𝐝𝐥𝐦𝐥𝐮 (𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝) . .
. . you have hanahaki, a severe case of shyness, and a crush on scaramouche, and scaramouche is an absolute jerk.
// tws ; blood ; gn reader ; hanahaki & modern au ; slight cursing
a/n: first time posting here yippee (pls be nice)
you sobbed, heaving up stupid yellow carnations while sitting on the cold, hard floor of the school bathroom.
you wretched up the damned flowers. they fell ungracefully into the toilet which sat in front of you.
your knees hurt from sitting on them for so long.
if only you could tell him how you felt. it would finally all be over, one way or another. maybe with your feelings being requited.
or maybe with you choking to death, the only thing with you while you die being the stupid fucking flowers.
you coughed again, pale yellow petals fluttering to the ground elegantly.
it was a stark contrast to how, just moments after that, you were coughing your lungs out, flowers flopping down into the toilet in large clumps; stuck together by mucus and blood.
you wheezed and wheezed and wheezed until it felt like there was nothing left in your lungs and your throat was burning and your knees were bruised.
you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until there were no more tears left.
you coughed and coughed and coughed to the point you thought maybe just dying would be better than this fucking hell.
you curled into a ball, crying. crystalline tears ran down your cheeks, falling onto your clothes, the ground, anything.
if only you could fucking talk. why were you like this? why were you fine with your friends, but so terrified to talk to anyone? to everyone?
to him?
maybe, just maybe, if you were different you wouldn’t be in this situation.
if only you weren’t so pathetic, so stupid, so scared.
you hated yourself. you hated yourself so, so much. who the fuck was this terrified to talk to people, but opened up so easily once others talked to them?
maybe you should just confess and get it all over with.
—
you opted to just give him a letter anonymously.
who knew if he would even read it? he received dozens of confessions everyday.
even if he did read it, it couldn’t be that bad, right?
—
if you could, you would eat up your words.
it was much, much worse than you thought.
he had ripped open the envelope, immediately reading the letter with a scowl.
he wasn’t even halfway through when he burst out laughing.
”what the fuck is this?” he snickered, holding onto his locker so he wouldn’t fall from how hard he was laughing.
”what pathetic fucking weirdo confesses from an anonymous letter? are they too terrified to say it to my fuckin’ face?”
he continued reading the letter.
when he was done, he crumpled it up and threw it away behind him, still laughing.
”that’s so goddamn stupid.”
unfortunately, the crumpled up letter hit you on your head.
not embarrassing, right?
well, it wasn’t until scaramouche saw it had hit you.
”oh, sorry,” he exclaimed in a voice dripping with mock sweetness.
”didn’t see you there.”
it would’ve been fine until his next comment, which you unfortunately overheard.
”these dumb fucking bitches. they’re so stupid, can’t even move out of the way. what are they, blind?” he muttered under his breath, tone condescending.
you burst into tears right then and there, unable to stop the overflow of emotions.
you walked away as quick as you could, wanting to kill yourself right there.
”so emotional, and over what?”
his laugh rang down the hallway, following and taunting you.
—
you don’t know what had come over you that day. before that you had always tried to keep your emotions in check, always tried to stop the tears from coming out in front of people you didn't know.
maybe hearing your crush degrade and insult you had just struck a chord or something.
—
weak coughs wracked your frail body, using up the little energy you had left.
you were on your death bed (quite literally! you were laying on your bed while dying).
honey yellow flowers surrounded you, their sickly sweet scent making you feel nauseous.
you choked up another batch of the flaxen flowers, watching them flop forward onto your bed sheets, staining them a dull crimson because of the blood on them.
with half lidded eyes, you stared at the carnations. your mind was hazy, and your vision blurred.
if you recalled correctly, they symbolized disdain and rejection.
how fitting.
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MDNI // smut warning ⚠️
Oh Jeongin, Innie, Baby Bread, Big Daddy Busan… His fingers are just grrrrr so fucking long and slender. But STRONG.
Can you imagine the places those fingertips can reach - effortlessly?
Or he can curl them up, creating a stretch (because his curled fingers take up a lot of room inside you), as he digs into that squishy spot that makes you cry his name and cum all over him.
He just loves it when your juices trickle down his fingers. “So wet, I have to taste you.” He says as he pops them into his mouth, smiling slyly.
He loves how dripping you get when he fills you with three fingers, fucking you slowly.
And don’t get me started on how he works his fingers on your other hole. Circling his finger on your rim, spreading the lube around getting you ready. Then easing his way into you. His fingers reach such depths that you’re metaphorically choking on them.
God, you love to feel his fingers everywhere, and he loves to touch you everywhere! From wiping your tears away, or protectively holding your hand, to massaging your thighs while watching a movie, to gripping your wrists and holding them above your head while he fucks you dumb with his long cock. You love it, he loves it.
After he’s finished fucking you and painting your insides with his hot, white cum, he’ll often use his fingers to push the cum back up inside of you.
Or he’ll just as likely scoop up some of his cum and shove those fingers so far into your mouth your literary chocking on them. “Come on sugar, lick me clean.”
You love it, he loves it.
@kangnina @noellllslut @channieandhisgoonsquad @weareapackofstrays @newhope8
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Bokuto Kotaro
CW: toxic behavior, dub-con, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, pervy bokuto, mentions of male masturbation, implied handjob
a/n: yeah idk wtf this is
send me your haikyuu thirsts
Bokuto had everyone fooled. To the outside world, he was the manchild captain of the Fukurodani volleyball team, known for his intense mood swings and childlike mindset. He struggled with academics, and even his teammate Akaashi had given up on trying to help him learn. Bokuto played the part of the immature eighteen-year-old perfectly, but it was all an act.
One of Bokuto's greatest prideas was his ability to deceive others with ease. He learned from his friend Kuroo that playing dumb could get you almost anything you wanted, and he put this knowledge to good use.
For years, Bokuto had been singularly focused on becoming Japan's next top volleyball ace, never giving romance a second thought. That all changed when he met her, a schoolmate who had been in the same school as him since middle school. She was always in the highest class, and Bokuto never had the chance to talk to her. She seemed to exist in a league of her own, her beauty and intimidating presence making it impossible for him to approach her.
She was the only person who could completely change Bokuto's mood without even realizing it. He spent years trying to capture her attention in various ways, but eventually, he resigned himself to admiring her from afar, believing his efforts to be futile.
That is, until he learned Kuroo's little trick: act dumb. Unbeknownst to Akaashi, Bokuto had already mastered every single concept Akaashi tried to teach him. He just needed the teachers to believe he was hopeless enough to require a tutor with the expertise to teach someone like him: her.
His plan worked almost flawlessly. The first time she spoke to him, Bokuto was so overwhelmed that he couldn't even find the words to respond. She brushed it off, immediately getting down to business.
Tutoring sessions with her quickly became the highlight of Bokuto's day. Today marked an entire year since she had started teaching him, and he knew that she had grown accustomed to his presence and mood swings. Even more remarkably, she never blamed him for any of his shortcomings.
Bokuto can’t be held accountable for "accidentally" flipping her skirt up countless times. She blamed herself, claimed it was because she wore her skirt higher than usual due to the hot weather. He didn’t just go home and jerk off to the fresh image he had branded into his mind the moment he saw the way her panties clung to her pussy lips.
He couldn't be blamed for spilling water on her shirt, he’s just clumsy like that. He totally did not want to see what color bra she wore. He was absolutely not secretly relishing the sight of her nipples pebbling under the wet fabric, watching the cute pink buds pressing against the material.
She brushed it off whenever he hugged her out of excitement, his hands conveniently finding their way to her ass when he embraced her. She chalked it up to a mere coincidence caused by their height difference, brushing off the way he’d squeeze her flesh and press himself against her.
Now, she was the only one capable of pulling him out of his mood swings during a match. All she needed to do was let him rest his head on her thighs before the game. Sometimes, he'd even bury his face in her stomach or her tits, claiming it was vital to his performance.
He can’t be blamed for getting hard in the middle of a lesson. It’s her fault for explaining this particular topic in biology in such vivid detail. He is practically in tears as he begged her to help him jerk off, playing the part of the helpless idiot who couldn't take care of himself. How dare she insinuate that he had pretended not to understand so she’d have to resort to using layman’s terms to explain the human reproductive system.
From there, things escalated quickly. She became his unofficial babysitter and girlfriend, though they never put a label on their relationship. As long as she had enough sense not to leave him, not to shatter the vulnerable state he had reduced himself to, he had nothing to worry about.
In every sense but name, she was practically his wife now. How cruel would she have to be to crush his delusions and force reality upon him? She had no choice but to fall in love with him, to marry him.
As they sat together, Bokuto's head resting in her lap, he looked up at her with tearful eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he whimpered, his voice wavering. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who can help me."
She sighed, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture. "I'm here for you, Bokuto-san. I'll always be here for you."
A smile tugged at his lips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Promise me you'll never leave me," he whispered, his tone equal parts pleading and demanding.
"I promise," she replied softly, unaware of the depth of the web he had woven around her.
Bokuto closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her touch and the weight of her promise. She was his now, bound to him by the strings of his manipulation and the strength of his obsession. And he would make sure it stayed that way, no matter what it took.
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Harringrove 😬🧸 and 💦 (since the breakup)
hey! 🥰 yall are getting tiny ficlets instead of blurbs because i have no self control lmfao especially when it comes to writing billy and his feelings
😬 confessing their feelings + 🧸 exes with feelings + 💦 sleeping together for the first time
**
He's just getting this out of his system.
That's what Billy keeps telling himself.
It's a closure thing.
He can get one last orgasm from Steve, knowing it'll be the last. He can savor it, memorialize it, commit every bead of sweat and tiny sound to memory, and then move on knowing he got everything he could from whatever this thing between them was.
Last time was a quickie in the backroom of Family Video, and Billy left before either of them said a word to each other, if he'd known...
He digs blunt fingertips into Steve's sweat-slick back. They can't get any closer, but he tries anyway, ignoring the sting of future rugburn forming on his chest where Steve's carpet of hair has been rubbing against his skin.
"Billy..." Steve says, warm and close, his nose brushing Billy's temple. He sounds fond and teasing, like he knows—
He knows nothing. There's nothing to know.
Billy turns his head, licking into Steve's mouth and stopping any dumb shit from coming out of it.
It's a bad distraction. Not because it doesn't work, Steve kisses him back with enthusiasm, but because it hurts. Billy's chest cracks open, and a terrible, wounded noise rips from his throat.
It must startle Steve. He jerks away, eyes going wide, but stopping is even worse than starting, because the second Billy's lips aren't occupied he gasps—
"I love you."
Steve goes very still.
Regret hits Billy like a bag of bricks. He's buried under it, choking on the dust. He needs out. Away. The wall he tried to build collapsed on him and he can't let Steve see the wreckage.
He shoves Steve off him and scurries back in one clumsy movement, panic making his limbs heavy, his fingers numb.
Steve catches his wrist. "Wait."
"Let go."
"You said you didn't want...y'know."
"I don't."
"So you don't want me to tell you I love you too?"
It's Billy's turn to freeze. Tears prickle at his eyes. "No," he says quietly.
There's a determined, defiant tilt to Steve's chin. "Well, too bad. Because I do."
A dozen retorts rattle Billy's teeth, and he grinds molars, trying to swallow them back. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say right now, but he knows nothing that's coming to mind should come out of his mouth.
"Billy." His voice is doing that soft, mushy thing again, and he scoots closer, sheets wrinkling around his bare legs. "I love you."
It hurts. Like it hurt when Steve kissed him. Like it hurt the first time he did something stupidly romantic for Billy, out of the blue, laced their fingers together while they were sharing a cigarette at the quarry. They were sitting on the hood of Steve's car, bathed in sunset orange, and Billy couldn't stand how picturesque it all was.
He takes Billy's hand again now, slipping down his wrist into his palm. This time Billy lets him.
💕tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove💕
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Sinners and Saints
TW: blood
GN reader×Yandere Alastor
Alastor had no way of knowing the precious commodity he would find when he stepped out that day. It was Hell, after all, full of sinners of all scores. There were lechers and gamblers, adulterers, murderers, cannibals… The usual scattering masses followed his wake, screams, hushed tones, and all. He was a frightening creature in Hell. Even other Overlords stepped carefully around him; after all, he was known to trap prey larger than most his size could swallow.
Thus, when he heard the shrieks, the cries coming from a secluded little lakeside region, he was hardly surprised. They were lovely and full of abject terror with an edge of pain. Whoever it was sounded something like his victims, until he heard the begging break through.
“Why are you doing this to me? Please, please—”
The pleading, the questioning, those things happened, but were of a different flavor. There was rarely a “why me” since sinners all knew: the weak survived at the whim of the strong. “Why me?” Why not.
So the demon detoured to see who was making such a ruckus.
There was a large, rather dumb-looking demon of the sort he usually dismissed and they were leering over the smaller frame of someone shrinking in on themself.
This being had no hint of what had caused their demise, a rarity in Hell. They retained purely human, normal features. There was nary a hint of sin about them, their scent in the air a sharp contrast to the putrid fumes of the netherworld. Instead, there was something light, fresh, lovely about them despite the sharp tinge of terror. And rather than a certain tightness around the eyes, a darkness of character, they were almost… luminescent.
In the split second Alastor happened upon the lesser demon and his prey, he realized this was a soul that did not belong in Hell.
The lovely little morsel cowering on the ground screamed as claws rent through their clothes and into their flesh. The iron tang of blood cloyed the air. Alastor’s nose twitched. His fingers flexed. What he was about to do was quite uncharacteristic of him.
“What have we here?”
The other demon froze, undoubtedly familiar with that crackling voice. He glanced back, eyes wide in the shadow of his horns. “I, uh, I…”
Alastor stepped forward and extended a hand toward the huddled little saint. “This is no mere sinner to torment. Go.” He didn’t even have to look at the other demon; it fled without thought. “You poor soul. Where have you been hiding?”
You looked up with the most pathetically grateful eyes, tears still spilling over. “I don’t know where we are.”
“No?” Alastor lifted a brow, but was unsurprised. “How did you come here?”
‘I just woke up and…” you gestured around vaguely. “I don’t know what’s going on. That thing just– just attacked me and–” You broke off with a choked sob. You didn’t understand. You’d gone to bed last night in your room as usual and when you came to, you were in this nightmare that was far too real.
“My dear.” He paused and stared down at your baleful expression as though he could bore through to your soul. “You’re in Hell.”
You blinked, frowned. “What?”
“This is Hell and that monstrous beast was a demon bent on eating your soul.” He gave a gallic shrug. “One such as you, who must be an innocent mistakenly sent down for some small slight against Heaven, has no hope of surviving, I’m afraid.”
You sat up straighter, clasping your hands to beg. “But you saved me from him. What can I do–”
“You can do nothing.” He rolled his microphone staff in his fingers. “You are weak, I can sense it. You have no weapons at your disposal.” You sank back into yourself. “However, I might be persuaded to act as a protector.”
A shrewd twinkle appeared in your eyes and he found himself baring teeth in a smile. So you weren’t stupid, that much was clear. “Why?”
“Because you’re interesting.” He tipped his head and watched you consider.
“Are you a demon, too?” Oh, you were delightful.
His teeth glinted in the twilight. “My dear, we’re all demons here.”
“You’re not supposed to make deals with devils,” you insisted.
“Do you see another option?” He could go back and forth all day, but in the end he would get what he wanted.
You tapped your fingers against your leg. “Are you going to devour my soul or something?”
“The terms will be quite simple: you obey me and I protect you from any who might harm you.” He twirled his microphone again, nonchalant as could be.
“I won’t kill anyone or anything like that,” you insisted.
His smile widened. “I will ask nothing of you that is not in line with what you did while living.” And, oh, would he scour the book of your sins to find your absolute worst.
You thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
“Do we have a deal?” Alstor held out one gloved hand.
You swallowed through your fluttering heartbeat. “I’m probably going to regret this.” You extended your palm to his.
Thunder clapped and lightening crackled the air as your fate was sealed.
Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list for any followups
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I look like shit right now, but hear me out: Episode 12 drove me NUTS!!!
📍For a moment, Hong Hae-in gave me a heart attack. I really thought that she wanted to spare Hyun-woo the heartache of her not being able to recognize him anymore and just went with Eun-seong. My brain cells weren't brain cell-ing, of course she had other reasons...duh. But it is really terrifying that she has moments when she can't recognize what's real and what isn't. I do however love the part when she knew that she was with the real Hyun-woo. In any scene or in any situation they've been, Hyun-woo radiates that kind of warmth that makes Hae-in feel relieved, secured, and loved. That right there is, "The heart recognizes what the mind can't."
📍I forgot to include this in my last post because I was in a hurry to finish it, but I laud Kim Soo Hyun for doing a great job during the final scene of episode 11. You can instantly recognize that something felt off with the way "Hyun-woo" called Hae-in, like I said earlier, the real Baek Hyun-woo radiates so much warmth, meanwhile the fake Hyun-woo was cold and I can say that he made me feel uncomfortable. What an amazing performance KSH!
📍Hyun-woo and Hae-in using their baby's due date as their pass codes just means that they still think about him/her. 🤧 Oh that baby could have been so loved by them had they been given the chance.
📍Eun-seong's delusion is worsening. When he was confessing all of his bullshit to Hae-in, I was like...so what? So what if he fell for her first? If he kept her necklace all these years, if he had "loved" her all this time? The point is, HAE-IN DOESN'T LOVE HIM AND DOESN'T WANT TO BE WITH HIM!
📍All the while, I thought that Eun-seong is a dangerous man. Turns out Mo Seul-hee is far more unhinged than him. You can see in Eun-seong's eyes that he was taken aback when his mother confessed to being the person behind the deaths of the people who abused him as a child. Bitch wasn't kidding when she said that she'd go as far as eliminating Hae-in for using him, and Eun-seong may be dumb but not-so-dumb to not know what Seul-hee is capable of. I still feel like he's going to betray his own mother to save Hae-in by either helping Hyun-woo or helping Hae-in in his own twisted way.
📍BAEKHONG IN THEIR MARRIED COUPLE ERA!!! I love that Hae-in can now freely say what she truly feels about Hyun-woo and the hubs gushing when she said that she'd still marry him in any lifetime.
📍The sunset proposal was the reason why I had to pause because I was bawling my eyes out, I kid you not. Hae-in wanting to be officially Mrs. Hyun-woo again so badly but stopped herself because she knew her condition was worsening and she doesn't want to burden him anymore. She wants to spend the rest of her life with him but it's far from possible, she wants to be the wife Hyun-woo deserves but the future holds no guarantee. She was torn between following what her heart wants and not wanting to rip Hyun-woo apart more than she already has (because of her illness). It was such a heartbreaking scene that's why I was crying so hard.
📍And then, the writer and the director decided to shift the scene to Aunt Beom-ja and (future) new husband, the part when they were looking for (future) new hubby's mother and they were kinda like too close to each other, I was smiling because they looked so cute together so you can imagine that I was smiling from ear to ear with tears still running down my face. Also, I did mention before that Aunt Beom-ja is a more unhinged version of Hae-in, actually...auntie and future new hubby are kinda like the older version of BaekHong, only crazier and more chaotic.
📍Da-hye finally realizing that she sided the wrong people. I'm just glad that she was able to get out safely and return to the Hongs. But I am so proud of Soo-cheol for manning up and defending Da-hye and baby Geon-u, he's really growing up 🥹.
📍But I didn't really expect that Hong Man-dae aka grandpa Hong would make such a huge sacrifice to save his family. He was an idiot for trusting Mo Seul-hee but I never wanted him dead. He didn't even get to see his family before passing (except Hae-in but it wasn't like a happy reunion) which was so fucking tragic. Though, I do hope that Papa Hong would finally have the courage to step-up as the head of the family, he's their pillar now and they need him more than ever.
📍Can we talk about the last clip for a bit? I know the show apparently loves to give us viewers cliffhangers and mind boggling shit but I'm overthinking rn. What if they found nothing in the panic room? Or Yoon Eun-seong found it first? This story is unpredictable, anything could happen, but what I do know is that Hae-in is gonna wear the ring Hyun-woo gave her in the next episode. Iykyk.
📍THE EPILOGUE!!! BaekHong has crossed paths many times already and in those times Hyun-woo has saved Hae-in. They're really meant for each other!!
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For people always saying OC x canon is cringe, friendly reminder that Sieg is technically Type-Moon’s OC who they shipped with anime Joan of Arc.
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SUNFLOWER (CANON DIVERGENCE AU)
the absolute *chef's kiss*, depth, angst, and clownery of the kakagai dynamic this fic has is beyond insane and amazing and I am not ashamed to say that I have binged it at least 7 times
Now, my lovelies, please read "Sunflower" by cloudynebula and lapifors once more and bask in its utter perfection. But make sure you're in the right headspace for it because it's really heavy and dark tho! Please take care of yourself first <3
*more incoherent babbling in the tags lmaooo*
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I do think that strict parents create anxious, sneaky, fearful adults with no self-esteem but I also think that parents who let their kids do anything create unstable, selfish, unempathetic adults with too much self-esteem so they can’t take constructive criticism and totally shut down whenever they’re met with conflict so like. How do you know how to get the balance right this is one of the things that scares me the most about potentially having kids one day bc I refuse to create a person in either extreme lmao
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x. average sci-fi milf
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the way i have absolutely no business being the way i am
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Someone told me that he 'like hanging around with me' and he 'love my smile' today
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🧸🚪
hello dishy! 🥰 excellent selection, i hope ur good with me making it mungrove and also i know the prompt list was for blurbs? but this is definitely just a short ficlet snippet thing lmfao enjoy
🚪 showing up at the other's door, begging for comfort + 🧸 exes with feelings
**
Eddie needs help. He needs answers. He'd like to wake up safe in his bed and find out everything that's happened in the past twelve hours has been a fucked up dream about a girl he hasn't talked to since middle school, but he can still smell sweet, floral perfume and feel cotton sweater-wrapped shoulders against his clammy palms, and it's all too much, too detailed. He hasn't stopped hearing bones snap, crack, echoing in his ears, over and over. He's not sure it'll ever stop.
He wants to find out that none of it was real, but barring that, the only other thing he wants right now is...
Billy peers out at him from the doorway of his dimly lit trailer. "Eddie?" he says, rough with sleep, gentle, unguarded. Eddie's heart squeezes painfully. He sounds like early mornings and the sun streaming through dirty blinds, the sigh he'd muffle into a borrowed pillow before the inevitable I gotta go.
This was a bad idea.
Billy rubs his face, turning to half-hide in the shadow of his front door. "What are you doing here?" he mumbles.
"I—" Eddie's voice stumbles and breaks, falling to pieces before he can even start.
Blue eyes catch his, holding, focused. The wall Billy puts between himself and the world slips back into place before concern can bleed into his expression. "What happened?" He's sharper now, almost defensive, and that's familiar too. Everything that came out of Billy's mouth after the mall fire was some version of this, fearful and too stubborn to show it, too locked down to let Eddie in on what was tearing him up inside beyond the physical damage.
This was a terrible idea.
Eddie is trembling. He hasn't stopped yet. He spent the whole drive out to the lake shaking like a leaf and terrified, so preoccupied that he didn't stop to think about how dumb it was to come to Billy seeking shelter. He doesn't get to do this anymore, he doesn't have the right.
And yet he can't stop himself from asking.
"I don't know what the fuck is going on, something—something happened, and—" Eddie scrubs a hand over his face and isn't surprised to find his fingertips come away wet. "Can I come in, please, I need your help."
Billy's gaze drops, sweeping down and back up, his brow furrowed the whole time. He's silent, gripping the door with one white-knuckled hand. And finally he looks Eddie in the eye again, expression giving away nothing. "Yeah, okay."
All the air rushes from Eddie's lungs, and his vision blurs. Relief turns his knees to jelly, and all he can do is hold himself back from collapsing against Billy's chest.
It's a shock to his system when Billy reaches out and takes his hand. His look is decidedly grim, and his shoulders are tense, but his touch is warm and sweet and soothing. "C'mon," he says quietly, and guides Eddie inside.
💕 tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove 💕
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i don't like that post that's talking about "good fanfiction" and "good literature" not every story has to be some peak amazing tale with a whole beginning and end and comparing original fiction with fanfiction doesn't work bc fanfiction is inherently referential and original works you have to build everything up so obviously they're completely different in terms of storytelling.
i totally get trying to teach people that in order for an original story to make sense, you have to familiarize your audience with the characters and setting and that's fine but like why does it matter if it can be considered "good" not everyone writes something to be "good." and good is a subjective way to describe it anyway like everyone's definition of good is different so idk why they phrased it like that.
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I knew today was going to be a bad day.
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