewing the schedule for the remainder of the day, remembering the brush of Dream’s skin against yours in the corridor—
There is a gentle pressure around your wrist, a quick tug. The movement is so sudden that you don’t even squeal as you’re pulled into one of the halls branching off the main corridor. Stumbling forward, you catch yourself against something warm, solid, black, and familiar. Instantly, the adrenaline in your veins turns to giddy glee.
Warm breath fans across your face, gentle and sweet. “You did not say hello.”
A small smirk lifts your lips as you slip your hands under Dream’s cloak, entangling your fingers in stars and constellations. In the low light of the side corridor, his blue eyes burn like the flames of young stars. “Neither did you,” you say, leaning instinctively into the warmth of his torso.
Dream’s eyes flicker at the teasing lilt in your voice. There is something downright otherworldly about the way his palm glides over the curve of your waist, the way his fingers trace the soft flesh at the nape of your neck slowly, tenderly, reverently. His touch leaves fire in its wake, a simmering heat that makes your mind scramble and your heart race.
Over the past several months, you’d been surprised to find that physical touch was a love language the Dream Lord was very adept in. While you’d experienced his more intimate side in the unconscious world he’d created for you, you hadn’t known what to expect from him in real life, especially given the new nature of your relationship. You’d quickly found that while he was largely reserved in public, he had no inhibitions in private.
Of course, you weren’t complaining. Dream’s touch was a drug and an antidote, a cure and an affliction, all in one. Even now, as his rosebud lips tilt upward at your shallow, eager breaths, a force greater than gravity pulls you toward him, like the poles of a magnet. When the pad of his thumb settles against the curve of your bottom lip, reality bends deliciously, your skin humming with delight.
“Of course I did. In my own way.”
The touch. You laugh breathlessly at him, fingers twisting in the fabric of his black shirt. “Of course, Dream Lord. Ever so subtle.” You push up onto your toes, trailing your nose along his jaw affectionately. He smells like salt and seaspray. You breathe in deeply. “Well, hello.”
”Hello, love.”
For several long moments, there is nothing but the soft chorus of your breaths, the sinewy warmth of Dream’s form against yours, the overwhelming contentment that you always find in his arms. Finally, you pull away just enough to make eye contact. “Did you and Mervyn successfully solve the world’s problems?”
Dream’s blue eyes roll upward, eyebrows pinching in exasperation. There is a certain delight that comes from seeing him annoyed. When you first met, his lack of non-verbal cues and muted reactions were maddening. How you’d longed to make a chip in the armor, to be privy to the inner workings of his mind and heart. The vulnerability that he now seemed to reserve for you alone was a gift, one you cherished and treasured.
“Mervyn prefers to work at his own pace. The high expectations of the day are a challenge for him, but one he is well-suited for.” When Dream’s eyes return to yours, the softness in them does, as well. “On the subject of the day, how are you feeling?”
It’s the first time that anyone has asked you. A small, tentative smile forms on your lips as you lean into him, fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of his shirt anxiously. “Oh, you know. Excited. Nervous. Can’t wait, but also kind of want to throw up. It’s a big day.”
Dream’s eyes regard you gently, thoughtfully. You find no judgment in them, something that sets the flutter in your stomach at ease. “Indeed,” he says softly. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw slowly, as if he could dispel every trace of worry with his touch alone. Not entirely out of the question, you muse. “I assure you, there is no need to be tense.”
You lean into his touch gratefully, relishing in the solace he instills. It never ceases to astound you how completely transcendent you feel in his presence. As if you could move mountains and steal stars. His touch emboldens you to open up, to bring light to the shadow of doubt that has plagued your mind since that day in Fiddler’s Green.
“You know what I feel for you. I know what you feel for me. But the Dreaming’s Queen? Are you really sure about this?” You pause, swallowing down the nervous lump that presses at the base of your throat. “Are you sure that I’m…that I’m worthy of this?”
There is a long, lingering moment where Dream does not move, does not breathe. Not even the familiar flicker of his eyes searching yours. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve broken him. But then, his rosebud lips suddenly part.
“Worthy?” he echoes slowly. His eyes are wide, his tone incredulous, as if he can’t fathom what you’ve just said. When his palms cup your face, thumbs settling at the corners of your lips, his touch carries a gentleness that makes your heart ache and flutter equally. He pulls your face to his gently, so close that your noses nearly brush, so close that there is nothing but the bright, burning surety in his eyes. “There is no question of your worth. There is no question that you are what is best for the Dreaming. The Dreaming is not worthy of you. I am not worthy of you.”
Liquid light pours into you with every word from Dream’s lips, from every inch of his skin against yours. The shadow of doubt shrinks away in its presence, leaving assurance, solid and true, in its wake. When you offer Dream a small, grateful smile, his expression softens. He leans forward to press his lips to the space between your brows, to the corners of your eyes and lips.
“In fact,” he murmurs lowly, lips lingering against the corners of your mouth, “I intend to show you exactly how superlative you are later this evening.”
If you were molten light before, now you are raw static, all white heat and crackling energy. The pressure behind Dream’s fingers as they trail down your arms makes you dizzy. You can feel the giddy flutter of your heart in your chest, like a flurry of moths gathering to flame. Pressing the bridge of your nose to his, you hold his gaze, smiling against his lips. “Why wait?” you ask with a quirk of your brow.
If there’s one thing you know about the Dream Lord, it’s that he loves a challenge. When he tilts his head back to get a better look at you, his eyes dance with amusement. “You are incredibly adept at wearing on my resolve,” he rasps. There is a slight quirk to his rosebud lips. You want to kiss them silly. “But there is much left to attend to.”
Your mouth falls into a playful pout. “Lucienne says my coronation outfit will be here shortly. You’re sure you don’t want to stick around?” you tease, only half-joking.
A chuckle escapes the Dream Lord, ghosting across your cheeks. It’s low and breathless; the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “Do not mistake my need to leave for a desire to leave. You know exactly what I desire,” he murmurs. He reaches for your hands within his cloak, holding them between you, thumbs dancing across your knuckles in farewell. “I will see you shortly, alright?”
Smiling, you concede. “Alright.”
When Dream steps away, you force yourself to swallow the quiet, pleading sound that rises in your throat. Just before he re-enters the main corridor, he gives your hands a gentle squeeze. “Remember my vow to you,” he says softly, his voice earnest. “There is no reason for you to fear ever again. And there is certainly no reason to be fearful of anything pertaining to today.”
You squeeze his fingers in return. When you smile, this time, it’s with confidence. “Right. Never again.”
. . .
You remember the first time you witnessed your function like it was moments ago, not centuries. The awe that had wiped your mind clean of thought when you’d witnessed the first attachment, the giddy excitement that had coursed through your veins when you stepped into the kaleidoscope world that was yours, the overwhelming rightness that filled your chest to the brim when you first made those threads sing and shine. Your function was radiant, vibrant, all warmth and technicolor beauty.
It was a juxtaposition, then, how you’d always seemed tied to the dark. You’d died in the dark, had come into new life in the dark. In all the years you’d spent isolated and alone, you’d always felt comforted under the night sky, as if befriended by those glittering stars. Though you couldn’t remember it, your mortal self had first encountered Dream in the midnight hours of sleep. When your paths finally crossed again in the throne room, he had seemed to you the darkness of night in human form. A walking dream with moonbeam skin and stars for eyes.
Perhaps it only makes sense, then, that you feel at home clothed in twilight. The place between the fading radiance of day and the comforting embrace of night. The gossamer fabric of your coronation gown spills over your skin like sand from the Dream Lord’s palm. Woven from stars, the silken material feels weightless upon you. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes catch on the gown’s hem. Traces of pastel pink, lavender, and teal swirl like nebulous dust beneath the glittering stars, accenting the fabric that pools at your feet.
A flash of color amidst the darkness. A piece of him, a piece of you.
A small, shaky breath escapes you as your fingers trail over black gossamer and stars. In the mirror, your smile is equal parts eager and nervous. It’s time.
As if on cue, there is the soft creak of a door and a familiar flash of dark hair in the mirror behind you. When you turn around, you find Dream standing in the entryway, quietly closing the door behind him. The rectangular-cut ruby that pins the top of his ceremonial cloak together gleams in the lamplight of your bedroom. Living flames lick at the cloak’s hem where it trails along the floor. In the soft lamplight, the flames flicker and jump, imbuing his porcelain skin with warmth, casting shadows from his cheekbones.
The breath slips from your lungs in a soft, awed rush. He’s beautiful. And his ocean eyes are on you, wide and staring, his pink lips parted as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that was, is, and ever will be.
He’s crossed the room before you even get the chance to say hello. “Breathtaking. Radiant. Exquisite,” Dream breathes. His hands find the curve of your jaw, cradling your face in his palms. “There are no words.”
You laugh, leaning happily into his touch. “You just said several words.”
There is a soft hum in Dream’s throat at your jest. “They are all inadequate,” he amends, a smile pulling at his lips.
Now it’s your turn to give a hum of pleasure. “You look pretty exceptional yourself. The flames are a nice touch,” you muse, tugging lightly at the edges of his cloak. You press a quick kiss to his chin before you step back, ruffling your skirt in a shimmering wave. “You like it, then?”
“More than you know,” Dream says. He takes a step forward, appraising your gown thoughtfully. “But there is one thing missing,” he continues.
For a brief moment, your brow wrinkles in confusion. But when Dream reaches into his cloak and withdraws his hand moments later, all you can do is gasp. From the cosmos hidden within the black fabric, Dream produces a swath of material spun from stars and comet dust. Thousands upon thousands of pinprick flames ripple and shift like liquid glitter against the black gossamer in his grasp.
With careful hands, Dream turns you to face the mirror. His fingers make quick work of fastening the cape of stars to the straps of your bodice. When the material slips from his hands, the bridal cape spills to the floor, burning like a comet’s tail.
Your heart catches at the sight, throat thick with emotion. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, all of it. You are spun from cosmos and constellations. You are at home among the stars. You are a walking dream.
Your voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Oh, Dream.”
Dream’s touch is warm as his fingers trail down from your shoulders. His feather-soft hair tickles your cheek when he settles his chin in the crook of your neck. “You have always liked mine, have you not?” he breathes against your skin, blue eyes bright within the mirror’s reflection.
You capture his hands in yours, turning to meet his gaze head-on. With his rosebud lips so close, his breath warm and honey-sweet against your cheeks, the desire to pull him close and kiss him is undeniable, coronation schedule be damned.
And so, you do. “Yes.” With a gentle tug, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. When you breathe in unison, it’s a sigh of contentment, an exhalation that says, finally. There is nothing but the soft whisper of breath; the gentle press of Dream’s mouth and fingers against your own; the fuzzy, intoxicating warmth that spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes with each movement.
When you finally part for air, you smile, nuzzling your nose against his, favoring the slight dimple at its tip that you’ve always loved. “Thank you. You really never cease to amaze me.”
“You never cease to inspire,” Dream responds. After pressing a final kiss to the corner of your mouth, he leans back to regard you. “They are ready for us. Are you ready?”
Dream’s eyes hold you gently, assuredly. Under his gaze, all doubt slips away. Under his touch, confidence blooms and thrives. By his side, you have nothing to fear ever again.
“Yes.”
In a flourish of fabric and stars, Dream whisks his cloak over the two of you. When the Milky Way and constellations slip away, you find yourself standing on the dirt path outside the Gates of Horn. Beyond the towering structure of polished bone and keratin lies the black sands of Dream Country’s shore. Twilight is breaching over the familiar waters, painting the sky in pastel pink, burnt orange, and rich gold. Beneath the watercolor sky stands two great crowds of Dream Country’s residents, gathered on either side of a self-made aisle. Their smiling faces and eager eyes are illuminated by the setting sun. And they’re all looking at you.
You had expected to feel nervous, or bashful, or self-conscious. But as Dream extends his elbow to you, as your arm slips into his own, as you begin to walk forward into this new life, all you can register is excitement.
Side by side, you and Dream pass through the Gates of Horn, the same gates that had led you to him all those months ago. The black sand is soft beneath your feet as you walk down the beach, still warm from soaking up the day’s sun. The glittering eyes and wide smiles of dreams and nightmares both humanoid and abstract greet you as you walk through the crowd.
You recognize all of them. You’ve had the privilege of encountering countless dreams and nightmares during your time in the Dreaming. After Dream had made his proposal, you had doubled down your efforts to mingle with the Dreaming’s residents. He was their creator, the seed from which all things grew. He loved them. You loved them, too. If you were to stand by his side, to care for the Dreaming as your own, you wanted to know them. You wanted them to know you.
There’s a particular face among the crowd that jumps out at you. Death of the Endless stands at the end of one of the frontmost rows, curls bobbing as she cranes her head to watch you two approach. When your eyes lock, the sheer enthusiasm in her toothy smile seems strong enough to light the Sunless Lands. You return her grin with equal excitement as you pass, making your way to the final smiling face that awaits you at the end of the aisle.
Lucienne gives a slight bow when the two of you stop in front of her. The flames along Dream’s cloak lick at the sand as the two of you turn to face one another, hands joined between you, just as you’d been instructed to do. A Dream King with raven hair and stars for eyes and a goddess with light in her veins and night on her skin. What a pair the two of you made.
It’s time.
“Greetings, dear residents of the Dreaming,” Lucienne begins. Her voice echoes over the beach, carried on the saltwater breeze. At her words, any quiet chatter and excited shuffling within the crowd stills. “We have gathered together today for not just a coronation, but a celebration. Today, the Dreaming gains a Queen, a defender, a nurturer, and a champion. As the Queen weds the Dreaming, so too does she wed its creator.”
Your eyes turn from the royal librarian to her King. Dream’s eyes are only for you, lingering on each flicker of your gaze, each shift in your expression. When you smile, his eyes brighten. His thumbs drift over the backs of your knuckles tenderly. No reason to fear, they say. You are what is best for the Dreaming.
“Agape, Deity of Love, presents herself to you today with the intention of leading you, guiding you, nurturing you, and defending you. She has passed through the Gates of Horn, ensuring that her heart is truthful and her intentions are pure.” Lucienne pauses, allowing her declaration to settle over the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, there is a shift of movement as she raises her hands to address them. “The Dreaming acknowledges the presentation of their hopeful Queen. Does the Dreaming accept her?”
“We do,” a thousand voices chorus in unison. The flutter in your chest is undeniable as the sound washes over you, as the sunset’s reflection in Dream’s eyes shines a little bit brighter, as the grounding, peaceful sense of belonging settles in your soul like Dream’s hand in your own.
“Excellent,” Lucienne says. When you pull your eyes from Dream, you find her dark lips stretched wide, the corners of her eyes crinkled with delight. Lucienne had been with you since the very beginning, from nearly the first moment you set foot in the Dreaming. To see her joy, to know that she is pleased at your union with Dream, to receive her blessing, means everything. “The Dreaming accepts Agape, Deity of Love, as their Queen. As she binds herself to its creator, so too does she bind herself to us. She will now offer her oath to our King.” Lucienne leans forward slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Do you need your oath?” she asks.
You shake your head gently. You had been dreaming of this moment for a long time. You had rehearsed these words again and again until they were etched upon your heart. You knew precisely what you wanted to say.
You turn to Dream with a deep, grounding breath. In spite of the crowd around you, the gravity of this moment, he looks at you as if there is no one else, nothing else, that matters. As if it is only you, the sand, the setting sun, and your joined hands.
A sweet, all-encompassing calmness settles in your bones as you watch one another. As you open your mouth to begin, you allow yourself to be drawn into his gaze, into an intimate pocket of the universe where it’s just the two of you. “Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, Dream Lord, Dream. One night, on a wooden dock in a sea of stardust, I told you that love was difficult. That it was as much about sacrifice as it was about reward. And I was right.” A pause. A breath. “But what I didn’t tell you is that every sacrifice is worth it. Because it leads you to where you’re meant to be, who you’re meant to be, and who you’re meant to find. Sacrifice means that you have something, or someone, worth continuing on for, risking it all for, giving everything for. For me, that someone is you.”
There is a soft bob of Dream’s throat as he swallows, drinking in your words. The ever-present pull between the two of you swells and crescendos, coaxing you to him as the rising moon calls the tide. You take a step forward. “We’ve both lived lives with plenty of sacrifice. Now, it’s time for our reward. I vow to love, cherish, and keep you. I vow to be yours in any time, in any realm, in every reality. I vow to support you, protect you, and defend you. I vow never to forsake you. I vow to stand by your side in every circumstance; to be your constant solid ground; to be someone you can always rely on. I vow to make every sacrifice and moment we were without one another worth the wait. I vow to spend every moment of every day for the remainder of my existence showing you just how deeply, unfathomably, uncontainably loved you are.” You lean forward, your words a whisper for him and him alone. “I vow to be yours, forevermore.”
Time passes slowly in this pocket of the world. Seconds or hours could pass as you and Dream watch one another with bated breath. The flames at the edge of his cloak leap and flicker eagerly, as if your confession were kindling. There is an electricity between you, a yearning to answer that ever-present coaxing between you, to satisfy the universe’s will. When you feel Dream’s fingers curl around your own, you think he might just do it.
You have to suppress a jump when Lucienne’s voice startles you back to reality. “Does the Dream King accept these vows?” she asks.
Dream’s eyes flicker briefly to Lucienne, then back to you. It’s evident that the pull back to reality was just as off-putting for him. You offer him a small smile, raising your eyebrows ever so slightly as if to say, Later.
When Dream affixes you with a knowing look, your stomach erupts with butterflies. The slight quirk of his lips is hidden from the crowd, visible only to you and Lucienne. “I do,” he rasps.
Lucienne gives a soft huff, a thinly-veiled laugh that only the three of you can hear. “Excellent,” she says. Refined as she is, you suspect her desire to admonish the two of you over your barely-concealed affection at this event is compelling. But when she turns to look at Dream, her brown eyes are crinkled and happy. “Our King will now offer his oath to his–our–Queen.”
When your eyes lock with Dream’s, you find them burning with conviction, soft with promise. When he takes one step closer, you picture the six threads between you glowing and singing with glee. “Agape, Deity of Love. Love. Fate and destiny are powerful creatures, ones we are both well-acquainted with. Throughout the eons, there have been moments when I questioned mine. There was surety, purpose, and fulfillment in my function. It was my fate, my destiny. And yet, I was plagued with a persistent absence. Regardless of what actions I took, an enduring emptiness remained. It was a call I could not seem to answer, a phantom limb I could not shake.” A pause. A swallow. “From the moment you set foot in the Dreaming, from the moment we met, you were known to me. The soul knows its counterpart. For the first time, I found that the emptiness was filled. The call had finally been answered.”
A soft, shuddering breath escapes you at Dream’s words. It has to. After all, there is no spare room for it in your chest, not when this bittersweet ache is filling your lungs. The love, deep and deliciously painful, crowds out everything else, pouring forth from your heart, spilling over, over, over. When Dream squeezes your hands tighter, you wonder if he can feel it, too.
“I did not know peace and contentment until I knew you. I knew not what it was to feel complete. It took a long time to comprehend that sensation. But now, I understand,” Dream says. “You once confessed to me that the deepest desire of the soul is to not venture through life alone. You were right. And now, both our souls are satisfied.” A pause. A brush of thumbs against the backs of your hands. “I vow to devote myself to you, wholly and completely. To cherish you incomprehensibly, boundlessly, until the last creature dreams. I vow to give you stars to comfort you and an embrace to run to. I vow to protect and defend you, to rewrite worlds for you, regardless of the sacrifice. I vow to give. I vow to remain yours, as I always have been. As I always will be.” Dream draws near to you, his voice like the sea breeze, so soft that only you can hear. “S’agapo.”
When Dream withdraws to stand up straight, you think you’re seeing stars. The smattering of lights beyond his face must be a product of your imagination, a consequence of the lack of oxygen your brain is currently experiencing. But when you take a deep, settling breath and blink, you find that they are stars. As the sun dips below the Dreaming’s sea, twilight is receding, revealing the faint beginnings of a night sky overhead. The coronation is almost complete.
“Well said, my Lord,” Lucienne says, more for herself than anyone else. Her spectacles gleam in the fading twilight as she turns to you. “Does Agape, Deity of Love accept this oath?”
As if you could answer any other way. “I do.”
“Excellent. Together as one, the King and Queen of the Dreaming will now procure the symbols of their union.”
It was the only part of the ceremony that you hadn’t rehearsed. After all, you couldn’t do it without Dream. Will it really work? you had asked him one morning as you walked along the shoreline.
Eyes dancing with vague amusement, Dream had affixed you with a knowing look. Need I remind you of what I told you the first night we crafted together? In this Realm, all things are possible.
Dream reaches into the folds of his cloak with one hand, procuring his infamous pouch of sand. The whisper of the grains is barely audible over the ocean tide as he pours a palmful into your hand, and then his own. At first, when you re-join hands, clasping the grains together between you, nothing happens. And then, like magic, like a dream, they begin to warm.
“May these tangible objects serve as a reminder of the intangible union that is forged here today. The binding of souls, the merging of realms, and the entwining of futures.”
You feel the exact moment the sand disappears, the exact moment that something small and spherical rests in your palm instead. When you open your hands, you find that the sand has been replaced with two rings made of clear, iridescent sand glass.
“The King and Queen of the Dreaming have elected to recite a final vow as they conclude the binding ritual,” Lucienne announces to the crowd. Quietly, she adds for you and Dream, “Whenever you are ready.”
You had never been more ready for anything in your entire life.
Dream’s fingers are warm and gentle as he takes your hand in his. When he slips the sand glass onto your finger, he does so slowly, carefully, like making a dream. “Do not urge me to leave you or to turn back from you,” he breathes into the saltwater air.
Never again, you think. We will never be apart again. “Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay,” you vow in turn. The sand glass ring slips over his knuckle with ease, as if it was always meant to be there. And it was.
The stars overhead catch in Dream’s eyes as he watches you. In the darkness of dusk, the flames on his cloak reflect in the glass ring on your finger, coloring it orange and gold. His fingertips skim over its surface eagerly, ceaselessly, as if he can’t quite believe it’s there. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.”
“May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me,” you finish softly.
There is a long, quiet moment where there is nothing but the whisper of the tide against the sand. And then, Lucienne speaks. “Dreams and nightmares, beloved residents of the Dreaming. I present to you…your new Queen.”
In an instant, the entire beach erupts into a chorus of cheers and applause, as if they were only waiting for permission to do so. Your gaze turns to the crowd instantly, lingering on each grinning face, soaking in each cry, shout, and holler. The Dreaming had always possessed an undeniable talent for turning the intangible tangible. It was a place of pure imagination, after all. In this moment, the sheer joy from the crowd crashes over you in a wave that truly feels physical. It’s overwhelming.
You can’t help but smile and laugh along with them.
Dream’s hand is warm against the small of your back as he turns you to face the crowd. He leans in close, so close that the unruly mop of hair you love so dearly tickles your cheeks, eliciting another giggle from you. “Welcome home, love,” he breathes, his voice low and honey-sweet, meant for you and you alone.
You turn to look at him as his words settle over you. Home.
It takes only the briefest of moments. Your hand against his cheek, a touch he leans into. Reaching out, reaching through, you peek into the Realm of Attachment. Because you need to know.
In an instant, the night sky overhead turns into a kaleidoscope of color. When you look at the space between you and Dream, you find seven radiant attachments. White, soul-bound philia; red, romantic eros; purple, playful erotoropia; orange, companionate pragma; blue, compassionate philautia; golden, selfless agape; and green, unconditional, familial storge.
Welcome home, love.
And it feels like, finally.
. . .
In all your time visiting the Dreaming, you have never seen the palace so packed full of people. When you’d peeked into the ballroom earlier today, the sheer number of tables and chairs set up for the post-coronation banquet had astounded you. You’d thought that surely they wouldn’t all be filled.
Now, sitting at the front of the ballroom, gazing out at what must be every single resident of the Dreaming, you realize that you were so wrong. Not only does every chair at every table have an occupant, but it seems it’s not enough. Dreams and nightmares gather in the corners of the room, drinking, laughing, and conversing. Winged creatures fly to and from the lavish buffet tables, bringing plates of hors d’oeuvres and delicacies back for themselves and their friends, while others brave the crowd on foot. The energy in the air is infectious, practically buzzing with chatter, laughter, and life.
Dream’s thigh presses against yours beneath the table as he leans into you. “Are you doing alright?” he asks, his voice warm and low against the high-pitched chatter of the crowd. “You’ve hardly eaten or drank since we sat down.”
Your hand finds his beneath the table, fingers toying with the sand glass ring around his finger. When you turn to him, you find his blue eyes soft with concern. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, husband. It’s just overwhelming. Everyone seems so…so happy.” Smiling, you lean in close, brushing your nose against his. “I am happy.”
Dream’s lips quirk upwards at your admission. “Then all is as it should be,” he murmurs against your cheek.
His skin against yours is like kindling to flame. You lean in eagerly, hungry for more, scarcely caring if any of the Dreaming’s residents take notice. “Indeed, husband. I think it finally is.”
Dream’s laugh is a rumble in your ear. “You seem quite fond of that term of endearment, wife.”
What you’d give to drag him out into the corridors and show him exactly how fond of it you were.
Just as you’re about to declare as much, the bright sound of silver on glassware captures your attention. Just a couple of tables away from your own, you find Death of the Endless rising from her seat with a champagne flute in hand.
“Before you two get lost in your canoodling, I think we need a toast. It’s not a wedding without a toast, right?” she states, wiggling her eyebrows for emphasis. As warmth creeps up your neck, Dream shoots his sister a knowing look. Though he does not smile, the twinkle in his eyes betrays his amusement. Death gives him a quick wink before continuing. “I just want to say that I feel largely responsible for this union. So, you’re welcome. And congratulations, lovebirds.” She lifts her glass so emphatically that her bubbling beverage nearly spills over. “To Dream and Love, King and Queen of the Dreaming.”
“To Dream and Love, King and Queen of the Dreaming,” the room echoes in response.
Death waves her fingers playfully at you as she takes her seat. You roll your eyes half-heartedly at her, making a gesture as if to say, I’ll find you later. “Maker love her. I should have known she’d make a toast. Did you know?”
“Perhaps,” Dream muses with a quirk of his brow.
Just as you’re about to ask if there are any other surprises you should know about, another round of sharp chimes echoes through the ballroom. Scanning the crowd for the source, you find that Matthew has perched himself atop a tray of glasses carried by a server. The sound of his talons clinking against the delicate drinkware gets everyone’s attention.
That draws a laugh out of you. “You’re letting him talk?” you ask incredulously.
Dream’s mouth smiles against your ear. “He begged me,” he says, the baritone melody of his voice trailing shivers down your spine.
Across the room, Matthew ruffles his wings, preparing for his big moment. “Alright, everyone, it’s toast time. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks,” he crows, his voice thick with drama. “First things first, Boss, Lady Love–congratulations. You two make a beautiful couple. And I mean that both literally and metaphorically.”
There is a gentle rumble of laughter throughout the room. You offer Dream a small smile as if to say, Here we go.
“If there’s one thing you all should know about me, it’s that the Boss and I have been friends for a long time. Or, it feels like a long time, at least. When you’re putting up with his melancholy ass, the days tend to drag on at times,” Matthew continues. He takes flight briefly, swooping over to land atop a lantern centerpiece on Death’s table. “But he and I have been to Hell and back together–literally–and I care about him. When Love first came around, I thought, ‘Man, this girl is nice. Way too nice for this guy.’ Honestly, Boss, you’re such a stick in the mud, I don’t know how she put up with you.”
Matthew pauses again, obviously reveling in the crowd’s chuckles. With a shake of his head, Dream speaks up. “Please, Matthew, do go on,” he prompts, eyes flashing with thinly-veiled amusement.
“Will do, Boss. So, yeah, at first I thought, ‘These two have nothing in common.’ Wasn’t really sure how this whole partnership thing would work out. But then, I realized I was wrong. They did have something in common. They’d both been hurt. They were both lonely.”
This time, there is no laughter when Matthew pauses. His eyes gleam like black pearls in the ballroom candlelight. When your eyes meet, your throat tightens. “I’ve watched these two go through a lot together. I’ve watched them grow and change and open up in ways I never expected. I’ve watched them sacrifice everything for one another. I’ve watched them heal. And now, I get to watch them both be happy.”
There is a long, yawning moment where the ballroom is entirely still. Beneath the table, Dream’s hand squeezes yours.
Matthew dips his head at the head table in acknowledgement. “To Dream and Love, two kids who finally got their happy ending.”
“To Dream and Love,” the Dreaming choruses in unison.
For several seconds, there is only the quiet sound of residents sipping their drinks. Then suddenly, Matthew ruffles his feathers emphatically. “Well, what are you all sitting around for? Someone get some music going! It’s time to fucking party!”
All at once, the Dreaming seems to burst into life once again. A round of applause sweeps the room as dreams and nightmares alike leap out of their seats. A group of dreams quickly gather next to the balcony doors across the room. With practiced hands, they procure a fiddle, mandolin, flute, and bagpipes from thin air. When they start up a fast-paced, jovial tune, the Dreaming’s residents flood the ballroom floor between the crowd and the head table.
“He really knows how to set the mood, doesn’t he?” you laugh, watching as Matthew sweeps across the room, shepherding people toward the dance floor.
“He has always been exceptional,” Dream muses thoughtfully.
The two of you watch in contented silence for several moments as residents of the Dreaming take their celebration to the dance floor. Between the electric joy in the air and the music, you have to admit that even you want to dance. “Well? Should we–”
In a flurry of black, Matthew lands on the table in front of you. “Ah ah ah, not so fast,” he says, waving a wing at Dream. “I call the first dance, Boss. I got the party started. It’s only fair.”
You can’t help but laugh out loud at the absolute Matthew-ness of it all. The raven ruffles his feathers appreciatively at your response. “Well, what do you say, Boss?” he asks.
Dream looks from you, to Matthew, to you again. You know he’s only dragging it out for dramatic effect. They were both dramatic, though neither of them would ever admit it. You suspected it was part of why their dynamic worked so well.
The Dream Lord lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “Be my guest.”
. . .
When you slip out of the ballroom and onto the balcony, you’re not sure how many hours have passed. All you know is that you’re dizzy and breathless, and the Dreaming’s night air feels so good against your skin. The granite is cool against the soles of your feet as you walk to the balcony railing, your shoes long-since abandoned. You honestly can’t remember the last time you had them on. Spinning and stepping through the thick throng of dancers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to hold onto the cape Dream made.
A long, contented sigh escapes you as you rest your elbows against the balcony rail. You can faintly hear the persistent hum of music as the instrumentalists start up another song inside. But now that you’re outside, you can also hear the soft whisper of the breeze and the quiet chorus of katydids and crickets far below on the palace grounds. Beyond the palace lights, there is only the darkness of empty houses and the endless expanse of stars above.
Will the mortals dream tonight? you wonder absentmindedly. With everyone here at the palace, would humanity have a single night of comforting darkness free of dreams and nightmares alike? Or would they dream of these festivities, awaking with joy on their lips and wine on their tongues, their limbs exhausted from a night of dancing in another world?
“Does my beloved wife grow weary of dancing already?”
The smile that lifts your lips at the sound of his voice is instantaneous. It’s as second-nature as the warmth that blooms in your chest when he draws near, as instinctual as the way your fingers find his when he wraps his arms around you. “Just needed a little break. I think Mervyn might have two left feet. He just kept guiding me in circles.”
There is a quiet rumble of acknowledgement in Dream’s chest as he winds his arms around you, resting his chin against your shoulder. “I have never seen him move with such fervor. It seems you brought out a new side of him,” he muses. Turning his face to yours, he presses his lips to the tender hollow beneath your ear, a sacred spot that only he knows. You sigh with contentment, sinking into his embrace. “As you do with all, love.”
You remain that way for a long time, wrapped comfortably in Dream’s arms, chests rising and falling in unison, looking out at the midnight landscape of the Dreaming. Allowing yourself to simply relish in the sweet warmth within your chest, the soul-deep contentment within your core, the stillness of your mind, and this overwhelming, all-encompassing sense of rightness.
Love. Happiness. Peace. You are complete.
Dream is the one who finally breaks the silence. “I have been thinking…once the festivities have concluded, perhaps we should go to the dock and craft?” he says, his voice a lullaby in your ear.
For a moment, you simply blink, allowing his words to sink in. With all of the day’s events, your functions had been the furthest thing from your mind. The fact that the Dream Lord was busy pondering dreams and nightmares while you were tripping over Mervyn Pumpkinhead’s feet is the most Dream Lord thing you’ve ever heard.
With a grunt, you spin around, hopping up onto the balcony railing to get a better look at him. Dream’s hands instantly settle on your hips, grounding you in place. Though it’s a long way from the balcony to the palace grounds below, you don’t fear falling. You have no reason to fear, not when you’re with him. “You want to go craft on our wedding night?” you say, raising a questioning brow at him.
Beneath the midnight sky, the Dream Lord’s eyes glitter with stars. “Do our functions ever cease?” he asks, each syllable spun from night and velvet. Leaning forward, he presses soft kisses to your forehead, the corners of your eyes, your cheekbones, your nose. His eyelashes brush over your skin, delicate as butterfly wings. Your eyes flutter closed in contentment. “Dreams and nightmares never rest, love, nor do humans ever cease to sleep.” He pauses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “And they sleep so much more soundly when you’re with me.”
Perhaps the Dream Lord was right. Perhaps love was too feeble a word to describe what was between you. As your heart outgrows its home, as your eyelashes flutter open, as your eyes lock with Dream’s, you’re certain that there is no word that can fully encapsulate this feeling. It’s impossible.
“So set in your ways,” you tease, your voice soft and breathless. “You know, stubbornness isn’t typically considered an endearing quality.”
Dream dips his head slightly, looking up at you through dark, full lashes. This is it, you think. You’re going to spontaneously combust. Your heart is going to burst right out of your chest and leap into his hands.
“And what do you think of it?” he asks softly.
It’s not just endearing. It’s downright maddening.
“Come here and kiss me, Dream Lord.”
When Dream’s lips meet yours, it’s like coming up for air. As if every fiber of your being that was starved for him is fed, as if every nerve ending that was numb is brought to new life. The hum that pours from his throat into yours is so much more satisfying than any feast. His mouth is cashmere and honey against yours, his hair soft as silk between your fingers. Everywhere he touches seems to burn and sing and glow.
If he is the night, then you are a star. With each kiss, he pours light into your soul. With each touch, he kindles the flame. There is nothing more powerful than this feeling between you. You’re sure of it. It could ignite galaxies and illuminate worlds. It could create and destroy. It could overcome anything that stood in its way.
And, you supposed it already had.
Only when the burn in your lungs becomes painful do you part for air. Fingers tangled in that beloved perpetual bedhead, you brush your lips against his. “Before we go craft, there’s one thing you have to do for me.”
Dream’s eyes burn like sapphires in the darkness. “Anything,” he says.
You pause, holding your breath for dramatic effect. And then, you smile. “You have to dance with me.”
For a long moment, Dream only stares. And then, he laughs. Not just a chuckle, or something soft and breathless–something low, delicious, and happy.
You want to coax that sound from him again and again. You’ll dedicate the rest of your life to doing so. It will be a worthwhile cause.
“I believe that is a fair request. A husband would be a fool to leave the celebration without first dancing with his wife,” Dream says. He presses a final kiss to your lips before stepping back and offering you his hand. “Are you ready, then?” he asks.
Yes. Yes, I’m ready.
Your hand slips into his with ease. “Lead the way, Dream Lord.”
. . .
AN: And so, we come to the end of the road, my friends. When I started WYGIWG back in September, I had both the highest hopes and the biggest fears. Writing was a passion that I had let lie dormant for a long time. Would this story be any good? Would anyone read it? Would I have the time to dedicate to it? Would I really be able to finish?
In the end, what encouraged me to take the leap was understanding that I didn't have to have a perfect answer to all of those questions. As long as I was writing something I loved, it would be good enough. Even if no one read it, I could be proud that I accomplished my goal. If it was something I truly cared about, I would make the time. If I kept my mind and heart focused on those things, I would be able to finish.
I never could have expected what has come from this story. All of the mind blowing support I have received, all of the phenomenal people I've had the pleasure of talking to, all the the laughs, smiles, and memories shared over this story! You all are the flame that lights the fuse. Every kind word and reaction fueled the fire that brought this story to life. I truly could not have finished WYGIWG without you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's been such an honor to get to know you all and to bond over something that we all love.
I'd be remise if I didn't include my incredible husband in this thank you. Nearly ten years of loving him inspired every sentence of this story. Tyler, thank you for making writing about love easy. From every emotion described, to the very title of this story (central to our wedding and featured in our home), to the final song featured (Close Your Eyes by Michael Bublé - our wedding song), you were at the heart of each part. S'agapo.
I still hope to do some bonus content for this story. I'm not sure exactly when any future posts will be up, but I will be sure to let my update list know. If you'd like to be tagged in any future updates, please let me know! Also, if you have any asks or special requests, please let me know. I will try to do what I can. x
All my love always, my friends! x
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Summary: Eddie Munson comes into the diner you work at and asks you for help taking care of his hair. You go to his house and help him deep condition. All fluff/angst (for now)!
Content: Marijuana use, fluff, mention of parent death, Soft!Eddie <3
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Yeah I have been daydreaming about this fic since that man’s dry ass head of hair first came into my life. I love him but dear god,, his life would be changed by the curly girl method. Also: Mommy issues Munson <33 All fluff/angst (barely), smut half to come later!!
Standing with your back pressed against the formica countertop that surrounded the opening into the greasy, diner kitchen, you could feel the smooth metal pressing a chill through your too-thin uniform shirt. The diner was practically empty, only a few regulars sipping coffee at the counter while they read the newspaper or the paperback novels they brought with them. You ran your fingers through your hair, lifting and shaking the limp roots. You desperately needed the night off you were barreling towards at the end of this shift–you couldn’t remember when the last time you had actually washed your hair was, the polish on your nails was chipped, and you had spotted a small breakout in the mirror this morning that you wanted to treat before it had time to swell. You had also noticed how haggard your eyes looked; the purple splotches under your eyes nearly looked like bruises and the lines around your eyes ran deep. “Come on,” the other waitress on your shift, Jenny, said. “Come out with us tonight!” Some rich, washed-up jock who had graduated from Hawkins five years ago was having a party tonight, and Jenny desperately wanted backup with her at the party. You knew, however, that going to parties with Jenny always resulted in you either getting left talking to some guy’s creepy friend or holding her hair back while she puked. “Nuh-uh,” you said. “No way. I’m spending tonight actually getting some rest. Like you’re supposed to do on your time off?” Jenny laughed at that, and launched into her favorite lecture for you–you’re only young once, everyone dies, don’t you want to tell your grandkids about how fun you used to be, etc., etc..
The bell over the door chimed, tinny, as it swung open, but you kept your back to the door and whoever walked in. The watery morning sunlight coming in through the glass windows of the diner this morning had the same impact on your eyes as if you were severely hung over, and you were avoiding it at all costs. Jenny watched the new customer walk in, her eyes tracking them with a slight grimace turning the corner of her mouth down. “Yeah,” she said, cutting herself off. “You’re taking this one.” She shoved a notepad into your hands and then turned away, picking up a coffee pot with an orange handle to refill the mugs lined down the counter. The sigh that broke out of your mouth was only a little louder than socially acceptable as you turned around, looking for the outline of a new person against the harsh gleam of sunlight bouncing off of the chrome napkin dispensers and tops of sugar shakers. In the far corner, where the light was weakest, sat Eddie Munson. Your heart thumped, slightly, against your ribs as he looked up at you from across the room. He smiled, his lips pressed together, and you ran a quick hand over your shirt, attempting to smooth out any wrinkles before you walked over to his booth. “Hey Eddie,” you said, voice light.
You had met Eddie Munson in high school years ago. You were warned against him almost immediately–he was a freak, everyone said, and he smoked weed and probably had other stuff, hard stuff like what people get arrested for and your mom would cry about. You had heard your friends bring his name up too many times, always punctuating it with shrill laughs, but you could never convince yourself to laugh at their jokes: you didn’t know Eddie that well, but he had always been almost overly polite in the few conversations the two of you had had, and you saw the way he was with his Hellfire kids: how he teased them and then made them smile like he was their big brother. Sure, he wore a lot of black and chains, and you had only heard of most of the band names on his denim vest when your mom was watching a TV special about the rise of Satanic cults in America, but you just couldn’t wrap your mind around the idea of Eddie Munson being anything less than…well, than a nice guy.
You were thinking about this as you walked up to Eddie’s booth of choice. He came into the diner every now and then–usually early in the morning or late at night, and he always tipped well and made polite conversation with you. The other girls avoided his table, as if bringing him a plate of pancakes with a side of fries would infect them. As a result, you had become very familiar with his routines: early mornings (like this one) were usually accompanied by coffee, no cream, and a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Then, he would sit on the hood of his van in the parking lot, smoking, before getting in and driving away. “Usual this morning?” You asked as you approached him, pen already on your notepad. “Good morning,” Eddie said, smiling at you with a soft head shake, like he was clearing his brain. “You look particularly chipper this morning.” You laughed, though you weren’t sure if the joke was Eddie’s sarcasm or how awful you knew you looked. “I know what I look like right now, Eddie, and it’s not chipper.” “Well,” Eddie said, jerking his head slightly to the side, “It’s not like I can say ‘Hey, you look like shit today.’” You laughed again, a slight blush stealing up your cheeks. “Don’t worry,” you say, a slight smile on your lips still. “I’ll look better the next time you come in.” “Well, if that’s a promise, I’ll go ahead and take my usual for today and make plans to come back tomorrow.” He winked at you, handing you the laminated, oversized menu as he did. You would have blushed, but, frankly, this was just how Eddie talked to girls—even the ones who barely looked at him.
You came back with a mug and a pot of coffee after putting in his order at the window, and you set the mug at the end of the table, sliding it across the smooth tabletop to him. His hands reach out, wrapping silver-clad, guitar-string-calloused fingers around the cup as you fill it, and you can’t help but think about how this image almost looks like a still life painting–Coffee With Freaks, you think to yourself, emphasizing the s as you count yourself. You turn on your heel, intending to walk back to the counter where Jenny is glaring at the two of you, but Eddie stops you. “So,” he says, eyes on his coffee as he pours an absurd amount of sugar into the cup, “Doing anything fun tonight?” You look back at Jenny over your shoulder, and her eyebrows are raised at you in horror. “Not really,” you say, turning back to where Eddie has shifted his face to look up at you. “Jenny invited me to a party, but I think I’m going to take a night off.” “Oh,” Eddie says, more a grunt than a word. “And what does a girl like you do on a night off?” You smile slightly, unsure how close exactly the conversation is coming to flirting. “Rent a movie, paint my nails, wash my hair. You know,” you say, shrugging. “Girl stuff.” “Girl stuff,” Eddie says, nodding. His order is called, and you go back behind the counter, avoiding Jenny’s wide eyes as you grab the warm plate and bring it back to Eddie’s table.
“So is ‘girl stuff’ the reason your hair usually looks so good?” Eddie says when you set his plate down in front of him. You feel a slight flush run up your neck at the implication that he notices your hair (as well as the subtle mention of how you look right now). “I guess,” you say, noncommittally. Eddie gestures to the empty seat across from him with his fork. “Sit,” he grunts, “Tell me about this girl stuff.” You look around the diner. Jenny is distracted, cashing out one of the men who has finally finished his cup of coffee, and there are barely enough people in the building to necessitate you and Jenny both being there. You slide into the seat quickly, watching Eddie reach for tabasco to sprinkle over his eggs. Your heart is squeezing, turning in on itself inside your chest as you watch him replace the bottle at the end of the table and look up at you, grinning. This feels…taboo. Sitting with Eddie Munson, talking to him about what, exactly? Your hair care routine? If any of the girls you and Jenny go to parties with walked in right now, you’re pretty sure you would never live this down–but something in you refuses to let your common sense move your legs to standing and walk away. Mouth full, Eddie gestures to you and then to his plate, sliding the edge with bacon closer to you. Oh, what the hell, you think. In for a penny, in for a pound.
You reach out, snagging the toast off the corner of the plate instead and take a small bite, chewing it slowly. Eddie grins at you, his cheeks bulging around his tightly closed mouth. He swallows, your eyes following the movement of his throat, and speaks: “Honestly, I want your advice on my hair,” he says, his face totally serious. “I’m pretty sure those commercials about ‘dry hair’ were just talking about me.” You laugh at this, a small giggle that makes the corners of your mouth turn up, and he tilts his chin back slightly as he smiles back at you. “How do you get those luscious locks of yours?” He says, gesturing his empty fork towards you before stabbing up another clump of red-splattered eggs. You shrug again, noticing that you seem to shrug a lot around Eddie, and say, “For you, Munson, I would start with a full conditioner treatment.” You lean forward, crossing your arms on the table. “I’m talking the works–conditioner, shower cap, and rinse before we even get into the shampoo stage, and then a shorter round of conditioner.” “Mm-hm,” he murmurs behind his full mouth before swallowing. “And where does someone get this kind of shit? Is there some sort of brightly lit store where Hawkins mommies will turn their kiddies eyes away from me as I pick up these lovely products?” Eddie always does that–makes jokes about the way people think about him, about how they treat him. Either he really, genuinely doesn’t care, or he’s better at pretending than you are. You bite your lip, barely, but his eyes flick down to your mouth at the slight movement before coming back up to yours. What the hell, you think again. “I have all the stuff, actually,” you say, “So I could just bring it over to your place.”
Eddie sits back against the booth seat, beaming softly, his mouth puckered into a smile. “Really? On your night off?” “I was going to do my hair tonight anyway,” you say, “It wouldn’t be too hard to help you with…all of that, too.” You gesture vaguely to his head of wild, dark curls, and Eddie blushes this time (and, you can’t help but notice, the slight pink stain dancing over his cheekbones only makes him look gentle, softer). “Alright,” he says, bobbing his head, “You can come to my trailer when you get off tonight.”
*****
Your fist comes up to rap against the metal door and lowers before making contact–again. You had finished your shift thirty minutes earlier, driving home at speeds that would have Hawkins PD concerned if they were ever actually patrolling, and changed out of your uniform before tossing all of your hair products into a bag. Peeling out of your driveway, you had punched the gas pedal nearly to the floor–but as you got closer to the trailer park, your car slowed, your foot easing off the gas of it’s own will. Parking in front of the trailer Eddie had described to you, you had chewed on your bottom lip aggressively. How stupid did it make you if you went through with this? Jenny had already been scandalized when Eddie left, nodding his head to you and quietly saying that he would see you tonight. You knew that, right now, Jenny and all of your other friends were probably shrieking with laughter, making up obscene rumors about what you and “the freak” were doing–or, equally likely, they were already too drunk to remember you weren’t at the party with them. You had screwed up your courage and gotten out of the car, barely remembering your bag of hair products in the passenger seat, and marched right up to Eddie’s door…where you had stood for the last five minutes. Every time you picked up your hand to knock, this overwhelming wave of fear would wash over you–you couldn’t go through with it. Maybe you should just go back to the car; Munson had probably already forgotten his invitation to you, and you could go home and do your beauty routine as planned: alone. Just as you had finally decided to leave, the door opened with a low screech of hinges to reveal a warm, softly glowing interior partially blocked by a silhouette. “Hey!” Eddie crowed. “I thought I heard a car but then no one knocked–you get lost?” He looked at you, eyes slightly crinkling at the edges, and you knew he was giving you an excuse for why he had caught you with your back turned to his front door.
“Actually,” you said, tensing your jaw. “I was about to go home.” Eddie’s face falls slightly before a careful guard comes over it. “Ah.” “See,” you say, breath a little shaky as the words rush out, “I’m just not sure we can save your hair. I mean, it’s really a desperate case, Munson–but I do think it’s my responsibility to give it a try.” You smile slightly, trying to show him that you’re teasing, and he smiles back. Suddenly, he steps back, throwing an arm out to the side as he bends slightly at the waist to indicate that you should come in. You do, brushing his torso with the side of your arm as you cross the threshold. Hopefully he didn’t notice the goosebumps that immediately raced over your skin at the contact. You set your bag down, turning in a slow circle as you examine the room. The soft light is coming from multiple lamps around the space, and the room appears to be decorated in shades of brown. The living room is lined with a collection of men’s caps, and a shelf over the drawn curtains has a variety of mugs. You walk over to them, peering closely. “Garfield?” You say, pointing to one near the end. “My uncle’s,” Eddie says, coloring slightly as one of his hands reaches up behind him to fidget with his hair. When you smile, Eddie continues, explaining, “It’s a one bedroom. He sleeps out here and I have the bedroom.” “That’s nice,” you say, nodding your head a little as you turn to look at him. You really examine Eddie: in this soft, warm light he glows slightly, and his features look more gentle than usual, almost like how he looks when he claps one of his Hellfire kids on the back. He’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms, and your eyes linger on the edges of his tattoos before sliding down, noting the chain on his jeans and his bare feet. You continue to turn around the room, taking in every inch of the interior. For the town freak’s house, it all seems overwhelmingly…normal.
“So,” Eddie says, clearing his throat to dispel the silence. “How do we do this hair stuff? What do you need from me?” He’s got his hands in his pockets, and something about the way he’s standing makes him look almost embarrassed. “Not much,” you say. “I brought pretty much everything we need with me, so we really just need a place to hang out for a while–oh! Where’s your kitchen?” Eddie looks at you, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling as he points behind you. You turn, walking towards the darker room. Inside, flicking the light switch to turn on the soft, yellow glow, you look around. The kitchen is small but there’s a countertop going from one wall to the other, the sink set in the far right corner. The cabinets over the counter don’t leave much space, but that won’t be much of a problem. You turn back to the living room, surprised to find Eddie standing directly behind you. His hands come up instantly, resting directly over your shoulders and keeping you from bumping into him. “Oh!” You exhale. “Sorry. Um, this is fine. So where should we go to hang out?”
Eddie leads you down the only hallway to his bedroom, your bag in his hand. “My uncle won’t be home until morning,” he says over his shoulder, “but I try to make his space his own, you know?” “Yeah,” you say, although you don’t, not really. Still, it’s nice that Eddie does that–actually, the way he looks every time he talks about his uncle is nice. It’s clear that Eddie loves his uncle, and you can’t help but think how surprisingly sweet he actually is under the tough persona he puts on for the people of Hawkins. You walk into his room and your feet immediately come to a stop as you take in the room around you. “Wow, Munson,” you say. Eddie stands to the side, running his free hand up the side of his neck to fist at his pulse, letting you look your fill. The walls are covered: posters, mostly from his metal bands as best as you can tell; art, some of which looks like hand drawn illustrations of, what you assume are, dungeons and dragons characters; even a pair of handcuffs hanging on the wall, like some trophy for his supposed run-ins with the police department (or, you think, blushing slightly, maybe he keeps them there for easy access). The window has a sheet stapled over it for a curtain, and it falls lightly over a large amp that you assume is used for the red guitar hanging over the mirror. Every surface in the room is cramped, on the verge of overflowing and spilling out oversized books, loose guitar picks, change, and little balls that, when you pick one up to examine, you realize are dice with too many sides. You set the die down, noticing a large box of cassettes on the floor next to a boombox with a tape deck. Actually–you look around the room again–there are cassettes on almost every surface. His nightstand, his dresser, his amp all have at least one cassette box on them, and the box on the floor is filled to the brim as well.
You turn to him. “You really like music, huh?” You ask, eyebrows high and a slight smile playing on your lips as you pick up the cassette box closest to you. Eddie’s cheeks turn slightly pink as his hand slips down his neck to hide back in his pocket. “Yeah,” he says, looking around the room at the many cassettes he has scattered around. “I get a lot of them at garage sales. I buy some of them–I, uh,” he says, blushing again as he pointedly looks away from you, “I definitely stole a few here and there. And I made my own mixtapes, obviously.” Your eyebrows lift again as he looks at you. “So the rumors are true,” you say. Eddie’s face falls immediately, and his mouth hardens into a thin line. “What rumors?” “Relax, Munson,” you say, bringing your hands up. “I just meant that you’re a bad boy.” At this, Eddie laughs, harsh and loud. “A bad boy,” he says nodding, “I like that.” You cross the narrow space between the two of you, taking your bag out of his hand. “How about you pick an album to play for me while I do your hair?” You ask, and Eddie’s face is radiant. Somehow, you’ve managed to say the exact thing that could mean the most to him, and he genuinely seems to almost glow with excitement. “What kind of music do you like?” He asks. “I don’t really listen to a lot of music,” you say, lifting your shoulders noncommittally. “Just whatever comes on the radio at work.” “Ugh,” Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes. “The stuff you guys play in the diner is terrible. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, we get it, Madonna exists. That doesn’t mean I want to listen to her all the time!” You laugh, slightly shocked at hearing Eddie Munson even say the name Madonna. “I’ve got the perfect album for you,” Eddie says, holding up a cassette with dark blue streaks of what you think are lightning over the cover. “Metallica. Now, this is music,” he says, popping the cassette into the tape deck.
He presses play, turning the volume down considerably. The gentle strains of guitar are joined by drums and quickly turn to a much more aggressive sound as you set your bag down on Eddie’s bed and begin to rifle through it, looking through the products you brought. You notice that Eddie’s bed is well made and suspiciously clean compared to the rest of the room, but you push the idea of him changing his sheets before you came over out of your head. “Come sit down,” you say, pulling out a bottle of conditioner, a comb, and a scrunchie. Eddie does as he’s ordered, sitting next to where you’re standing. He picks up the bottle you’re about to open and examines it. “Is this that shit Brooke Shields uses?” He asks, obviously skeptical. You can’t stop yourself from laughing, shaking your head with a smile, and he angles his head slightly towards you, watching you. “How often do you wash your hair?” You ask him. Looking scandalized, Eddie replies “Every day. I’m not gross.” You shake your head again, rolling your eyes slightly this time. “That’s half of your problem at least,” you say. “But at least it’s clean to start with right now.” You move, coming to stand in between Eddie’s legs, and reach your hand out towards Eddie’s hair, stopping before you touch him. Your hand hovers over his mass of black waves and you look down at his face. “Is it…okay?” You ask. “For me to touch you?” You think you see a slight flush steal up his neck, but he nods all the same. You allow your fingers to rest gently on his head before digging them in, quickly combing your hands through his hair. It is dry, but it’s also long, and brushing your fingers through it has worked up a scent of soap and a little bit of tobacco smoke. “Well?” He asks from below you. “Is it salvageable?” You laugh, looking down at him. Suddenly, you realize his face is almost completely level with your chest and the slight shock makes your ribs expand with a stifled gasp. Seeing this movement, Eddie looks up at you suddenly–the two of you make eye contact and flush at the exact same time, bright red staining both of your cheeks as you quickly look away.
“I think we can save your hair,” you say, clearing your throat slightly. You start applying conditioner to his dark locks, working it well and truly into the roots before combing it all the way down to the ends. The feel of the smooth cream slides between your fingers, and you think you hear him hum slightly more than once, though you’re unsure whether it’s along to the music or in happiness. It’s nice, surprisingly, to work your fingers through his hair. When you’ve applied it thoroughly, making his dark locks hang in clumps, you slide his hair back up until you’ve brought it all together at the back of his skull. Leaning across Eddie’s torso, you grab your scrunchie off the bed and use it to tie his hair up in place. “There,” you say. “Now what?” He asks, tilting his head up to look at you. He looks cute like this, you think, the thought unbidden. “Um, now I’m going to wash my hands,” you say, holding up your conditioner-covered hands. “And then we’ll let it sit for a while.” Eddie points you to the bathroom, and you take a moment in the cramped space to stare at your reflection in the mirror. It’s okay to be friends with the freak, you think, but you’re not going to have a crush on him. It’s Eddie fucking Munson!
You come back from the bathroom right as the tape player clicks over to a new song. “Oh, you’ve got to listen to this one,” Eddie says. He grabs your hand as you approach the bed, tugging you down to sit next to him as the music plays. Even with the volume turned down, it seems to fill the small space, pushing the two of you closer. A bell chimes out, quickly accompanied by a guitar and drums. The beat is immediately addictive and you can’t stop your head from nodding ever so slightly in time to it. When the guitar changes, Eddie turns to look at you. He’s smiling, his eyes hopeful, and when you smile back at him his grin grows wider. By the time the singer joins in, you’ve already decided to like the song if only because of how happy it makes Eddie. “Hold on,” Eddie says. “Just–trust me on this.” You look at him, your eyebrows sliding together in confusion just before he places his hands on your shoulders–and shoves you backwards onto the bed. Your body hits the mattress, and you stare at the ceiling in shock. A thumping sound and a soft bounce next to you tells you that Eddie has laid down too, dangling his head over the other side of the mattress. “Some music is just meant to be listened to while you’re laying down,” he says softly. The rest of the song plays, and you have to agree with him–some songs are meant to be listened to laying down.
You spend the next thirty minutes staring at Munson’s ceiling, listening to Metallica. He sits up after a minute and asks if it’s okay with you if he smokes. “It’s your room, Munson,” you say, still on your back. “Yeah, princess, but what I’m going to light might make you feel a little lightheaded.” “Really?” You ask, sitting up. “Are you smoking pot?” Munson nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah,” you say, laying back down. “Go ahead and light up.” The smell was actually familiar to you–you had smelled it in the high school parking lot more than enough times, and it almost smelled good to you here, in the tight confines of Eddie’s bedroom. You found your eyes drifting softly closed after a few minutes, either a result of the exhaustion from your long week or the weed. “Hey,” Eddie said, quietly. “You okay?” “Just enjoying your music, Munson,” you muttered back, keeping your eyes just barely open. The tape clicked and you heard Eddie stand up, pop the tape deck open, flip the tape, and replace it before the music started again. When you felt the mattress bounce under your body, you knew Eddie had come to sit beside you again. Somehow it didn’t surprise you when you felt his fingers, calloused and cool to the touch, slide over the palm of your hand closest to him and wrap around your own. The two of you sat there like that–you on your back, eyelids heavy, Eddie sitting next to you, stroking long circles over the back of your hand with his thumb–until the tape came to it’s final conclusion.
“Well,” Eddie said as you sat up, looking at you expectantly. “What did you think?” “It was…kind of incredible, Eddie.” He grinned at you, tucking his chin slightly as he angled his head. “Kind of incredible? Kind of? It’s fucking Metallica,” he laughed softly, rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine,” you say, “Really incredible. Now, can we go rinse your hair in the kitchen?” “Oh,” Eddie says, hand reaching up to the slick bun on the back of his head. The tattoos on his forearm flicker with the movement of muscle, and you can’t stop yourself from reaching out a hand to place over the art. Eddie freezes at your touch, his entire body stiffening until you pull all but your index finger back, tracing the black lines of the artwork on his arm. You bite your lip, just barely, and turn your eyes up to look at him. He’s staring at your fingers, watching your hand move over his skin and summon goosebumps to the surface of his delicate skin. When he looks at you, you drop your hand back to your side and stare at him for one, two seconds longer than you should. He stands up suddenly, almost startling you with how quick his movements are. “Rinse,” he says, and he extends a hand to you that you grip tightly as you regain your feet. You expect him to let go of your hand as soon as you’re standing, but instead he begins to walk down the hallway, pulling your wrist slightly as you trail behind him. He looks…beautiful, you think as you follow him down the hallway. The knot of hair on the back of his head, the chain glinting in the yellow lamp light across his hips, the rumpled shirt, even the casualness of his bare feet, all come together to paint a version of this man you had never considered before. A version that’s more than Eddie Munson, town freak, weed dealer, D&D player; a version that’s Eddie Munson, who loves his uncle, is always listening to music, and, maybe, can be gentler than you had ever dreamed.
In the kitchen, Eddie turns to you expectantly. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands together. The noise startles you out of your reverie, breaking your eyes away from his body for the first time in a while. “Now what?” “On the cabinet, Munson,” you say, pointing to the long shelf formed by the countertop against the wall. His brows draw down in confusion as a half grimace twists his lips. “Excuse me, princess?” You walk over to the sink, patting the countertop next to it with two heavy slaps. “Up. Sit here.” Eddie comes over and turns around, putting his hands behind him on the counter as he jumps slightly, shifting his hips back in the same moment to perch on the surprisingly clean cabinets. “Lay down,” you say, “And put your head over the sink.” Eddie looks at you for a moment as he pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and slides it over his wrist, the hint of a smile playing at his mouth when he does as you command. Once he’s laying on his back, his round, wide eyes looking up at you, you turn on the water, slowly warming it up away from his face. You reach over Eddie, unfortunately aware of how close your torso is to his face in this position, and grab the small hose connected to the faucet. Testing the water temperature on your wrist, you find it satisfactory and start to gently rinse out his hair. The thick locks grow heavy with the weight of the water, and they feel smooth and slick under your fingers. One hand maneuvers the spray over his hair while the other supports his neck, occasionally scratching your fingertips into the base of his scalp. “Where did you learn to do this kind of stuff?” Eddie asks. You look at his face, and he’s watching you carefully, a sort of reverence on his face. “My mom used to do this for me,” you say, softly. “When I was a kid.” “Oh,” Eddie says, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “That explains why I’ve never done it, I guess.”
You don’t say anything. You don’t know much about Eddie’s parents, except that they’re not around. You turn the heat up slightly on the water, focusing on rinsing the conditioner down into the sink. “She died,” Eddie says, casually, and you feel your hands still for a moment. In the silence, you look at his face. He’s still looking straight up, eyes on the ceiling, but he looks serious now. “It wouldn’t have made a lot of difference,” he says, “if she had lived. Munson’s have never been the good guys in this town. But I do kind of wish she had been around. To take care of me instead of my uncle.” He sighs, his breath coming out in a heavy stream. “It would have been nice, I think, to have someone teach me this kind of stuff.” His eyes come back to yours, a slight smile on his mouth. “This girl stuff.” You smile back at him, and your fingers scratch in the base of his scalp as you resume the water flow. He closes his eyes and lets out a sound that’s almost like purring. “God,” he hums, “that feels incredible.” You chuckle slightly, and he opens his eyes to look at you.“So this is something moms do?” he asks. You laugh, tilting your head back. “Are you implying that you see me as a mother figure, Munson?” “No! God no! Well, I mean, you could be a mom if you wanted–” You laugh, loudly, temporarily relieving the pressure on the handle of the hose so you don’t spray water directly into his face as he awkwardly dances around his own word choice.
When you regain your breath and stop laughing you resume spraying, pretending not to notice his overserious focus on the ceiling and the patches of red on his cheeks as you brush your fingers across the edges of his temple, working the conditioner out of his roots. “It’s just something people do for the people they care about,” you say, intent on his hair as you answer his earlier question. “So you care about me?” Your eyes jump to his, your hand releasing the clamp on the hose immediately. He’s gazing up at you from the sink, eyes wide and warm brown, and you can feel the stillness of his body in your hands as you continue to support his head and neck. There’s a slight flicker of muscle along his jaw, the only sign that he’s waiting for you to answer him in the silence that sits between the two of you now. “I want to do this for you, Eddie,” you say, and it hits you in that moment how true that sentence is. His brows scrunch together slightly as the skin around his eyes crease. “Is that a yes?” You lean down, slowly, hand still in his sopping wet hair supporting his neck. Gently, nervously, you brush your lips across his mouth, the muscle in his jaw releasing as his mouth falls open just slightly. “Yes,” you say quietly, pulling back. His eyes are, somehow, even wider when he opens them, his lips somehow rosier as he looks at you. “Can I sit up yet?” He asks, voice low. You wrap your hands around his hair, squeezing tightly to wring as much water as possible out of his locks, and grab his hands, helping to pull him to sitting. He swings his legs down, immediately settling a leg on either side of your body as he yanks your hands, bringing your body crashing into his. The thump of his head hitting the cabinet behind him is loud, and you wince for him as he laughs. “Are you okay?” You ask, turning your face up to his. “Never better,” he says, tucking his chin as he leans down to kiss you.
#soft!eddie munson#eddie munson#stranger things#my fic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fic#feral fics#eddie munson stranger things#Eddie munson#stranger things season 4#eddie munson/reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson/you#eddie x reader#eddie my love#soft!eddie#soft eddie munson
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if i knew you irl (please just delete this if it makes you uncomfy 😣)
We would go to cat cafes
I like cats, you like cats. It makes sense
But also the cat cafe is a bookstore bc I go to this bookstore cafe with this cute lil cat named Cedric but that's all the way in NC (not where I live)
So we would pick out a book to read together, something silly that would make us laugh
And we would have lots of sweet treats and hot chocolates while we read the book out loud in silly voices
We would also be snuggling with the cute cats, two teenage girls giggling in the corner if a cafe over a cheesy romance book
imagining we both live in a city, we would go on walks all the time tbh
Holding hands/p (if ur cool with that) to make sure we don't get lost and giggling about stuff that's happened to us recently
also looking around at the pretty landscapes all the trees and buildings and just being in awe of the world around us
Bonus points if we are looking at christmas decorations
BONUS BONUS points if we play this game; we take turns spotting people and giving then life stories. Like we just come up with what they are doing, how they are feeling.
Also we have some sort if hot chocolate or lemonade or some sort of drink that matches rhe vibes of our walks
I imagine these walks are sort of weekly. We don't walk far just a little bit to catch up with each other
UAJAVSJAVKAVSBDJOSVSOSVSIOSVDODVIDBDODVDIDVEIE OMIGOSHHHH OMIGOSH OMIGOSH!!! (≧▽≦) (≧▽≦) (≧▽≦) (≧▽≦) AMORIA AMI AMIMI!! HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU /P OMIGOSH AMORIA OMIGOSH. 💥💥💥💥💥💥 ((side note: i love it when you ambush me with silly asks like this,, i like the reminder you think of me :3 and i think of you too!!!))
more hcs under the cut!! <33
first of all, Yes. to everything on this list.
i walk like an absolute DRUNKARD,, and i mean when i get comfortable i never walk straight and i'm always walking in a sort of zigzag pattern,,, i feel like you'd laugh at how silly i walk and then i'd start laughing cause you're laughing and in the end we'd both be cackling and stumbling down the pavement together (≧▽≦)
OMIGOSH I LOVE HANDHOLDING!!! or just any sort of physical affection (as long as you're comfortable with it) !!! when i get comfy with someone,, it's very common for me to sort of. drape myself over them (*ﾉ∀`*)
if you're comfy with it and you want to,, i feel like we'd scoot our chairs as close as possible and be having our shoulders touching with a cat chilling across our laps,, us holding a book and trying to laugh as quietly as possible in the back of the cafe.
we'd share earphones/earbuds!! 100% we'd do the little thingy where i put one in my ear and you put one in yours and we'd have a mix of both our favorite playlists on low volume while we walk,, kinda like background music!! low enough for us to hear eachother but high enough to be audible.
i'm actually a rollerblader!! ...not a very good one, but a rollerblader nonetheless!! i'd definitely take you skating in our free time when we have energy for it, and i'd throw protective gear at you 'cause i'm scared of us falling LMAO
... yeah, no — we'd end up falling anyway LSNOABSOSVSISKECSHSJSHHSHSH
but we'd be laughing the whole time anyway so it's okay (*ﾉ∀`*)
during sleepovers, i'd bring a big stash of snacks and candy carefully picked out to your taste and mine, we'd watch coraline or any other movies!!
and then late at night, when it's time to sleep,, i'd give you my plushies so we could go to bed holding soft objects :3
if you stayed up i'd randomly wake up at like 3:45 am to spout the randomest shit only to fall right back asleep a few minutes later.
"did... *hiccup, giggle* did you know that whale sharks are filter feeders... an'... an' they eat plankton..." "... 😰"
i have curly hair so i sleep in bonnets and spend a lot of time in the mirror scrunching in gel and fixing my hair, i feel like you'd sit on the bed on your phone or something as i do it and we'd talk about whatever, breaking into snickers and giggles several times cause we're sprinkling in jokes to make eachother laugh.
assuming we don't go to the same school cause of the weekly walks to catch up with eachother,, i'd probably surprise you in the morning by knocking on your door with a big grin and your favorite snack, ready to walk you to school if i had a day off when you didn't. (if you're chill with it of course!!)
overall, you'd be a friend i cherish dearly. (and you are!!) (๑˘︶˘๑)
i'm a very big gift-giver but a very big broke dummy so you'd get attempted intricate paper flowers and handwritten letters, handfuls of stickers and little trinkets that made me think of you!!
i'd draw a chibi version of you and me doing silly activities together and put them with the rest of my gifts to you,, i'd also maybe draw a leo or two with a chad face and hide it somewhere in one of them HEHEHEE
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heyoo!!! I’m in love with your writing and thought ab requesting something!
Ok, what if reader is engaged with lamanbur, but Eret is in love with reader? But like, reader doesn’t love them, and Eret is like, madly in love with Wilbur’s SO? How would Wilbur deal with that, and reader? And the story is set in the final control room part?
(I’m really bad at describing things so sorry ab that!)
Thanks!! <33
I'm getting Shawn Mendes Treat You Better vibes 👌🏻
Title: Treat You Better
Warnings: One-Sided Love, Violence
Pairing: Reader x L'manbur
A/N: So instead of everyone being in the control room when Eret betrays them, it's just Wilbur and Y/N. The rest of them are outside.
><><><><><><><><><><><>
For a little backstory, you and Eret had been friends for decades. Well..a decade. They had helped you through countless heartbreaks and reserved the spot as your #1 Ride or Die best friend.
"Y/N, I love you."
So when they said this?
"Aww, Eret I love you too."
It didn't seem as much of a shock. Eret didn't seem hurt. He didn't seem distraught over such reaction.
Eret didn't seem upset.
That was until you fell in love. Real love with none other than the Commader himself.
"Darling, why are you sitting out here? It's freezing, come inside." Wilbur was sweet and passionate. Wilbur was your world and L'manberg was his so you fought for it. Eret was still your friend and each passing day he seemed more and more spiteful to the man in charge.
"Are you okay, Eret?" The two of you sat on a hillside and watched the clouds.
"Why do you hang around with him so much?" Eret blurted out almost instantly.
"Who?"
"Wilbur! He's so occupied with L'manberg he doesn't notice the literal personification of perfect flirting with him." Eret growled.
"Eret you know how I feel about being compared to perfect. Everyone's flawed and I know Wil's life is L'manberg and hey when we win I'll get to stay in it forever with Wilbur." You chided.
"That doesn't matter, Y/N! It's that he's playing with your heart but his is elsewhere!" Eret sat up and their voice stretched across the meadow.
"Eret, calm down, Wilbur knows he can't give me his full attention right now and we've discussed that! He's not going to hurt me."
"It's not about if he hurts you or not it's that he doesn't deserve you! He doesn't know your favorite constellations to find or flowers or even music disc. He doesn't know anything about you and isn't caring enough to even try to find out!"
"Eret I'm done with this conversation. You can chill the fuck out or leave me alone until you do. Wilbur means we'll and I understand him chasing his dream. He'd do the same for me." You leave the hill side and as you cross the river back to L'manberg you see birds flutter up from the trees and an echo of something booming across the air.
~~
"How was Eret?" Wilbur asks as you step into his van. Wilbur knows you and Eret have been friends for forever. He knows Eret views him as neglectful of your relationship.
"Uptight. He thinks you're underappreciating me." You sigh and lean into Wilbur as he hugs you, pressing a kiss or two or three into your head.
"Well I am. L'manberg is taking up so much of my time I haven't even taken you on a truly proper date." Wilbur smiled and caressed your face. His uniform was soft under your cheek and the hat he usually wore was crooked on his curly brown hair.
"I enjoy our little night strolls quite a lot really. L'manberg is your dream. Please don't take any energy from chasing it to please me."
"You deserve better, Darling, I'm so lucky." Wilbur kissed you and wrapped his arms around your waist keeping you close. The two of you stayed in that van cooking potions and preparing for whatever onslaught Dream had planned for you next.
~~
Eret's blood boiled. She hated Wilbur Soot but not what he stood for. She hated that he had you in his arms as he fought for a nation doomed to fall.
Eret threw rock after rock across the pond and cried out to the dimming sky of his troubles. The sun fell and the sunglasses slipped from their nose. White eyes stared at the water and furious tears slipped into the stream.
"It's a shame." A voice startled the revolution fighter and glasses were fitted back into place. "Y/N really does deserve someone who will treat them like the royalty they are." Dream fingered a blade of grass between sleek black gloves.
"Dream. What do you want?" Eret stood straight and bit down the remainder of their stinging breakdown.
"I want Y/N to be with someone who won't hurt them. Wilbur's radioactive and Y/N doesn't know what they're doing. They don't see the danger he poses to them." Dream reasons and the pieces echo with Eret's own thoughts.
"I know this, what are you going to do about it?" Eret spits out and watches as the masked man stepped forward with a button laid out in his palm.
"I want you to make sure they're safe. I'm going to destroy L'manberg in the end and I'd hate for anymore blood to be shed than necessary." Dream offers and Eret stares at the wooden contraption. So simple with potential to destroy hundreds.
"Why do you care about Y/N?" Eret asks slowly before even reaching for the button.
"Because Eret, they're a good person wrapped up in a not so good situation. I enjoy them truly, and I don't want this SMP to be without them for a very long time." Dream said slowly and placed the item in Eret's hand, closing her knuckles over it.
"The choice is yours. Let Y/N get hurt or save them and give them the life they deserve. Do so and you'll be rewarded like a King." Dream’s smile seemed to broaden in the darkness and when Eret looked down at the button and back up he was gone.
"I'll treat you better Y/N. I'll treat you as you should be." Eret vowed.
~~~~
Wilbur slid the silver ring onto your finger and kissed your hand.
"Now, once this is all over there'll be nothing stopping me from marrying you." He smiles and you kiss him. The sun sets behind you both and the wind breezes by like a fairytale.
"I love you Wilbur Soot." You smile and wrap your arms around his neck. His forehead pressing to yours.
"And I love you Y/N. For forever." Wilbur smiles widely. "Now let's go tell the others some good news before Eret beats us to it."
Wilbur hoists you up into his arms without a hesitant breath and your laughter rings out as the sky begins to dim.
~~
This. Wasn't. Happening.
You weren't engaged to that fool. You weren't glued to his side with a smile so bright only he'd been able to enact for the longest time.
Eret's blood boiled and his fingers itches to destroy. To wilt the nearest flower in his hands and crush its remains into a fire.
Wilbur would never be able to love you like they did. Wilbur would never compare if you would just give him a chance.
"Congrats General." Eret bit through a smile and avoided your eyes. Sunglasses stayed focused on Wilbur as jokes and teases were exchanged between him and the General.
"Can't wait to see what you've got for us tomorrow." Wilbur winks and walks off with you on his arm. Eret spots the ring and nearly laughs loudly.
Its poorly made and the rock in the middle could hardly pass for just that. A rock. In his coat that laid with Dream there was a ring twice as grand and beautiful. He'd spent weeks down in caves surrounded by stone and dirt looking for diamonds to accent the gold and silver jewelry.
~~
The next day comes bright and early and you wake up with Wilbur below you. His jacket is discarded and his shirt ruffled where you'd been asleep on it.
The ring on your finger catches the dawn and you sit up with a stretch. Wilbur stirs below you and he too yawns and awakens to the morning light.
"Well hello fiancé." He smiles and it makes a grin split your face.
"Good morning fiancé." You say in return. You lean down and kiss him. The light streaks over L'manberg's walls and through the windows of the van.
"Did you sleep okay? I tried to put as much padding as I could." Wilbur's voice is laced with worry and he sits up on his elbows before coming up completely with a hand brushing down your cheek. Instinctively you lean into his hand, the palm opening to you welcomingly.
"I slept fine Wil, now c'mon. Lets get the morning routine in before Eret's surprise." You kiss his lips quick and hop up with a long stretch.
~~
Eret secures the last of his trap and exits the hole just as dawn begins to break.
"Busy?" Dream stops him dead and Eret's hands find a sword handle with ease.
"Just making sure it all goes right." Eret bites out. "What're you doing here now?"
"I came to give you this." Dream reveals a crown of gold. Gems of sapphire and topaz and emerald gleam in its golden divets.
"What-" Eret stutters out but Dream cuts them off.
"After this is done you'll be King of the SMP. I'll still be supreme but you'll have all the power you'll need to take what is yours." Dream's voice reveals a smile behind the haunting mask and Eret nearly chokes.
"How do you know I won't back out?" Eret is hesitant but their eyes remain on the crown. Power pulsing in the air around it and they so desperately want to reach out and snatch it away. Something in their chest calling in like to the adorned headpiece.
"You're doing this for power. For love as well." Dream states dully. "I know how aggressive one of those motivations can be." He adds on and Eret's head snaps up to the masked man.
"Promise Y/N will be safe after this." Eret asks, no, demands.
"As long as you keep them out of the crossfire." Dream assures and Eret is convinced that's the best he can get.
"Thank you, Dream." Eret takes the crown with steady hands and examines the craftsmanship.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Dream sinks low in dramatics and Eret's soul shines with approval. A King given his rightful throne.
~~~~
Eret was cheerful to say the least as he led you and Wilbur into the hidden room. Everyone else awaited outside and the newly engaged followed alone.
"I thought about it a bit and decided, what the heck, you make Y/N happy so you might as well be alright. So, I got you guys an early wedding gift!" Eret beamed and flipped a lever to reveal the obsidian clad room with a large chest at the end.
"Eret you really didn't have to do that." You smiled and hugged your best friend. Something tensed and they clung on tightly before you pulled away and back to Wilbur's side.
"Really though, thanks man." Wilbur smiled and patted Eret on the shoulder.
"My pleasure." Eret gritted out and stepped back to a small corner with a wooden button mounted into the floor. He watched as you opened the chest up and picked up the piece of paper resting inside.
"Eret?" Wilbur turned to him with a confused and frightened expression.
"Let's be honest here, you never would've been able to provide for Y/N Wilbur. You're too focused on L'manberg." Eret smiled and you clutched the paper in your hands. Hands that held him in times of need.
"What're you on about?" Wilbur stepped in front of you and took control of Eret's gaze.
"This is the end of the revolution, Wilbur. This is my turn in the spotlight and I'm taking Y/N with me as it is supposed to be." Eret raised his hand up to press the button.
"You were never meant to be." He growled and pressed the wooden contraption as soon as Wilbur darted forward.
Dream stepped out and raised a sword to Wilbur's chin.
"Wilbur!" You shouted out and something clasped over your mouth and held your arms behind you. Eret smiled as Wilbur was forced to back up.
"Way to time it Dream." Eret said and summoned the crown from his inventory before fitting it onto their head.
"Well can't have my King dying on his first day." Dream said smugly and Eret saw a glimmer of rage turn Wilbur's eyes a fiery red
"You traitor! You just can't accept Y/N's happy." Wilbur snarled and Eret narrowed his eyes behind the shades.
"Y/N will never be happy by your side. You will constantly have another goal overshadowing them. They deserve someone who will put them before everything." Eret shot back.
"Someone like you? Who decides against what they believe in for someone who doesn't even want them?!" Wilbur bellowed and the sword tip pressed to his throat.
"Someone like me who's willing to sacrifice what they believe in for them." Eret corrected and waltzed over to you. Sapnap held you captive and with a nod of Eret's head he let go. Ropes bound your wrists and your mouth remained free.
"Get the fuck away from them!" Wilbur took a purposeful step forward and Dream quickly intercepted with Sapnap close by.
"Eret why-" You stuttered out to your best friend. Someone who knew your secrets inside and out.
"Because I love you Y/N and I can't stand to see you beside him anymore. He doesn't love you like I do and he never will. L'manberg is his love and once it's gone he'll have nothing. You deserve everything." Eret's gloved hand trailed down your face and whimper escaped you.
Adrenaline shot into your veins and with a swift kick to the stomach Eret stumbled back. Dream was caught off guard and Wilbur clashed a sword against his own with a shield coming up. You ran behind your fiance and out the open door.
"C'mon Wil!" You shouted back and heard a crash of glass and shouts of rage. Daylight split through your vision only to be met with a battle raging before you. Dream's army was against yours and with every clash of weaponry the lead changed.
Potions flooded the air and with the single shout from Wilbur, the L'manberg Revolution retreated.
~~~~
"It's okay love, we're all safe now." Wilbur held you as you cried.
"Everything is going to be fine." He promised with a kiss to your hair.
~~~~
Eret clawed down tapestries and shouted out his grievances to the sky.
"I'll have you Y/N, and you'll see how much greener the grass is here." He vowed.
><><><><><><><><><><>
Fun right? It's a bit rough and took a while but I thought I did good 😁.
Happy holidays everyone!
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❤️tell me facts about yourself and I’ll ship you with a HP character (I’ll do you justice I promise)
hello! if you have time for this, i'd love to know who you ship me with (can be from either marauders or lightning era!)! thank you sm <333
my appearance: i am about five foot two, I have recently cut my hair to shoulder length. my hair is curly and dirty blonde, with some reddish highlights. i have very dark brown eyes and a light amount of freckles splattered across the mid-region of my face. i have a toothy smile and asymmetrical eyebrows. i am not exactly skinny, i have slight fat on my waist, hips, tummy, and thighs and i have a pear-shaped body.
heritage/family: i am half irish, half romanian. i am not in touch with my irish side at all, but close with my romanian side. i love romanian food and i love the country and the people. i speak very little romanain (vorbesc puțin de tot). i value family but i am not in a good place with my current one.
facts about me: i am a gryffinclaw (but i have been ravenclaw consecutively for many years now). i love singing, writing, and playing piano. my favorite subjects are history, environmental science, and math. i am majoring in earth science and policy and i am in pursuit of my goal to obtain my bachelor's degree in three years, when i will be nineteen. i have helicopter parents and i am an only child. i have had to learn how to spend time alone, without electronics (often got outlandishly punished for ridiculous things as a child, so my electronics were taken away). i used to be an extrovert but now i am an ambivert with social anxiety. i am 5000% sure I have adhd but have not been diagnosed. i am studious naturally but i get overwhelmed and stressed about school, which leads to procrastination. i am a hopeless romantic. i have no irl friends and i am in love with my online girl bff. my three main goals in life are: become an environmental lawyer, become a published author, become a musical artist. my favorite color(s) changes all the time (rn: forest green, royal blue, and brown). i am vegan. i love animals and i am a big environmentalist. i used to read a lot but don't have the time anymore.
burnt out gifted kid. "she was a pleasure to have in class!"
i love your writing and wish you the best of luck with exams <333 rip
Hiii, thank you for sending this & I'm sorry I took so long to answer <33,
So um how does it feel to be Hermione Granger?
You sound so logical and smart- so ambitious but also creative, with a soft side; you love music and the arts in general. And the fact that you have a soft spot for animals also adds to that.
And you are a hopeless romantic, which means you don't want to settle for something, just to be in a relationship, you are an only child, meaning you aren't bothered by alone time. If you were to be with someone, you want that someone to be perfect. You are a perfectionist, so you wont settle for anything less than perfect (as you should).
Originally I was going to ship you with Draco Malfoy, because I am a Dramione Stan more than anything really, but let me explain myself a bit.
You say that you are distanced from your family (which I get), but you value family. I bet you love the warmth of home and the comfort of being around people you love brings you.
You want to be part of a family, one that doesn't judge or control you. One that supports you, supports your ambitions and encourages you to chase every dream you want.
(And you will get that I promise you! If you ever need to talk to someone about that me messages are open)
Draco might be someone to challenge you, but you don't necessarily want a challenge, you want someone to bring out the soft parts of you. You want to be able to lay your armor down and be yourself around. You want someone that makes you laugh and excites you, but also someone to spend Sunday mornings in bed with, someone you can be your truest self around.
I don't know if you want to be shipped with a boy or a girl, so I'll do both :)))
1)Fred Wesley!
He is fun and carefree. He would bring out a playful side to you, let you be childish with no worries when you are around him. You would have many many dinners with the Weasleys. Molly and Ginny love having you around, they admire you so much. They think you are the smartest person in the wizarding world. Hell, Molly Weasley begs you to become Minister of Magic one day.
Fred supports you in any way he can. He also loves his job (but his is more freeing than yours, he can be is own boss and he loves that), so whatever free time he has, he spends it helping you. He brings you food (that Molly cooked), because studying and working keep you busy. He reminds you when to rest and he also, helps distract you when stress gets the best of you. Broom rides and walks all around London. Also, you have so many weekend getaways and travels all around Europe with this boy.
2)Luna Lovegood
She is the best, honestly. She loves listening to you- to your plans and hopes for the world. She inspires you to make the world a better place! You adopt many animals together! She is in tune with her feelings and herself that she kind of helps you find your own peace too. And she is passionate about the things she loves, so she will be passionate about your relationship, about you.
She signs you up for tree planting activities and anything activist related in general. Also, every Christmas you and your friends rent a cabin in the woods and celebrate together, singing and talking around the fire. Making your own traditions.
Sorry if this was small, but histology exams are calling me :))
Please share your thoughts if you want, I hope everything works out for the best. You will do amazing things, and if we were in the magical world I would vote you for Minister of Magic.
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Hey hey! I heard match ups are open you know what that means :) [okay but seriously don’t feel forced to do this if you dont wanna!]
I go by Nanako, pronouns are she/her and im a straight girl. Sooooo.. i’ve got curly black hair that’s like halfway down my back, a square fringe over my forehead and faded freckles scattered pretty much all over my nose and cheeks. I’m 5ft and im often mistaken as a 12 y o (i’m not). My cheeks are usually reddish. I like wearing off-shoulder tops, shorts + skirts. Sometimes(rarely) i’ll wear stockings.. like if it gets cold. Oh and i like boots. But mostly i like shorts or skirts cause my legs get wayyy too itchy and uncomfortable if i wear pants/leggings or anything else. My mbti is intj and im usually pretty quiet and observant + easily flustered but despite that i like to jokingly flirt with ppl (if they’re okay with it) and im very affectionate :> still, i’m more introverted and it’s super easy for me to get anxious to the point of feeling faint when im in crowded places. when im in my comfort zone im usually very jumpy (adhd go brrrr) and chatty. my mind’s constantly wandering and i can skip from topic to topic- it gets annoying so i usually warn ppl to tell me to stop if i start doing it and they feel bothered. I get distracted by everything. Still somewhat manage to be analytical tho? according to @m5dearbri i kin mitsuri but im not sure, of course and i cant be 100% mitsuri. Unfortunately i get jealous easily but i make sure to never show it
I write in my spare time and draw! But i also practice flower arrangements and im an avid reader.
I’ve got like a huge sweet tooth and will devour any pastry but i have a soft spot for green tea mochi…. I likeeeeeee ppl who dont ignore me cause im usually overlooked for being the youngest in my family and who actually take me seriously + scary stories. So my dislikes.. bugs and people who hurt others on purpose.
Hehe i’ll shut up now and let you be in peace :) love ya!
loading.. loading...
Your match up is..
Tanjiro Kamado!!
Note : I apologize if it's short..
🌊 ; Tanjiro the person that everyone falls for
🌊 ; The Kamado Tanjiro who falls for you ♡
🌊 ; When tanjiro first met you he was easily calmed by your presence, you seemed to be quite a lovely person and because of that he decided to talk to you!
🌊 ; he was a bit worried when he introduced nezuko to you, thinking you'd be frightened..
🌊 ; But you guys enjoyed eachother's company!!
🌊 ; but enough of nezuko.
🌊 ; when he found out you were great at drawing boy was amazed 💖
🌊 ; he kinda shyly asked if you could draw him
🌊 ; he drew you as a thank you😍
🌊 ; just dont ask him to draw anyone who isnt you or nezuko.
🌊 ; it would look hideous
🌊 ; you kinda remind him of mitsuri in a way honestly
🌊 ; If you told him you have adhd he'd be confused. When you explain to him he'll care for you more! ( does that make sense? ) asking if you're comfortable whenever in crowds, when you look like You're about to faint he carefully drags you out of the crowd and asks if you need anything
🌊 ; he loves you sm<33
🌊 ; always complimenting your art!
🌊 ; he doesn't mind the fact you're talkative around him he just sits and listens to whatever you have to say!
🌊 ; HES ALWAYS HUGGING YOU I PROMISE but if you get uncomfortable he'll stop just ask him
🌊 ; whenever he comes back from missions he either has a handful of flowers or sweets he bought for you
🌊 ; cooks you anything you want literally just ask him he doesn't want you to cook since he's afraid you might get hurt
🌊 ; if you flirt with him as a joke his face would turn as red as his hair
🌊 ; before you guys started dating he kept talking to nezuko asleep telling her "she's really pretty"
🌊 ; whenever he looks at you and nezuko talking to each other his smile widens
🌊 ; oh you dislike bugs? He'd keep a 5 meter distance from you and the bugs
🌊 ; overall 10/10 s/o :)
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{tessa thompson, 33, cis female, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, PRINCESS NOMENAOLITIANA "HENRIETTE" HERINIAINA RATSIFI of MADAGASCAR! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are SCIENCE-FORWARD and COMPASSIONATE enough to handle it. Just don’t let your INSECURITIES bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out THEY HAVE A LOYAL FOLLOWING SHE CARES FOR AND FINANCIALLY SUPPORTS WHO WOULD FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE IF SHE MAY SO REQUEST IT OF THEM, EVEN AGAINST THE RULERS.
BASICS;
behind the name: malagasy names tend to be a minimum of 12 characters, and are often derived from physical or emotional attributes relating to the infant. later, names may be changed, added onto, or adjusted to fit the needs of the developed adult. nomena is gift, and olitiana is curly hair, making her given name nomenaolitiana - the gift with curly hair. as she matured, she gave herself an additional name, being in nature, or "heriniaina". the gift with curly hair in nature. it is also common for those in madagascar to adopt french nicknames, and so for her dealing with other nations, she tends to go by henriette because it sounds similarly to the way heriniaina is pronounced. see more info on malagasy naming conventions here.
nicknames: due to the long nature of malagasy names, nicknames are very common, and different between the exact relationship! for example - those who knew henri as a child (such as family) may call her "nomy", "nomena", or "no-no", shortened versions of gift. others (friends, neighbors) may call her "oli" or "oliti" for curls. those she met later in life, could call her by "heri". but typically... you can call her henriette, or simply henri. you have full permission to come up with a nickname your muse may call her (these suggestions or otherwise!) if you feel it is fitting!
sexuality: bisexual.
relationship: lovelessly married to risa ratsifi, banished ex-royal of thailand. has all but closed the door on her heart when it comes to romance by now, much to her dismay.
date of birth: july 20th
zodiac sign: cancer
moral alignment: neutral good
hobbies: very big on knowledge and learning, gardening and agriculture, reading, chemistry, astrology, biology, and invention making... she also loves nature walks, swimming, baking/cooking, getting her hands dirty (non-violently), and has grown an interest in themes of divination and magic and spirituality, is searching for her own belief set currently. enjoys sleeping under the stars, bird watching, sewing, and understanding new concepts.
dislikes: rejection, happy married couples, war, general themes of suffering, being confined, small spaces, shoes.
languages spoken: malagasy and french best, but can do passing english, thai, and some other african dialects. is trying to learn hindi.
politics/loyalty: does not tend to be political, is more humanitarian based, but will do what is needed for her family as long as it does not come at too great a cost to her moral code.
inspirations:
DETAILS;
her earliest memories are nothing too fond - she remembers cold nights, helpful strangers, and the sensation of hunger. the fate of her family remains unknown, but when she was six years old, henriette was rescued by staff to the ratsifi family, before they ever came to be in power. the estate owners saw a treasure in the wild curly headed girl, and chose to raise her as their own, perhaps a soft spot growing for her from the mere month age gap between one of their other daughters.
it was better as a lady to an estate like that of the ratsifi clan, practically a palace from the start compared to where henri had come from, despite her rough beginning. for a time, she was shy and reserved, prone to watch and unwilling to accept help, having trouble to fully adjust to a life of luxury compared to the world she'd known of need before. there were many times she would awaken early to make her own bed, light her own fire, and prepare her own breakfast in attempt to beat the servants to it.
there was always a level of guilt associated to taking the luxury offered; but as the years went on, and she grew more comfortable in her place in the family, bonding with her siblings, until she, too, felt she belonged. even so - there were often times that the girl would go missing for long stretches of time, off to the tribal villages or scattered towns that the estate governed. henri knew what it was like to be in need, to be left wanting, to feel fear for where tomorrow would bring you, and she wanted to give back some of her found fortune, working to learn medicine and cooking and even themes of invention to improve the quality of life for everyone she could reach.
henriette did her part in uniting madagascar into one cohesive unit, and even was able to put her scientific mind to work in the creation of unique weapons and supply systems to fully liberate from power's reign. when madagascar rose to royalty, henri found pride in her family - but took this adjustment difficultly, too.
from a lady of wealth and privilege to a castle built, and the staff tripled, and suddenly - every door felt open. she was terrified to make a mistake, and when an opportunity came to strengthen the family defenses against their foes through a marriage, she did not hesitate to agree.
time was not slow to reveal that love was not in the cards for henriette and her new wife - and while things were tough in the beginning as she reconciled with her disappointment, the pair managed to find some way of cooperating enough that their union was not hostile, nor unfriendly. in fact, henriette has come to be quite fond of her wife, even if she faces jealousy for those who have found love. perhaps her need to be a helping a hand, to save everyone, had a higher price than the princess realized.
not finding what her heart needed in her union, henri turned to the citizens of madagascar, and spent more time in the villages as she assisted in building them up, growing her skills, and creating agricultural systems to quicken the process, and lessen the work load for others. it felt more comfortable than home, after all, and thanks to her long-standing dedication and wide-open heart, many communities around the palace came to see her as their sovereign, moreso than the family she came from. child of the wild - they whispered, and would revere her almost as a saint, much to henriette's discomfort.
now she has come to india with her family, though leaving home has placed a hole in her heart for all she's left behind, it has inspired her to learn more, grow more, and become her full potential and aid in this conflict the best she can. very rarely has she left madagascar - so this is mostly new to the princess, and she is very curious to see all that she can, and protect her loved ones from harm.
CONNECTIONS;
tba
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BROWN
ethan landry x black! f! reader￨sfw content￨wc: 1.9k
ethan understood chad had more of a chance with you than he did but was that really true or was he just telling himself that?
tags black reader on page- everybody else, you have enough fics for him. friends to lovers. parties. consumption of alcohol. you take a couple shots, that’s all. you’re shorter than him and you like brent faiyaz. swearing. no y/n. kissing. touchy! reader.
𝓴aus. again this not what i said i was gonna post but take what tf you can get because i’m doing for my black people who are crying out for help in this rough time where there are not fan fics for us about ethan <33
we be so high that’s why we so low-key.
brent faiyaz poured throughout the house, reaching everybody’s ears including ethans’ who has heard the song more times 100 times because of you. the party felt uncomfortable as ethan stood awkwardly by the drink station, watching as people picked strong alcohol over the sweet, fruit punch he had been drinking all night.
she wanna fly out witchu, let's make three.
he was supposed to be hanging out with chad but he’d left quickly after spotting you walking past to the kitchen. but ethan didn’t follow because he would rather get looks by strangers than watch the two of you flirt. chad spoke about you most of the time so it wasn’t hard to tell that he liked you in some type of way. ethan couldn’t really blame him though, you were sweet, and so damn beautiful. your brown skin always looked so soft and so did your lips, with the lip gloss that always adored them.
i’Il be your role model.
“e!” ethan hears over by the kitchen making him look in the direction to find you smiling as you made your way over to him, chad following shortly behind you. everyone called him “e” but there was something about the way you said it that made him grin hard. you were excited to him simply because you loved seeing him and maybe because you had missed him since you last saw each other two days ago. it was easy to miss his pretty smile, curly hair and awkward demeanor.
don't leave the house tomorrow.
before ethan could react back to you he’s wrapped in a hug from the side but with both arms. ethan’s surprised by the sudden affection but gives into the hug. your touch alone secretly has ethan panicking, but he doesn’t let it show, choosing to focus on chad who stood in front of him. “hey,” ethan says.
before chad could respond you pull away from ethan. “wanna play spin the shot?” you asks making ethan’s eyebrows push together being that he’s never heard of it. “spin the shot?” you nod in response to him. “yeah. it’s like spin the bottle but with shots and some other rules i put together,” chad said, rubbing his hands together as he grinned at the two of you.
you say you had enough 'cause my time ain't enough. girl it's never enough for you.
“meaning his dumbass couldn’t think of a better name,” you rolled your eyes at him making ethan chuckle. your glossy lips turn up into a smile and ethan couldn’t help but stare. “are you two playing?” he asks shaking himself out his daydream, before sharing glances between you and chad. “yeah,” chad answers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
you look over at chad with sort of a glare but chad doesn’t caught it, only ethan. he didn’t know what it meant but he took it as you being annoyed by chad’s touch and he was confused about that, didn’t you like him?
you could see ethan’s mind turning as you waited for his answer so you grab his hand and held it in yours, hoping to pull him out of his head. “if they give you a shot i’ll take it for you,” you smile. he assumed this was your way of helping him make the decision and you weren’t helping. it wasn’t your fault, it was his. the feeling of your hand on his and the way your brown eyes were locked on him, he felt he was gonna pass out. had he mentioned how pretty your hair looked?
flawless, lawless, baby what you call this? If the shit don't involve money I'm off it.
to simply put it, you could say ethan liked you too, but he doubt you felt the same. this was probably what you did for everybody when they needed help making an decision, right? if so he had never seen it. “sure,” he shrugged giving you a light grin. “let’s go!” chad yells after removing his arm from you then clapping his hands together. “spin the shot in the dining room if anybody wants to play!” chad yells as all of you made your way there.
some people jogged to the dining room while others stayed where they were, chilling. you and ethan made your way through the crowds either way- hand in hand.
and it's never enough for you. but you can wait until after tomorrow.
once in the dining room, you let go of ethan’s hand and he follows you to the head of the table. ethan stood to right, chad on stood your left, while everybody else gathered around the rest of the table. “clear the table. i’mma go get the good stuff,” chad says before heading into the kitchen. people start taking cups, plates and other bullshit off the table until it’s clean.
when chad finally comes back, show me a good time by drake starts to play.
he puts the bottle of gray goose on the table, body down and he sits a shot glass in front of him. “alrighty, somebody- anybody, spins the bottle, if it lands on you, you take the shot. if you’re too pussy to take the shot? you have to kiss the person to the left of you,” he declares making everybody look to their left. some look disgusted while others only laugh when they notice it’s their friend. ethan took a look over at you who gives him a cute smile. “no switching around now!” chad yells after spotting people trying to switch around.
“you wanna do the honors, pretty boy?” you ask, looking up at ethan who doesn’t really want to but folds hard when you give him a comforting light smile. the pushy eyes from everyone around the table, also forcing his answer. “s-sure,” he nods. and everybody cheers. he leans over the table bit and gives the bottle a good spin.
Take a shot and let it out, let's get right. now that I'm here, baby. show me a good time. show me a good time.
the rest of the night felt like a huge blur, it felt like everything was going x2 speed for ethan. first, ethan had spun the bottle and the next thing he knows everyone around y’all is cheering for him to kiss you. “kiss her! kiss her! kiss her!” he hears every chant including the guy he thought liked you. before ethan had much time to think, you help him by grabbing his face and smashing your lips onto his.
they’re as soft as he thought they were- maybe even softer. he didn’t even mind the lipgloss that he seemed to get a taste of as you kisses him so sweetly. now he understood why you liked when it had a certain flavor. “okay, love bugs. we gotta game to finish,” chad says, tapping you on your shoulder, making you pull away and turn to him. “finish without us,” you say before holding your hand out for ethan’s and he happily puts his hand in yours.
“oohhh!” the crowd yell, as the two of you exit the room. wanting to get away from all the people, you looked towards the front door then back at ethan. “wanna go outside?” you smiled, and he was so dumbfounded by what just happened all he could do was nod. you lead the two of you outside and looked around for places to sit, just to find one of those old swings on the porch that you had notice earlier. “this probably old as hell,” you say, letting go of his hand to make sure it’s sturdy before you sit down.
ethan laughs at your reaction to the swing as you sit down on it. the sounds of his laugh being heaven to your ears so you only light chuckle, hoping your laugh it and too loud to cover his. when you really look at him in the porch lighting, you realize there’s lipgloss all on his lips. a smile grows on yours lips and a laugh bubbles in your chest at how cute he looks, but he’s confused and his eyes grow wide. “what? what is it?” he asks before reaching to touch his face.
“d-do i have something on my face?” he asks, and you only calm down and nod your head. “it’s just my lipgloss,” you grin, shaking your head at his panic. he let’s put an “o” and only smile to himself, face growing hot. “my bad about the kiss. i bet my mouth taste nasty with them shots,” you say, face growing ill at the thought of it but ethan’s quick to shake his head. “it actually tastes like strawberries. because of… you know… the lipgloss,” he reassures you, circling his hand over his lips. you nod, and let out a light laugh at the lipgloss again.
quickly overthinking the simple nod you had given him, he speak up again. “the kiss was good too. i just didn’t expect chad to act like that,” he confesses, making you look at him confused. “like what?” you ask. “happy about us kissing,” he explains and you’re even more confused.“why?” you ask, head tilted and ethan looks down at his lap. ethan debated about telling you his embarrassing thoughts about your best friend liking you so he just tries to shrug it off until he looks up from his lap to see you not taking the shrug for an answer. “i thought he liked you,” he confessed, and you could only shake your head and smile.
“he don’t like me. chad was just trying to get you jealous so you would tell me you liked me. i told his dumbass not to do it, but he did it anyway,” you rolled your eyes at the thought. that explains the glare and why he would always talk about you to him. he nods, taking in the information.“but, e?” you call, making his attention go to you. “you know i like you, right?” you asks and you watch as his head tilts and his eyebrows become pushed together in confusion. “seriously?” he asked, heart pounding in his ears. it being so loud, he wasn’t even sure if he’ll be able to hear you when you replied.
“ethan!” you said with a shake of your head. he’s quick to defend himself with raise eyebrows. “i thought you liked chad!” you turn your body towards him and he’s quick to look at you, confused on why you were doing so. “chad!?” you question making ethan nod. you put your hand on his leg. “ethan, baby, i want you to remember who chad is,” you said making the two of you laugh.
the only thing ethan felt is that moment was comfort in the presence of you- he always had but this was some different. after your laughs died down and you were just covered in silence, you realized he hadn’t told you something. “so… do you like me too or am i getting rejected today?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t the second one but you had a feeling it wasn’t. ethan’s quick to shake his head, eyes wide once again. “n-no! i like you too… a lot,” he says, eyes softening at sight of you smiling.
tension grow between the two of you as you stared at each other. the both of you hoping the other would make a more as if you hadn’t kissed 5 minutes ago. ethan recalled the moment of you leaning in so he did this time. you didn’t pull away either, allow his lips to meet yours and kiss you softly.
you weren’t shy with the way you kissed with a bit of need and so wasn’t ethan. you kissed until you needed to breath then you pulled away. “my lips are gonna be dry after while,” you smiled, looking at ethan’s lips that were covers in your lipgloss.
“i’m sure we can share,” he grins that pretty grin he always does.
2023 kausstar.
i swear to god black people, if you let this flop i’mma stop doing right by y’all and go over to the whites.
#⋆ 𐙚 ₊ ˚ star#x black reader#scream vi#scream vi imagine#scream vi x reader#ethan landry x black!reader#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry
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I appreciate everyone who does corpse fan art but there’s something about artists who explicitly give him his natural curly hair that just hits different
#yes his online persona is straight black anime hair#but he’s mentioned that it’s so curly it’s high maintenance 👀#and I have a soft spot for curly hair <33#corpse husband#*
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If you’re still taking requests could you do 6 and 4 with cal please?? 💕
AAAHHHH OMFG OK THIS ONE? THIS IS THE ONE!!! <33
Prompts" "Text me when you get home safe, okay? Actually, call me."
“It's just that every time I see you, my heart beats so hard I can't breathe."
Getting ready to leave cals house, you struggle to wiggle out of his arms. He has you in a bear hug as he lays on his side in bed.
“Bebe, you have to let me go,” you laugh, wiggling around to try and get free but he just tightens his arms and buries his face in your neck.
“Don’t want you to leave,” he mutters, kissing along the vein in your neck, nipping and sucking lightly before pecking it and moving to another spot.
You sigh, relaxing into his hold. Your arms move up, your hands tangling into his dark, curly hair. “Cal,” you breathe as he sucks and nips at the spot just below your ear.
“Ok, no i’ve got to go,” you sigh, pushing up and breaking his lips from your neck. “I’ve got to get up early in the morning,” you tell him, quickly pecking his mouth before taking the chance to get up when his arms relax around your waist.
“Fine,” he sighs, but quickly kisses your lips, lingering for a second before falling back on the bed as he watches you grab a few things around the room, packing them in your bag.
"Text me when you get home safe, okay?” He tells you before looking thoughtful, “Actually, call me,” he decides. Looking over at him softly, you smile watching as he cuddles the pillow you sleep with when you're here to his chest.
“I will, bebe. Promise,” you tell him, pushing one knee on the edge of the bed before leaning down and giving him a kiss.
“I love you, my angel,” he whispers upon your lips. Looking up at you as he pulls back before giving you one more lingering kiss.
“I love you more, my lovie.”
---
You’ve been home for a little, having done some work, ate dinner and then showered and got ready for bed. Now you're cuddled in your warm bed, clad in one of cal’s shirts and on facetime with him.
“Fuck, you look so beautiful baby,” he tells you, screenshoting the screen making you laugh and hide your face.
“Cal! No I don't, I look so tired. Do you see my dark circles?” you ask him, looking at him through the screen.
He’s got the phone propped up on the coffee table with his guitar in his lap, Duke is lying on the couch next to him, falling asleep from the soft melody he was strumming on the guitar. Cal is clad in your favorite hoodie he has, the green Empathy hoodie and a beanie.
He’s the one that looks good. Like an adonis.
“No, I don’t think you understand, love. It's just that every time I see you, my heart beats so hard I can't breathe." he tells you softly, setting his guitar down and picking up the phone.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, angel. You better believe it too, I love you so fucking much.”
You don’t know what to say, shocked because that’s the exact feeling that you get when you look at him. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out, you’re speechless.
“Cal,” you start, your eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what to say. My palms get sweaty, and my heart starts to beat rapidly and the butterflies come to life, fluttering around and making me giddy whenever I look at you. I don’t ever want that feeling to go away, I love you so much. So. fucking. Much Cal.” you finish, wiping a lone tear off your cheek.
#Calum blurb#calum hood x y/n#calum hood x reader#calum imagine#calum 5 seconds of summer#cal 5sos#calum hood
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hello !! can i request a bnha and haikyuu matchup ?? <3
my name is shan and my prns are she/they. i'm pan so i don't really have any gender preference. i'm a virgo and an infj. overall, i'm a pretty laidback person but i can get pretty awkward around people i barely know, and i have a hard time in properly expressing my emotions, which leads to me getting easily annoyed(?) so i do have Quite the temper. i'm an ambivert but i do lean a bit more to the introverted side. i'm more of a listener than a talker & i don't exactly approach people first but when they do, i can get quite chatty. to the people i'm close to; i enjoy bullying them (out of love) and my sense of humour is definitely sarcasm. i have a habit of overthinking so i'm quite a pessimistic person which means i get easily down and am rarely hyper.
i enjoy playing video games, watching shows, and doing skincare. i also have a huge soft spot for animals, especially for cats and dogs. i also prefer staying indoors so my ideal date would definitely be somewhere indoors like at the comfort of our own home, but an amusement park date sounds fun too <3. my love language is definitely acts of services and (sometimes) physical touch.
i have tan skin, medium-length curly hair with bangs, and am 5'2 in height. i lean a bit more to the chubby side and my weight has been something i've been insecure about for a while. i also wear glasses and have a baby-like face.
thank u so much in advance !! i'm sorry if this got a little too long aslflskks but i hope you have lovely day/night !!! <33 💞💞
𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇...
𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐈
Tokoyami needs someone to match his energy and similarly have a more laidback partner. You and Tokoyami get along so well, you're both more on the introverted side. Neither of you are the best at talking and expressing your emotions at times but you try to open up to each other as much as you can. Fumikage deals with anger himself, especially when he sees someone he cares about get hurt- so both of you know when the other one is losing your temper a bit, and helps calm each other down.
Tokoyami finds socialising tiring at points but you don't tire him out and exhaust him like other people do. Both of you are listeners rather than talkers but around each other you become chatty and even when you don't talk you'll be in each other's company in comfortable silence, enjoying the other ones presence.
You met through a mutual friend and they introduced you two, as neither of you wanted to first strike up a conversation, even if you thought Tokoyami seemed cool and he found you intriguing. When you and Fumikage talked more and more he realised how amazing you really were, and how you exceeded his first impression of you. Tokoyami thinks your stunning- he loves everything single thing about you inside and out. He says your glasses really suits you, before now he didn't realise how amazing glasses look but now once he saw them on you his perspective changed and he really sees the appeal and why people like them.
Your dates are relaxed and chill, watching shows and films. Fumikage always listens to you and remembers what you say, on your dates he brings you favourite snacks and drinks you've mentioned before and he has a blanket too in case you get cold.
𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇...
𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎
When Bokuto first saw you he was entranced. He thought you were absolutely stunning. He loves how he's taller than you, he loves that he's strong and can pick you up. You got nervous the first time he picked you up, insecure about your weight, but he told you "you don't think I can pick you up? You really underestimate me, you don't think I could do it". He would get all pouty and when you told him you were insecure he kissed your forehead and told you to trust him, "you're the perfect size and I love every single thing about you, let me prove to you how much I love you." Kotaro would be able to pick someone up no matter their size and you love how he makes you feel loved and wanted and beautiful.
Bokuto approached you first and was jumping up and down, so excited to finally meet the person he thought was so beautiful. You're more laidback and chill, and Bokuto is more hyper and active. Kotaro will talk for hours, and you'll listen intently, loving ever single word he says. You jokingly tease him to show your love, especially whenever you catch him looking at you in the corner of your eye.
Whenever you start overthinking you tell Bokuto, you trust him completely and you know that he'll never fail in making you feel better and stop you from spiralling more into overthinking.
You take turns in choosing dates, often times your date nights are inside, curled up watching telly, while Kotaro chooses dates like amusement parks but whatever he chooses he makes sure that you're 100% comfortable in the date and not going anywhere that you wouldn't like.
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!!!! HANDS 🥺 33 aaaaand 37 for Gerry? 🙏♥️
Hand Holding Prompts
(Two fics for the price of one) Gerry and Nemo shennagins with a bonus 'If somehow Nemo met Gertrude' thrown in.
33. bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go
Nemo’s hands are warmer than he’s expecting.
(Although he’s not sure why he’s expecting them to be cold).
Tries not to think about that too much, drums the fingers of his other hand against his thigh, tries to focus on a spot on the wall.
37. not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out
There’s a cafe.
There’s nothing remarkable about it, it’s the sort of cafe that exists in every town and city across the United Kingdom. There might be slight variations on a theme but they feature white plastic topped tables that never seem to be totally free of lingering coffee stains, and have a chance of being slightly wonky, menus on laminated plastic offering staples of British cuisine, most of which come with a side of chips, chunky white mugs.
bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go
Nemo’s hands are warmer than he’s expecting.
(Although he’s not sure why he’s expecting them to be cold).
Tries not to think about that too much, drums the fingers of his other hand against his thigh, tries to focus on a spot on the wall.
Nemo’s gentle, gentler than he’s expecting (But he’s not sure why he’d expect different). Bites his lip at the (overly familiar) sting of antiseptic against skin, swallows down a swear and tries to keep his focus on that spot on the wall.
Nemo’s thumb gently brushes over pale skin, long fingers topped with chipped, black nail polish. They try not to think about how slender his hands are. How they seem intended for much more delicate things than the various marks scattered across his hands hint at. Feels a little sour twist in their stomach if they think too hard about the potential causes as they catch the edge of a faded scar on his palm. Worries their lip as they try to only focus on clearing the blood and grime from his knuckles.
(Tries not to think about how warm his hands are, how small theirs look in comparison to his, how in another life, hopefully a better one these hands would only know soft touches, and how in this one how much they want to be the one to let those hands know some softness)
Gerry blinks, eyes drift from that spot on the wall, closes his eyes for a second. Fatigue gnaws at him, the circles under his eyes (the ones under the smudgy black eyeliner that he’s forgotten when exactly it went on but he knows is overdue for removal) will be even darker come tomorrow. He tries to focus back on the wall but fails, eyes drifting towards something more interesting.
Which means he’s now looking at Nemo, paying way too much attention to how they catch their lip and the concerned furrow of their brow as they work on his injured hand. And he starts getting stupid, sleepy thoughts involving his other hand (which is desperate for something to occupy itself) reaching out and tucking the lock of black, curly hair that’s fallen in front of their face behind their ear, let his fingertips just brush the shell of their ear, wonder for a brief, dumb moment just what would happen if they let their fingers brush the spot just under their ear, wonders if Nemo would tilt their head and let him continue his way down their neck, would they squirm if he reached the juncture between neck and shoulder?
“Looks worse than it is,” Nemo’s voice cuts through the late night silence between them just as his thoughts are wondering silly, sleepy things about how the buzzed side of their hair would feel under his fingertips but he barely registers it. He does register the reassuring, gentle squeeze that follows.
He settles for gripping the edge of the table for now. Watches as Nemo opens up an adhesive dressing and places it over his hand, tries not to think too much about the press of their thumbs as they ensure it stays in place. Thinks instead about the small mercy of them finding a Boots with a Midnight Pharmacy where the sudden appearance of two slightly battered Goths at an ungodly hour didn’t raise any eyebrows. And more importantly didn’t lead to any concerned calls towards police, ambulances or any number of other organisations that would’ve been overly concerned and asked too many questions.
He loses the touch of Nemo’s hands for a brief moment and it affects him more than he cares to admit. Watches as they carefully unwind the roll of gauze and then despite his best efforts feels himself jump as their thumb presses that sensitive, meaty part of his palm just next to his thumb.
Nemo stops suddenly, doesn’t let go, eyebrows raised in silent concern and he gives a nod of reassurance and tries not to start thinking stupid thoughts about stormy grey eyes as they get back to wrapping his hand. Nemo gently manipulating his wrist to get into the correct position.
“All done,” Nemo’s voice barely registering again.
Gerry looks down at his bandaged hand, turns it this way and that. By this point he’s far too familiar with how professional wound care looks.
“You’re… good at this,” Gerry breaks the silence, just barely. As if there’s some holiness associated with this shade of silence that comes with being awake at an ungodly hour and to interrupt it is blasphemy.
Nemo’s still holding his hand, thumbs barely brushing a chipped, black nail polish covered nail, looks up and those stormy grey eyes meet his pale blue.
Nemo clears their throat, looks at him and then away briefly as if embarrassed before looking back.
“I… there was a point I wanted to be a nurse-”
not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out
There’s a cafe.
There’s nothing remarkable about it, it’s the sort of cafe that exists in every town and city across the United Kingdom. There might be slight variations on a theme but they feature white plastic topped tables that never seem to be totally free of lingering coffee stains, and have a chance of being slightly wonky, menus on laminated plastic offering staples of British cuisine, most of which come with a side of chips, chunky white mugs.
Sort of place that typically attracts ‘salt of the earth’ labourer types, school kids playing it loose with what time they actually arrive at school, overly nosy gaggles of ‘bubbly’ women, young mothers with prams catching up with other mothers. Sort of place run by a solid, sensible sort of person, broad smiling and prone to calling people ‘Love’.
And the ever present scent of fried food that depending on circumstances is either enticing or nauseating. And as Gerry realises today unfortunately it’s leaning more towards the nauseating. (Seems he’s not quite shaken that last brush with The Corruption)
Utterly unremarkable, which probably makes the presence of an elderly British woman and two Goths stand out like a sore thumb.
He does wonder what people see if they look over at the table, he’s had enough moments where people have assumed Gertrude his is mother and even a few times assumed grandmother (Which Gertrude seems less impressed by when that happens) and even a few where the pair of them have played into that assumption.
Do they see a prim and proper British mother with her Goth son and what he knows people will assume is partner? Maybe if this was a more upmarket cafe people would wonder if it was a meeting between a University Professor and two of their postgraduate students.
Either way, in a fairly unremarkable cafe sits an elderly British woman and two goths with two cups of tea (Gertrude’s a step or two down from builder’s tea with one sugar, Nemo’s an altogether milkier and sweeter affair and Gerry’s a coffee, black as humanely possible).
Gerry takes a sip of his coffee, prays it will do something for the nausea.
On the surface, the meeting has been polite enough. Gertrude hasn’t come over as across as anything other than a polite well to do academic and Nemo has been ‘polite but closed off’. But Gerry is far too used to reading situations for potential conflict and can pick up on the tension that’s not unlike two unfamiliar cats meeting in an alley who are deciding if they’re going to fight.
And it’s making his already grumbling stomach complain even more.
He takes another sip of coffee, a little too much in one go, too warm, too bitter all at once and manages not to splutter as he swallows it down.
He’s suddenly aware of that creeping ‘eyes on the back of his neck’ sensation that has Gertrude’s own particular signature to it. Not so much ‘overly nosy gossip’ like the group of women clustered around a table in the corner who are talking and downright cackling way too loudly for this time in the morning. It’s more in the vein of ‘stern schoolteacher who just caught you passing notes in the back of the class’ (not that he really knows what that feels like).
He doesn’t say anything but looks up from his coffee, Gertrude is writing some notes, looks up for a moment and Gerry meets her eyes with a look that with a dose of adolescent petulance he’s far too old for says an indignant ‘What?’
Gertrude says nothing but her expression changes to a slightly too smug knowing smile. One that somehow comes across a little too soft, even maternal.
And that’s when Gerry realises Nemo’s hand has sought his out under the table, he can feel the brush of fishnet gloves against his palms, lithe fingers wound carefully with his. He can also feel the tension that’s running from Nemo’s shoulder and pressing against his hand as they squeeze. Any harder and he’s sure Nemo will start vibrating.
Shit
He tries to relax, allows his thoughts to unwind a little, tries to channel his own tension down through his body and through his toes into the floor and it almost works. He feels Nemo’s tension lessen a little and breathes a silent sigh of relief.
He maintains eye contact with Gertrude the whole time, it’s only a brief few seconds but it feels like an age. He can’t quite read her expression, amusement? It seems like she’s vaguely amused. Approval? No he wouldn’t go that far.
Fuck…
Oh Fuck
She thinks… oh shit no she thinks this is adorable
Fuuuuuck
He realises Nemo’s wrapped their foot around the back of his calf, more grounding, For them? For Him? Both he’s not sure. Either way it does lessen the sensation of wanting to sink through the cafe floor.
Despite his best efforts his cheeks flush red. Gives Nemo’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Gertrude breaks their eye contact going back to asking Nemo another question seemingly innocent to any curious bystander but actually hinting at something much deeper.
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