#there was something i was supposed to do before i can get my bus pass for college that i didnt do until literally now

[3rdmeasurement]

actually panicking a bit rn

#there was something i was supposed to do before i can get my bus pass for college that i didnt do until literally now #and it can take up to 4 weeks to process #but college starts in a bit over 2 weeks and i cant rlly be paying £25 a week for bus tickets until it gets sorted #didnt have to do this last year which is why i hadnt done it til now #i mean i have to enroll onto my course on friday so i can try and get it sorted then but. its just a fucking nightmare

[ellemj]

Wear That Again: 12 Days of Smut #7

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

This fic was inspired by two things:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Ha16Rj/ this Tiktok edit by @the.stark.internship ( @thestarkinternship on Tumblr)

@littlemiss-yeehaw's latest smutty drawing which can be found on her blog, I've stared at it since yesterday and I'm still not over it.

Summary: Bucky ruins your brief holiday romance with a SHIELD agent out of jealousy. You'd think storming in and yelling at the super soldier would've ended in an argument and some slamming doors, but that's not what happens at all.

Warnings: profanity, some objectifying thoughts, possessive!Bucky, jealous!Bucky, thigh riding, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don't know how tf it's happening but y'all have me averaging 1.2k notes per day on my blog for the last couple of days and it feels surreal. Also I just want to say, I wrote Bucky out-of-character for this one-shot and this is not how I imagine he'd be at all, but it was fun to write hehe.

            “You little fucking shit.” You finally snap as the elevator doors are opening to let you out into the common living area of the tower. “Bucky, you are such an asshole.” You’re absolutely livid, and if your words hadn’t showed that then your actions sure would’ve. You’re slamming your hands down on the kitchen island before the elevator doors have even fully closed. Bucky sits on a barstool with a near straight face, completely unaffected by your rage and only briefly looking up at you as he chews through a bite of his Chinese takeout. “You’re the reason he stood me up, aren’t you? What the hell did you do this time?”

            “Wear that outfit again.”

            You’re silent for the longest moment yet, at least fifteen seconds, and Bucky thinks it might be a new record for you. He hasn’t paid attention to a damn thing you’ve said since you walked in, but he sure as hell paid attention to what you chose to wear tonight. You were supposed to be going on your third date with a SHIELD agent who crossed your path a number of times professionally before finally asking you out two weeks ago, and with it being just six days until Christmas, you were dressing for the occasion tonight. You’re wearing a tight black turtleneck sweater that’s tucked neatly into the tiniest holiday-themed miniskirt you could find. It's a sort of festively-colored tight plaid skirt that barely covers a thing, but you didn’t wear it for any reason other than to encourage your date to rip it off of you later. However, Bucky made sure the poor guy wouldn’t even get the chance to see the damn thing.

            “What did you just say to me?” Your voice is shaking but not with fear, no. It’s shaking with the sheer amount of anger that’s currently eating you alive. Bucky lifts his gaze to meet yours as he sets his chopsticks down and picks up his half-empty beer bottle from the countertop. Letting his eyes roam over the entirety of your figure that isn’t obscured by the kitchen island, he boldly repeats himself.

            “Wear that again.”

            “If you like it, I’m burning it.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at the man before you. Bucky lets out a low laugh now, the sound is melodious but his gaze hardens and narrows as he focuses in on your face.

            “If I like it?” All he can think about is pushing you up against a wall, lifting the back of that tiny little piece of fabric you call a skirt, and fucking you until Christmas morning. If he likes it? Hell, he fucking loves it.

            “That’s it, I’m burning it.” You’ve had enough. First, he ruins your short-lived holiday romance. Then, he has the audacity to act like your outfit is doing something for him. As you said before, he’s a little fucking shit. You shoot him one last passing glare as you move around the island and start heading toward the hallway, ready to lock yourself in your room and plot his demise for the rest of the night. But Bucky just can’t let you have the last word, and he sure as hell can’t let you walk away from him looking like something that belongs under the Christmas tree. Or more accurately, something that belongs under him.

            The two of you have done this dance so many times that you aren’t even surprised when you hear his barstool slide away from the island seconds before you feel a firm hand gripping your forearm and yanking you backward. You’re not surprised when suddenly, your front is pushed roughly against the wall of the hallway and his lips graze over the shell of your ear. Frustratingly, you’re not even a little bit surprised when you feel heat rushing through your body and settling between your legs.

            “You’ll wear that outfit again, when I tell you to.” Bucky’s tone is so much less indifferent than it was only a moment ago. It’s so full of lust that it leaves you trembling, awaiting whatever his next move may be. He knows no one else is in the tower tonight, which means if he wanted to, he could take you right here in the hallway and not feel an ounce of guilt over it. Who’s he kidding? He’s done that before even with everyone in the tower, and guilt sure wasn’t the feeling he felt afterward. But he wants you in his room tonight. You and that fucking skirt.

            Bucky takes your silence as obedience and steps away from you, letting you push yourself off of the wall and turn around to face him. If you’re being honest, you’re a little disappointed. That’s all he wants from you tonight?

            “How long has it been since the last time we had sex?” Bucky questions. He knows you remember, probably down to they very hour. He remembers, but he has to make sure you do too.

            “Two weeks.” You haven’t slept with Bucky since the SHIELD agent asked you out. Bucky mulls over the length of time in his mind. He wants to remedy that, he wants to fuck you tonight, but he won’t. You started seeing someone and threw Bucky to the side so easily that him waiting two weeks to ruin your dating life was the nicest possible thing he could’ve done in retaliation. He’s not going to give you what you need now, at least not everything you need.

            Bucky’s silent as he pushes open his bedroom door and waits for you to step inside before him. He’s still silent as he sits on the edge of the bed and beckons you to stand between his legs. He begins raking his hands up the outsides of your thighs, sliding them underneath your skirt until he feels the waistband of your sheer tights. He isn’t so silent when he begins sliding those down your legs, letting out a soft groan when his hands meet your bare skin underneath. It’s been too fucking long since he’s touched you and an unfamiliar peace settles in his soul when he feels your warmth. You’re expecting him to rip the tights off, followed by the skirt and everything else you’re wearing. However, Bucky’s plan involves keeping you nearly fully clothed, and only partially satisfied. Once he has your heels and tights on his bedroom floor, he kneads your ass underneath your skirt, letting his fingertips brush over the fabric of your thong. God, he’s really practicing his restraint tonight. His cock is already hard, threatening to rip the seam of his pants with even the slightest movement, but he isn’t planning on getting his own fix tonight.

            “Sit.” He commands, gripping your hips with both hands and pulling you down to straddle one of his thighs. As soon as your clothed core makes contact with the toned muscle of his thigh, you stiffen and try to shift your weight so you won’t be so stimulated. Bucky makes an annoyed face at you before slipping one hand back underneath your skirt and drawing your panties to the side, causing your wet clit to press against the fabric of his pants. “I’m not rewarding you for spending your time with some other guy for the last two weeks, I’m not having sex with you.”

            You’re about to protest, to tell Bucky that he’s being sensitive, that the two of you never had any rules about dating, but Bucky senses your opposition and begins dragging you back and forth over his thigh. He looks down between the two of you as a wet spot quickly begins forming where your pussy meets his clothed leg. Fuck. It feels too good for you to even consider stopping and telling him that he’s an asshole. So, you go along with his guiding movements, grinding against his leg and finding just the right amount of pressure and friction to start heading toward an orgasm.

            “You didn’t have to scare the guy off.” You mutter as you lean forward, letting your hands rest on Bucky’s shoulder as you place a gentle kiss against the side of his neck. He sighs and tilts his head to the side to give you better access, but his hands continue to guide the movement of your hips.

            “Three dates were enough. I couldn’t stand it anymore.” He admits. You feel an odd sense of pride surge through you at his words, though you have no idea if he’s being honest or not. “I couldn’t let him have you like this.” You suck on the skin just beneath Bucky’s left ear and pick up the pace with which you’re grinding on his thigh.

            “Fuck, James.”

            Bucky knows this isn’t the right time for the conversation, so as you grind out an orgasm on his thigh, letting out the most heavenly moans and whimpers just for him, he tells himself to hold it together until Christmas. That’s when he’ll tell you. That’s when he’ll tell you that he wants more than the angry, hateful late-night rendezvous in his room or yours. He wants more than sitting around waiting for you to come home from a date while he nearly goes insane with jealousy. He wants more of you. Fuck, he wants all of you.

            Just as you’re coming undone on his thigh while moaning his name and squeezing his shoulders, he lets his hands snake underneath your little plaid skirt. He grips your ass with both hands, digging his fingertips into the supple skin there as he leans into your neck. You feel him take a deep breath in as you’re coming down from your orgasm high.

            “Why do you always smell so fucking good?” He asks, licking a small stripe up the side of your neck before pressing his lips against it in a soft kiss. You only hum lightly in response, your brain not quite ready to formulate a full sentence. Bucky presses a second kiss to your neck, and then a third as his works his way up to your lips. His hands move to smooth over the fabric of that little skirt that he can’t seem to get over. “Stay away from the fireplace this week. I can’t have you burning this skirt.”

TAG LIST: @sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @thealloveru2 @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @wishingforwonderland @mrsjoequinn @nixxaswrld @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @fandomsfeminismandme @missadored

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel

[randomshyperson]

Five Times Carol Danvers Kisses You

Summary: The five times Carol Danvers kisses you until you two finally get together. 

Warnings: Mentions but nothing explicit, a lot of fluff, mutual pining (and typical angst of trope), best friends to lovers, pre-canon-compliant (takes place before Carol is taken), kissing, happy(ish) ending. | Words: 4.836k

A/N-> As mentioned on this blog before, I absolutely love the dynamics of "Five Times Something" and after watching The Marvels I became obsessed with Carol Danvers, and here I am with something about my beloved blondie. It's short and sweet, and I didn't want to write anything too angsty but you can get hints of what's to come from the canon (Dr.Lawson being a Kree in disguise and what will happen to Carol). But the fic doesn't address this directly and ends up with a happy scene. Let's all live in denial.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

One.

“This is not a place to raise a child” was the justification your father used when he left. Funny enough, he didn't take the child, you, away from all the high-tech military weapons that he described as inadequate for a child to grow up around. 

His lost, it what your mother said, an easy smile on her lips while she offered you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She still had some grease on her jacket and a lot of dust on her hair but she looked beautiful. That was just how things were for Wendy Lawson.

And because she was the best mom anyone could ask for, or at least that was what you would perceive it with your limited references of healthy families. She was the best because she would let you sit around while she worked for the Shield, casually teaching you advanced engineering like it was the same homework you had from secondary school.

That was the only life you knew: Afternoons of trying to stay out of the way of Shield Agents and their big weapons until you were old enough to have a gun yourself.

But before that time came, some of them worried you weren't having a decent childhood. Away from guns at least.

You don't know which of the Agents suggested to Doctor Lawson the kart track, but you wish you could thank them. Your mother, as the busy cientist she always has been, was not available to be around all of the evenings you wished to spend there but she trusted your independence to use the bus after school. Besides, you had the impression that there were always Shield Agents keeping an eye on you no matter where you went.

Só for three whole years, that old place was your favorite. You would run out from the classroom with the first ring of the bell to get to the kart track as fast as you could, and for all those three years, you were also the best runner there.

Of course, it cost you some bloody noose and bruised hands. Especially with sore losers little boys who were very unpleased to be second placed by some random girl. There were also the parents, who would whisper not very lowly on how absurd it was to let an unsupervised little girl in such a violent activity.

As luck would have it, someday you were no longer the only little girl around.

The Danvers were local, and you always thought there were only three of them. The grumpy father and the loud and popular sons. But one day, the one with the warmest smile, the youngest son brought someone with him.

His little sister's name was Carol. She had her blonde hair tied down and she looked ready to punch anyone who gave her a hard time. All the Danvers kind looked the same to be fair. Blonde, strong and angry.

Unlike her brother and their free pass to do as they please, Carol was constantly reprimanded by her father. Even there, in front of the whole crowd and runners, he would scream and pinch her ear, adding to the fury that shone behind Carol's little blue eyes.

The other children would whisper just like their parents but growing up with spies and secret agents gave you this second nature to sneak in and out of places without being noticed. You weren't supposed to hear some of the adults whispering how Mr.Danvers drank more than he should or how his older son was leaving next summer for the army with a purple eye he didn't get in the training. You weren't supposed to but you did.

So the next time Carol crashed a car with one of the other runners, you messed up your perfect record to help her.

Her dad screamed again, as usual. But he left, muttering she could find her way home since she was so clever and Carol had those thick tears in her eyes that made them bluer, so you were helping her before you could give a second thought to it.

She didn't mind that you took her hand and brought her to the administration lobby. She's more interested in knowing how the hell you knew how to get there in the first place.

When you told her you grew up with spies she laughed thinking you were joking. You decided to tell her more stories in the hope it would distract her from the pain of the cuts she got in her legs from the crash.

It worked.

Carol had colorful patches on both her knees when you two sneaked out of there to the bus stop. You could take her home if she wished because you knew a lot about public transport but Carol smiled and said she could do it alone; Her dad was often not around and with soldiers brothers, she knew a lot about doing things by herself.

Yet, she appreciates the gesture and the thought. Her bus should be here in 25 minutes so you sit next to her and let your healthy knee brush her bruised one.

“My name is Carol Danvers by the way.” 

You have to chuckle at her line.

“I know who you are, Danvers.” You retort with an easy smile. She looks up with curiosity. You chuckle again. “You know your name is on the scoreboard, right?”

She laughs, almost shyly. You don't know that yet but Carol is not the best at making friends. Especially girlfriends because apparently, every girl hated how not 60s girly behavior she acted on as much as any boy.

You didn't mind. If anything, it kinda made you like her more.

“You didn't have to do that back there you know?” She starts over, fingers tugging at the bandaid you put above her knee. “Lose the race to check on me.”

You shrug, eyes on the road. “No worries. There'll be other races. Besides, you're the only real competition I get there. If you're not participating, what's the fun in winning?”

Carol's cheeks grow a little hotter, but you're both too young to know it has nothing to do with the sun above your heads. You offer her a smile and she gets up to signal to the bus.

But before she leaves, she turns to you again.

It's quicker than her crash that morning, the thank you little peck on your right cheek but is as meaningful as losing a three-year Invictus status on a track race for someone.

Carol nearly flees the scene once she catches the first glimpse of surprise in your expression. You were caught off guard, that's all. But all you can do is laugh to yourself as you watch her run to her bus.

Tomorrow, when you are back here, you'll find Carol so you can share your lunch with her. Today, you would walk home with no clue why the spot she kissed was tingling.

-&-

Two.

Shield Academy is not the army. 

It is, as the name suggests, an academic program for the gifted-minded. It's a place where a child who grew up surrounded by the brightest minds on the planet can get it easily.

Well, of course, there's a lot of studying and tiring exams that you wouldn't describe as easy but when taking everything into consideration, the only place a brainy - or huge nerd as Carol would call it - could end up was there.

So while you had big dark blue sweaters with the Shield logo on them, Carol had worn out public school uniforms. 

But she was doing okay. In fact, if anyone asked you, even though you were the nerd one in that friendship, for you, Carol was quite brilliant. She had a quick mind and such a strong, well, everything. She was as clever as she was kind. She was passionate about anything she cared for and she was easily your favorite person.

The kart track gave space for the public library and the green plains behind Shield Academia as you two grew up. Carol would take her bike from across town and spend the whole day after school in those green yards with you. Often, she had a football with her while you had a book.

And while you tried to escape your Shield colleagues, Carol would find her spot at your side. She would watch those training agents and wish to be like them, while both of you knew she would follow her brothers to the military when the time came.

But for now, you're sixteen. And Carol has been your best friend for almost 6 years now. You're not sure if friends have anniversaries or if it's something reserved for dating, and since you're not gonna ask any of the agents around, especially not Doctor Lawson, you just assume is okay to get Carol a gift.

She had been wishing for a walkman for so long - she had three already, all broke down during some of her naughty antics, from jumping into the reservation without remembering to take them off her backpack to get into a fight with older kids who thrown her stuff just for the fun of it. So yes, she had those before and she loved music but somehow she always ended up breaking them so you thought maybe because you were the one gifting it, she would be more careful.

You were right of course, but that's hardly the point.

Carol started to act strange after the gift. Even days later, during movie night at her house, she got quiet, which is definitely not a Carol Danvers kind of attitude, so you started to wonder if the present was a good idea at all.

That of course, until Carol clarified the whole thing.

“I got you something too. For, hum, the anniversary thing.” 

You pinched her ribs, the nearly shy behavior was such an odd thing to testify that was actually terrifying you. Carol has been your best friend for way too long for that or anything to be awkward between you two.

But then again, adolescence makes everything weird.

You don't open the gift very graciously. Because you were in the middle of movie night, of course, hands full of popcorn butter and Carol was being weird and suspect that you just wanted to put an end to it.

You chuckle at her worn-out team jacket there.

“So your gift to me is your jacket?” You asked with a confused frown, watching your friend struggle with her words the next moments.

“No, I mean yes. But not, just that.” She starts and it's quite the scene. Carol Danvers not being able to talk when that's all she does. “It's my favorite jacket. I… really like it.”

“Do you want it back then?” You suggest with a confused laugh but Carol shakes her head immediately, her cheeks rosy.

“God, no, that’s not…” she takes a deep breath. “I like the jacket, a lot, but not as much as I like you. So I thought, maybe if I can give you something that I really like, it will mean…”

“Oh, I get it.” You say with a smile, holding the jacket against your chest as Carol switches the weight in her foot. “Thank you, blondie. But you don't have to give me your favorite stuff to show me you like me. You don't have to give me anything at all really. Perhaps, all you have to do is say it and I'll believe you.”

Carol nods, shallowing dryly, and without missing a beat, she repeats her words from before: “I really like you.” It's nearly a whisper, and the way she struggles to hold your gaze tells you everything you need to know.

You smile, aware of the warmth spreading in your cheeks and ears.

“I really like you too, Carol.” You tell her and with no hush, you put her jacket on. The blonde in front of you takes a shaky breath once the jacket is properly around your body. You're distracted with the new outfit to take notice of the new dark shine her eyes hold. “Gotta admit it, Danvers, I could totally worm the athletic style. I mean, I look super cool don't I?”

But your question goes unanswered. Carol moves forward, her hands grab the collar of the gifted jacket and just like the first time, she kisses you quicker than you can manage to process.

Her lips are dry against yours because she's nervous. Trembling and terrified. You pull away, and Carol has her eyes closed tightly, breathing unevenly.

You take a deep breath and lick your lips to moisten them a little and the second kiss is much better. 

There's this soft noise she makes when you move your mouth but the second you feel her tongue on your lower lip, there's noise around you two.

As if getting electrocuted, Carol jumps away just in time for her evidently drunk father to stumble inside the garage.

Carol is not eight anymore, but she's the only one left in that house. Her older brother taught her five different ways to break someone's noose, but Carol still shakes like the leaves if her father is around with his harsh words and angry looks.

This time, however, he takes a long glance at you both. The guilty looks, accelerated breathing, and he just laughs.

The only thing he says is a slur that makes Carol flinch. Then he turns his back and climbs the stairs to his bedroom, passing out in the hallway before he can make it through.

“Carol, I-” You try but she forces a smile and nods at the door.

“Please go.” She asks. “I have to take him to bed and you don't have to stay.”

“But-”

“Please.”

You leave. And Carol doesn't bring up that night for the next two years.

-&-

Three.

Graduation means Army. More specifically, the Air Force because of course Carol Danvers wants to fly away from everything and everyone.

“Not everyone.” She frowns when you tell her that. Then she smiles, legs brushing yours at the back of her truck. “I would love to have you up there with me.”

You chuckle, giving her shoulder a little bump with your own.

“Sorry Blondie, you know I hate planes.” You joke but the shine in her eyes is deeper now.

“What about spaceships?” She insists it.

You sigh into the night, pensive for a second.

“Well, Mom would probably love it if I ever suggest anything that involves flying.” You say, breaking into a chuckle as your hand moves to the leg you have bent in that position, which allows you to trace your fingers toward your ankle. “Of course, anything other than my secret little Pegasus.”

Carol gives a compliance smile at the mention of the secret tattoo you got on her seventeenth birthday but continues to watch you in silence.

The stars are shining bright above you two, and the parked truck gives as much privacy as one could get in that neighborhood. If you and Carol weren't girls, people would make conclusions.

Perhaps they’ll do it anyway.

“What would I even do up there, Danvers?” You ask her because Carol is so passionate about flying that you're starting to wonder if she is able to see a whole different world up there that you can't.

This time, her hand finds you before her lips. She brings her fingers to yours resting on the truck and locks them. She gets closer and closer and gives you all the time in the world to push her back.

But she's Carol, and she's beautiful and she's your best friend. Why wouldn't you want to kiss her?

There's tongue this time. Hesitant at first then curious, until finally hungry. Of course, Carol Danvers is a good kisser, this asshole.

You break apart, to complain with a husky tone that is unfair but Carol only chuckles before kissing you again. And again. Until somehow you end with your back against her truck, painting into her mouth.

And Carol is seventeen years old and she's a huge virgin like you who really wants this to change tonight. Not just that, of course, but she's still a teen and that's exactly what she chooses to say in order to make this less life-changing than it is.

Because sleeping together as a way of ending high school without the V Card has a completely different meaning than sleeping together because you really want to ruin a friendship.

You swallow at her suggestion, aware that the heat in your veins doesn't cover for the way your heart just broke inside your chest.

But you smile and tell Carol you love her, making sure it sounds platonic. Just to hurt her just as much.

It works, but she kisses you anyway.

-&-

Four.

Maria Rambeau is the most incredible person you have ever met. She's clever and fun and kindhearted. It's so easy to love her and it comes so naturally, that you can't really blame Carol.

You also have no right to be jealous, you tell yourself.

After all, Carol asked more than once for you to at least consider following her to the Air Force. You both had military families, so it made sense for her that you both ended up following the same path.

You were not entirely excluded from that, of course. But unlike Carol with her soldier training, you had medical classes. And while she and Maria learned to shoot people, you learned to heal them.

That of course until the third year, when Carol's training moved to space crafting and yours moved to biological charts. The Pegasus was not the only military project available for you, and being home was good but every time you caught a glimpse of the empty fields near the station, you remember afternoons with Carol and the lack of her ache a hell lot inside your chest.

But visiting her at the base and then at a local bar was a bittersweet occasion.

Because time went by and Carol made a new friend. A lovely and brilliant and apparently less confused woman new best friend. Maria who made her laugh and blush and was such a great company that you couldn't hate her no matter how much the jealousy burned inside your veins.

Somehow, no matter how many dove eyes Carol threw at Maria, she didn't catch them. Immune to her charm entirely. You kinda wished she would teach you that.

The last free week you had was spent visiting Carol and ending up in a bar. But Maria's night was continuing with a good-looking soldier somewheres else, so yours and Carol's would continue with cheap drinks.

It was probably common sense, not to mix alcohol with feelings but you and Carol clearly skipped that class.

You ended up pressed behind the bar's wall in a messy attempt of drunken make-out with your former best friend.

Carol tasted like beer and the army's year changed her. Even drunk, she knew her way around a woman's body now and you had to force your stupid brain to stop wondering about who she had been practicing with. Perhaps Maria was not immune to her charm as you thought she was.

Just as things were getting out of hand, that is, it was probably against some army rules to have sex behind one bar in the military area, Carol pulled away.

She looked so good like that, with messy hair and flushing cheeks, her lips swollen due to the whole thing.

But her eyes were so sad. And you couldn't push the alcohol and the lust away to have clear thoughts on that.

“We can't do this again.” She declares with a seriousness that makes you swallow hard. “I can't.”

She stumbles away and you nearly slip down the hall on your shaky legs. Carol is looking for her car keys but she will definitely fall asleep on the seat.

To be fair, you kinda wished that night would end in her car seat, just in very different scenarios.

“Why not, Danvers?” You manage to question once the anger pushes a little of the alcohol away. Carol sighs tiredly. “Why?” You almost scream and she stops in her tracks, turning to give you a hurt look.

“I can't do this again, okay?” She retorts and she's drunk but she's so hurt. You can see it in her eyes and it kills you to think it is something you have done it. “I don't have the strength in me to get over you again”.

Your world freezes for a whole second. Your mouth is bitter suddenly.

“O-over me?” You repeat her words, confusion mixing with the pain you feel growing in your chest. “When… When were you under me?”

The question is the best of what your drunk brain can come up with but it's enough for Carol to understand.

She lets out a sad chuckle. “C'mon, Lawson. How could you not know? Everyone did. Even my dad, especially my dad.” She corrects herself then, bitterly before taking a deep breath. “It's past. It doesn't matter anymore. We are no longer kids, messing around with things we don't understand. I know what am I. And I know we shouldn’t. I won't jeopardize our friendship again for someone I cannot have.”

There are tears in your eyes, and Carol has the fucking worst timing in the world because your brain simply can't catch up with the meaning of this conversation with all the booze in the way.

“Carol, what are you even saying?”

She just smiles, giving a nod to the bar.

“Let's get inside, I'll get you a cab back to your hotel.”

She doesn't let you question further and the next morning, when the hangover barely allows you to open your eyes, Carol says the worst thing you did last night was try dancing with a Statue.

-&-

Five.

Doctor Lawson has been acting strange lately. She says it's work stress when she returns your calls and ignores your advice about her retiring.

You use your mother's stress as an excuse to come home, and it seems ridiculous that you have to invent reasons to see Carol, but she gives you no choice. Things have been very strange between you in recent months.

The house is a mess, and it's the first time you've worried about the possibility of dementia.

Strange phrases, disconnected words. You think about calling the head of Shield when you put Dr. Lawson to bed after making her some hot tea, but you end up calling Carol.

Your former best friend brings her old truck into your garage.

"Hey, blondie." She hugs you first at the greeting, and you sigh with satisfaction at the contact. You almost forget the stress of the whole meeting with your mother. "It's good to see you."

"I missed you." Carol says with a smile, squeezing you tighter before letting go. "What happened? You sounded worried on the phone."

You sigh before telling her everything you saw, standing there leaning on Carol's truck in the dim light of the garage. It's her turn to sigh when you finish.

"Good thing I brought beer." She comments, getting a laugh out of you. 

You don't even notice the time passing that night, but it's like being back in senior year, sitting side by side in the back of Carol's truck, forgetting the world around you for a moment.

When the case of beers is about to run out, you've said almost everything you have to say. Carol thinks she needs to add something more.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but... I can't say I'm sad." She begins, looking straight ahead, a half-full can of beer in her hands. "With the possibility of you coming to live here again, I mean. I've kind of hated Washington since you left. And Shield too, for taking you away."

You giggle shyly at this and don't know what to say to Carol, so you just decide to hug her. But you're a bit dizzy after the third beer and miscalculate your approach. You end up too close to her face and can see almost in slow motion how the blue darkens or how Carol chokes on her breath.

"I'm sorry, I-" you begin in a hoarse voice, but she doesn't let you finish. The beer can slips out of her hand as she uses both to pull your face towards her.

It's an intense, messy, and passionate kiss. Carol swallows all the sighs that escape your lips as she presses her mouth to yours. Her tongue doesn't ask for passage. You melt against her and try your best to match her energy, suddenly feeling very dizzy, unrelated to the beer.

Her hands move from your face to your neck and down to your waist. Carol mentions pulling you onto her lap, but the balcony lights flicker on and she grunts as she pulls away.

You're still blinking spellbound at the whole thing, trying to catch your breath as she stands up, adjusting her hair.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have done that." She mutters more to herself than to you, hoarse and upset. You swallow dry. "I'm so stupid."

"Carol."

"You're so fucking stupid, Carol Danvers, I swear to God." She ignores your call, continuing to curse quietly to herself. You frown, but end up looking at the porch; your mother has woken up and looks just as lost as before and you really need to check on her.

When you get out of the truck, you touch Carol on the shoulder, and she turns around almost in despair.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm leaving-"

"Carol, shut up." You cut her off and don't let her say another word.

She shuts up immediately. "I really have to get back inside, and make sure my mom doesn't turn on any water or store the cat in the fridge again." You chuckle apologetically, stroking her cheek. "But I need you to understand that this isn't a mistake, an accident or a thoughtless act after a few beers. At least it isn't and it never was for me. We need to start talking to each other."

Carol nods quickly, swallowing as she looks down at your swollen lips. "Yeah, talking is good."

You smile, and hear the sound of the cat in the house and think you'd better start running. "Later, okay?"

"Later."

But your mother doesn't have dementia. She's not even allowed in a regular hospital. Shield is strangely private about everything, but you're practically coerced into signing confidentiality papers about the current state of Dr. Lawson, who seems to miraculously improve after spending an hour in a room with other agents.

Carol is the only person you can talk to about things, and she has news of her own.

"Maria is pregnant." She tells you, with a twinkle in her eye, without waiting for you to finish absorbing the news. "And she wants me to be the godmother!"

You're happy for Maria, especially perhaps because she's seeing that handsome soldier and she and Carol have nothing going on. Also, you need to tell Carol that you can go back to Washinton now that your mother is better.

"Oh, I thought..." The blonde hesitates as she hears the news, trying not to look upset by forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I thought you'd decided to stay."

You're having breakfast in the living room of your house, Dr. Lawson is working upstairs. You swallow the bitter feeling of hurting Carol again.

"I would, for Mom. But why would I stay in Louisiana?" It's a rhetorical question because you both know very well what would make you stay. Carol laughs sadly, looking down. You get tired of pretending. " I would stay for you. I would stay for... us."

She looks at you in silence, a conflict of emotions on her face. "Don't be ridiculous, you can't just give up your career for a friendship-"

"Carol." You cut her off seriously, and she choked on her sentence, her eyes as tearful as yours. You give her a small smile, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

She swallows dryly, and despite reaching out to take your hand, she insists; "I'm gonna need you to say it."

"God, you're such an asshole." You gasp with emotion, laughing as tears of happiness escape yours and her eyes. Carol also laughs but waits. "Okay, Danvers. You've got me. I'm completely, irrevocably in love with you. I have been for a long time, maybe since the first time I saw you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

Carol almost knocks over the coffee table when she moves in to kiss you but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fics #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagines #captain marvel #marvel imagines

[sunshine-theseus]

Meme Girls | Zecira Mušovic x Reader

Words: 2.7k Summary: doing a video with Zecira leads to a lot of unnecessary angst Warnings: angst, poor early a.m. writing request for - @wosofanfics note: y'all i'm sorry if this sucks. it has been proof read but i'm literally half asleep and it's 1:15am. i hope it's good.

“Welcome back to another episode of Meme Girls.” Laughter breaks out across the room as Zecira tries to introduce the video, tripping over her own tongue.

Aggie and I are sat on bean bags facing each other, Zecira between us. We were supposed to doing a football challenge with some of the other girls for someone’s YouTube channel but whoever was supposed to be joining the goalkeeper here had to pull out. That left us.

“To my- stop laughing! To my right side, Agnes Beever Jones!” I give a small cheer and clap as Aggie throws her hands up in the air, all of us laughing simultaneously. The camera man gives us a dirty look, a sign for us to hurry this up.

“And to my left,” I give her a wink when Zecira turns her head to look at me.

“Y/n, the hotshot, L/n!” I can hear some of the girls outside the door, cheering on as well as they pass by, some even whistling.

“Why does she get a cool nickname? That’s not fair.” Aggie complains, adjusting herself in her beanbag to look at me.

“I’m simply better.” A cheshire grin is thrown her way.

-

“When Emma tells you training is cancelled because of the rain.” The prompt is arguably quite easy but we both spend some time contemplating which photo suited it best. Aggie holds up a relatively old picture of Fran, clearly walking off the bus for a game, her thumbs are up, and earphones are in.

“Completely chill. A day to relax and have no worries, spend time with friends. Whatever you want.”

“Nah it’s time to celebrate. That call is rare and I’m appreciating every damn second.” I rather aggressively pull my photo from the stack of cards. A picture of me from last season after a UWCL game against Lyon, my shirt clutched in my hands as I knee slide into the corner after scoring the winning goal.

“Wow. You look really good there.” Zecira’s voice is pretty alluring as she compliments me, and I turn a fiery shade of red.

“This isn’t fair. Z is going to pick you because you’re in love or whatever.” The young striker whines.

“You and the fans with those stupid speculations. We’re just best friends.” I avoid looking at Z as I try to jokingly tell Aggie off, her eyes rolling at my denial. What I do miss is the light that dims in Zecira’s eyes as I say it.

“Whatever you say.”

We’re given a few more prompts before the media manager calls time. I end up winning 3-2, Aggie tossing a fit by throwing her cards at me. Her fake childishness is scolded by one of the onlookers, clearly too serious in comparison to us, but we only continue to laugh as we stand from the bean bags. I take hold of Zecira’s hand to help her up as well but pull too hard, the Swede falling forward as I rush to catch her. My hands slip under her shirt as I grab her hips and both of us blush a deep red as I try to apologise, trying to forget the feeling of her skin beneath my hands.

-

The next few days between Zecira and I are awkward. Between the tripping situation and the comments from Aggie, our relationship had been strained and neither of us wanted to bring it up, so we didn’t talk at all. The things fans had to say under the video didn’t help.

‘Zecira and Y/n are definitely dating right?’

‘Find someone who looks at you the way Z looks at Y/n’

‘New favourite friends to lovers.’

They were funny, sure, but untrue. At least that’s what I told myself whenever I looked at my best friend, dark hair tucked behind her ears while laughing at something Guro said, and I felt jealous. Or when I go to score a goal in training and she dives for the ball, her shirt riding up and the tight muscles of her abdomen flashing briefly, and I can feel my face heat up and my stomach tighten.

And eventually, due to popular demand, I’m back in another video, facing Sam in a ‘Meme Girls Championship’.

“Welcome to the Meme Girls Championship. Today we have the two winners of the previous games, Samantha Kerr and Y/n L/n. Are you ready?” Sam lets out a guttural scream and I simply nod, trying not to freak out about the tingle in my leg where Zecira and my legs touch.

“Here we go. When you make a tackle outside the penalty box, but the other team still get the penalty.” I flick through my cards, searching for the best one, but Sam is ready in no time.

She holds up a picture of Zecira and Ann-Katrin, standing side by side with sour looks on the faces. It’s good enough for a chuckle but I’m certain I can get a better one. I eventually land on a picture of Jessie. She’s dressed in an old training kit, hands covering her face, clearly disappointed in something.

Zecira takes a moment, looking back and forth between the two photos we’re holding up.

“Zecira. You’re in it.” Sam gives her a side eye, hinting at the fact she thinks she should win.

“Wifey Z. You know this is the better one.” The nickname had been a running joke between us for some time, so neither of us think much of it, despite the obvious fact we probably both wished it meant more.

“Mmmm, I have to go with Y/n’s.”

“No! These cards are unfair! I used that last time and you picked Jessie’s one of me breaking my shoulder!”

“Get wrecked Sammy.”

-

The comments under that video are unexpected. I don’t remember doing anything that would elicit any ‘couple’ comments, yet they were full of them.

‘I think Y/n just accidentally exposed their relationship at 1:17’

‘WIFEY? She knowwws. They’re definitely together, you don’t just call someone your wife.’

So apparently, I did imply we were a couple, but it was from a simple misunderstanding. The issue that comes with that is the inability to deny it. If you deny it, fans assume you’re hiding something, and obviously there was nothing to confirm, so we had to live with it.

Turns out it was hard to live with. Anytime either of us posted, those comments would pop up, asking us to confirm it. At games there were fans shouting it out. Even the girls began speculating whether we’d been secretly hiding a relationship for who knows how long. It was beginning to get tiring, especially when I have feelings for her.

I wanted nothing more to just go up and kiss her and tell her how much I like her, then the comments could be true, and I’d know that. Hopefully it’d also mean I’d get to hold her hand as we walk side by side and kiss her good morning every day. But I was certain she didn’t feel the same, so that was that.

~~~~~

It took a week after the video was posted for things to go back to normal within the team and between Zecira and I. Occasionally Millie or Jess would jokingly ask us ‘how the married life is’, or something along those lines, and we’d all just laugh.

It was a tradition between me and Z, that after a London derby, we’d pick a nice restaurant and go out for dinner. Both of us get dressed up and walk out of the stadium together, sign a few things and go. It started in 2021 and we hadn’t missed a dinner since. So obviously that’s what I prepared for when we had a derby coming up.

I had a new rusty orange, satin dress that I’d brought in preparation for the dinner. Hanging it on the rack in my cubby before I got changed into our warm-up kit always made me a little nervous, aware of the casual outfits that adorned everyone else’s wracks. I didn’t bother looking over at Zecira’s space, expecting her outfit to be hanging like it always was. Perhaps I should have.

-

The game was tough as always during a derby, and very physical. The likes of Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord made it difficult to stay standing if the ball was at your feet and I knew I was likely to come out with bruises from the start. I must say I didn’t expect the black eye that began swelling after an elbow to the face from Lotte.

By half time I looked a wreck, and Emma was prepared to sub me off if they didn’t let up by 60 minutes. I’d lost count of the number of bruises that had begun developing on my legs and arms, even my torso was sure to be black and blue, and admittedly my eye was somewhat hard to see out of. I was also limping, a studs up tackle from Katie landing on the inside of my right ankle making the tissue rather tender.

“You’re going to look like that blueberry girl from Willy Wonka soon.” Zecira jokes as we make our way back out to the pitch.

“Heh yeah, dinner might be a little awkward for the other people around.” I get a smile back before she makes her way to the goal, and I head to the middle of the field to meet with Erin to do some short drills again.

-

The game ends in a tie. 2-2 across the board. I gathered more injuries as the game went on but nothing that wasn’t more than superficial, and I was buzzing to sign a few things and take some pictures with the fans before heading back and dressing up for dinner with my best friend.

Then I see them. Zecira is only a few people away from me at the barrier, talking to a guy. The conversation seems very interesting and sweet, nothing more than a footballer meeting a fan. Until they kiss. So, as her best friend, I make my way over. Why had she never mentioned him?

“Hey Z! Who’s this?”

“This is Tom. We’re dating, nothing official yet. He’s going to take me out for dinner tonight.” It’s hard to be upset when you see the smile that spread across her face. Her dimples were showing and there was a sparkle in her eye. But I wasn’t one to just let someone break a tradition after 2 and a half years.

“Tonight? What, after we go to dinner? You know, at the restaurant we’ve been waiting for a table at for months?”

“N- no I mean right after I get changed.”

“We always do tonight Z.” I start to seethe through my teeth.

“Well can’t you go like tomorrow or something?” I understand Tom was trying to help. I can only assume he wasn’t aware about the years long tradition between the girl he’s dating and her best friend. But I could imagine that if we were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears and my arm would be swinging, getting ready to knock him out in one hit.

“Uhhh, no. No we cannot. Because not only does it take months to get a table, we have to go tonight because it’s tradition. Routine. We’ve never missed a derby dinner once Zecira and like damn I’m going to let us start now. Not for some guy.”

“Common it’s just one. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll make up for it I promise.”

“Make up for it? There’s no making up this dinner. But have fun with Tom. I guess I’ll go get real dressed up, eat portions that are far too small and drink much too expensive wine by myself and be thrown looks all night. See you in training.” As I storm off, I catch glimpses of the remaining crowd that is yet to trickle out and realise perhaps I should have waited.

Now embarrassed as well as angry, I run down the tunnel in desperate search for an empty room. I eventually stumble into one and slam the door closed and lock it. The walls rattle and I hear something fall off one of them, but I find it hard to care as I search for the light switch.

Once I find it, it’s hard for me to hold back all the emotions that have been building up over some time. I rip my boots of and throw them at the door with all my might. I’m surprised the window doesn’t shatter.

“Stupid fucking feelings. Stupid fucking dinner. Stupid fucking Tom. Stupid fucking game.” The list goes on for some time as I cry, broken up every now and then by a scream.

Eventually I slump to the floor in the middle of the room and sob. My chest heaves and I struggle to breathe as I cry into the ground. The bruises and black eye are long forgotten as my lungs struggle to expand, and I begin to panic.

‘This cannot be fucking happening right now no no no.’ a panic attack is the last possible thing I need and I’m in a random room all alone. No one knows where I am. Everyone could have gone home by now.

My head is pounding. Or maybe it’s someone at the door. I’m not sure. I don’t have the energy to figure it out.

‘I hope someone finds me soon’ is probably the last thought I’m aware of having. But then someone’s arms wrap around me. Their perfume is familiar, but I can’t quite place it as they hook an arm beneath my knees and another behind my back. Most of my surroundings are lost, sight blurred and hearing fuzzy as I try to draw in more air, so I don’t know where I am until I feel a mattress beneath me.

I could identify the medical room beds in my sleep, and this was definitely one. After a few minutes of just resting there, my breathing started to slow and I came around. Newly aware of a hand gripping my own, I turn to the person beside me.

“Zecira? What are you doing here? You have dinner with what’s his face.”

“You’re more important. And, what you said on the field… you’re right. I was wrong in breaking tradition for some guy I’m not even really into. It’s- it’s just…” she trails off with a sigh.

“It’s just that, I needed something to take my mind off you.”

“Off me?”

“Yes. Look, after those videos we did on media day, and the one after, I couldn’t fathom the idea of me telling you how I feel and you rejecting me. I like you so much but I know you don’t like me back so I started going on dates. Tom was the only bearable one.”

“Wait wait wait wait. You think I don’t like you? Zecira, there aren’t enough words to express how much I like you. Seeing you with Tom, it, it made me mad about the dinner sure, but I was also jealous. I want to be the one kissing you and taking you on dates, holding your hand, celebrating a win.”

“What?”

“Kiss me you fool.” The angle is poor but despite it, we lean toward each other until our lips are connected.

It becomes quite a hungry kiss, but I pull away before it can get too heated, smiling at the girl in front of me.

“If we get ready and leave now, we could still make that reservation. Make it our first date?”

-

That’s how we end up hand in hand, waiting to be seated. The satin gown hugs me perfectly and compliments Zecira’s sage green dress.

“I’m really sorry for bursting up on you. Especially on the pitch.”

“I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve told me in advance but it didn’t warrant that reaction.”

“I should’ve spoken to you about what was going on.”

“Kiss me and we call it even?” her hair falls around our faces as she leans down to kiss me. It’s gentle and sweet and tastes like her vanilla lip gloss. Life feels good when you’re in love with your best friend.

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wsl #woso fanfics #chelsea fcw #zecira musovic #zecira musovic x reader #cfcw #meme girls

[manyaccidents]

"All done cutie, you can go back to coloring now" said Alyssa as she finished doing the last tape on my fresh diaper.

"But it's no fair!" I whined, all too aware of how childish I sounded. Trying my best to come across more mature, and wanting to be taken seriously, I continued in a slight huff "I don't even need a babysitter. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself". The situation I found myself in painted the opposite picture, but I was still trying desperately to hold onto the few last crumbs of dignity I had left, and even those were quickly slipping out of my grasp.

"Oh you're a big girl?" Alyssa said with a hint of a smile. "I'm so sorry sweetheart, I didn't realize. Tell you what, why don't you explain to me why you're a big girl who can take care of herself. If you are able to convince me, I'll convince your Daddy for you!"

Excitement bubbled up within me. Finally! A chance to get out of this! But almost as soon as the feeling came, it was replaced by one of unconfident apprehension. "What am I even supposed to say now?" I thought to myself, starting to panic. I had to say something, Alyssa was waiting. I couldn't waste this opportunity.

"um.." I started "well you see, um...".

I was totally blanking. I swear I had good reasons, but now that they were actually being put to the test they sounded substantially more flimsy and not thought through.

"It's alright darling, take a deep breath and begin from the top" Alyssa instructed comfortingly. This was not starting off well.. I took a shaky breath. The stakes were too high, I couldn't mess this up.

"um.. so well.. first I can.." - why was it so hard to think of something?? I stood there desperately trying to think of at least one thing I could say, aware that every second that passed was making my reward less likely. My heart was pounding and my thoughts racing. Without giving it any thought, desperate to at least say something, I blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind.

"I can eat meals by myself!"

A look of slight incredulity could be seen on Alyssa's face but she stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

"Um.. and I can... help with laundry! And cleaning up my room! And... I can even use the microwave and toaster by myself! I've been practicing! And... I can take care of my pets!" I finished in a rush.

Alyssa nodded her head slowly. "That's quite a list you've got there cupcake, but I just want to ask you a few questions about it okay? I just want to make sure I understand"

I swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and hope in my stomach. "Okay..." I managed to squeak out.

"Great!" Alyssa smiled warmly. "Now, let's see. First off, can you tell me which meals can you eat by yourself? The ones that are already cut up in bite sized pieces?"

Her question caught me off guard, and I felt a twinge of panic. I knew I had to be careful not to say anything that would give away too much. "Um, well, s-sometimes it's c-cut up..." I stammered, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make me sound too incompetent. "I mean, I can eat some meals by myself, like macaroni and cheese or chicken nuggets.."

Alyssa smiled at me "Thank you sweetie I think I understand now. Alright, next question; Have you ever done the laundry by yourself?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "Well, I helped Daddy put clothes in the washing machine and dryer a few times, and last time I did it all by myself!" Raising her eyebrows, Alyssa replied

"Your Daddy told me about that.. He said there were soap suds everywhere and that a certain someone used a little too much soap" I looked away, not wanting her to see how pink my face was getting. She chuckled, continuing "Well, I'm sure your Daddy was very proud of you for trying at least. Now, let's talk about cleaning your room. Do you clean it every day or just when you're told?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Um, well... "I try to keep it clean, bu-" Alyssa nodded, seeming to accept this as my answer. "And what about taking care of your pets?"

Finally confident in one of my answers I proudly state

"I pet them and I play with them all the time!! And they go outside and I watch them to make sure they are ok!"

"It sounds like you love them very much, but do you feed them, clean their litter box, and give them fresh food and water every day?" Alyssa inquired, already knowing the answer.

I felt a pang of guilt. "Well... um... I usually just play with them... but I thought that was taking care of them isn't it..?"

Alyssa smiled sweetly "So those are the reasons you think you're a big girl? You think you'd be okay by yourself for a few hours?"

I nodded shyly, looking at my feet.

"Well, I'm not quite convinced sweetie. Can you use the stove by yourself? Or the oven? Alyssa asked, her tone gentle but firm. "And what about changing your diapers? We wouldn't want someone's wet diapee to give them a rash right?" I felt my face flush even more. "I... um... I don't really know how to d-do those things..." I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Alyssa nodded, her expression sympathetic. "I know, and it's okay honey, I understand. You're still just a little girl, and there's a lot you don't know how to do yet. But that's why you have a babysitter here to help you when Daddy's not around, okay?"

I wanted to argue, but though I didn't want to admit it to myself, her words rang true. I looked down at my lap, the infantile garment stark proof of Alyssa's assessment.

Alyssa, noticing my silence, gently took my hand in hers. "I know it's hard to accept, sweetheart, but you're still just a little girl, and that's okay! Don't be in such a rush to grow up, being an adult is so boring... I know! Why don't I make us some popcorn and put on your favorite movie until your Daddy comes home, how does that sound?" Alyssa suggested animatedly, already knowing how easily my attention is diverted.

"Tangled?!" I squealed excitedly, forgetting everything temporarily. "Yeah, that sounds like fun!" I beamed up at Alyssa and ran to the living room to get ready, forgetting my skirt in my excitement.

Alyssa shook her head, smiling. "A big girl indeed.."

[riality-check]

a continuation of this post. tw substance abuse. next part here. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

The only person to whom Eddie breaks his promises is himself.

If he says he'll help someone, he'll help them. If he says he'll call someone, he'll call them. If he says he'll be there, he'll be there.

If he tells himself he won't be stupid on tour, he’ll try cocaine for the first time right after the second show.

He's always been like that. Always found it easy to lie and cheat and bend when it comes to himself. It's easier still when it's his self control, ever-fragile. And it's not like this is his first time with anything. He's been drinking beer to help him fall asleep since he was sixteen.

But the tour and the coke and the people and all the other stuff they have make it so easy to get so much worse.

He tells himself he keeps it together for work. He always gets back on the bus (Archie carries him) and gets up on time (Jeff wakes him up) and keeps it together onstage (Gareth yells at him because he comes in late for one song, every show).

He tells himself that so long as he's fine onstage, he can do whatever offstage. He tells himself that so long as he keeps only taking the dexies and the coke and other uppers, that it's not a problem. He tells himself that so long as he avoids the downers - except for alcohol because refusing drinks is a dick move - that he's not his parents.

Coke isn't a problem. Heroin is.

Eddie thinks back to track marks and sores and unseeing eyes every time someone offers him heroin. It's enough to keep him from taking it.

It's not a problem that he usually stays up for two days before he crashes. It's not a problem that most times, someone has to wake him up a half hour before soundcheck. It's not a problem that he needs a bump before he goes out onstage, and even then, he'll still crash right after the show.

It feels good. Being up all the time, talking and playing and moving, always moving, feels good. It’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t it? This is what rock stars do. He’s doing it right. He’s doing everything right.

It's not a problem. He's fine.

Until he gets backstage when they finish up in Indianapolis and Wayne is there in the green room, sitting on the couch that Eddie wants nothing more than to flop onto and pass out.

He doesn't, though. He walks over, grips the armrest with both of his shaking hands, and leans forward to take some of the weight off his feet.

God, he's tired.

"Wayne!" he grins. "How are you? Did you like the show? I wish I knew you were coming, I would've got you a good seat. Did you-"

As he talks, he watches as Wayne's face falls from a smile to something neutral to something angry.

And when he finally shuts up, Wayne says, "You're a mess."

"Excuse me?"

"Eddie, you're a mess," Wayne says. "I don't think you can stand right now without holding onto the couch."

Eddie wants to prove him wrong, but he doesn't think he'll be able to.

"So what?" he says instead.

"So what?" Wayne repeats. "What are you taking?"

"Nothing that'll kill me."

"Everything can kill you, boy, even sugar. What are you on?"

Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Coke, then," Wayne says, like it’s obvious, like it’s something nasty.

"What do you care?" Eddie says. He starts pacing, hands flying wildly. If he keeps moving, he doesn't seem unsteady, right? "I'm happy. I'm living my dream. I'm doing what I love. Who cares if I'm having a little fun while I'm doing it?"

"This ain’t fun."

"Yes, it is."

Wayne sighs. "You're gonna hurt yourself or someone else if you don't stop. What if you were driving, and-"

"I have people who do that for me," Eddie says, finally feeling like he's starting to win.

"Do you let them?"

Eddie stops moving, almost toppling over when he does so. "What?"

"Do you let them drive you?" Wayne asks. "Because I don't think you do. You've never let anyone do anything for you when you could do it yourself, and I don't think that's changed."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

"I think you're scared. I think this all happened too fast, and you're scared because you don't think you deserve it. So you're trying to make that true."

"That's bullshit."

"If you keep it up," Wayne says slowly, like he's talking to a child, "this is gonna kill you, and it is gonna be ugly."

"I'll have a closed casket funeral," Eddie snaps.

"You won't be around to have any say!" Wayne barks.

Eddie jumps back. Wayne has never raised his voice at him, not even when Eddie was a total brat of a teenager.

"It's rehab," he continues softly. "When this tour ends."

"Or what?"

"There is no or," Wayne says. "I buried my mama, your mama, two of my cousins, and my uncle because of this. I'm not losing you to the same stupidity."

Eddie takes a breath.

"I know you're grown, but I'm not losing you," Wayne says, standing up and wrapping him in a hug.

Eddie clings to him. He has about fifty different protests on the tip of his tongue about how he's a grown adult, how he's fine, how Wayne has no right to tell him what to do.

They all lose credibility as he stands, holding on to his uncle and sobbing like he's nine years old again.

He goes to rehab the morning after the last show. He gets clean, quits everything except the cigarettes because Eddie needs to break every promise to himself, just a little, if he wants them to stick a lot.

#ria writes #dja au #eddie munson #wayne munson #st #st ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #tw drugs #tw substance abuse

[biteofcherry]

I’m binge reading your masterlist and I have this idea of Alpha Ari and Omega Reader’s wedding day. They get in argument the day before about something and the whole event is just tense.

Hey there 😊 Thanks for sacrificing your time and binge reading my works 😅

The ceremony of their wedding/mating will be tense in general (for Omega), they don't need an extra argument happening for that. Though if anything of that kind was about to take place, it'd be because of Omega's spur of the moment idea to maybe try running away again:

Bad Moon Rising

alpha Ari Levinson x omega female reader

Your heart hammers in your chest as you nervously glance around, foot impatiently tapping as you curse the bus for taking so long to get to the stop you're waiting at.

A broad silhouette on the other side of the street flashes between speeding cars, terrifying you for a second. Another car passes and he's gone - the mirage of your alpha...

Not my fucking alpha! You remind yourself inwardly.

But you were his omega, weren't you?

Every shifter in the area knows of Ari's claim. Every wolf can smell his scent on you. Though they don't mean you harm, no one would dare help you out in your reckless, last-surge-of-desperate-hope decision to flee before the mating ceremony.

If anything, they'd point him where to aim his chase after you.

Because the hunt belongs to the alpha as well.

You're not sure where you got the courage to try escaping, again. In the past weeks you somehow settled into the prospect of becoming his, accepted it. And Ari isn't bad. Not really.

Beside the stubborn determination to bind you to him, he's a nice, caring man. Witty and funny. You parents certainly don't mind him as their son in law.

He would care for you, you know that. Provide anything you, or your future children might need. Encourage you to stick to your goals, as long as they didn't steal you away from him. Hell, he mentioned getting you a new laptop, since the classes you start in a month are supposed to be online.

So why do you want to run? Is it the desire to be chased, which Ari loves to fulfill as it feeds his own dark hunger for hunting?

Well, you'd give him a serious mind-twist choosing a bus as a part of your escape. Your scent trail would cut that way, making it all the more harder.

You chance a look across the street again. No looming danger awaits there, people pass by, no one interested in you with your small backpack.

Before a sigh of relief fully leaves your chest, a large hand encircles the front of your neck. A broad, sturdy body presses against your back; strong arm settling across your midriff to keep you locked in place.

"The only reason my teeth aren't in your gland and you're not squirming on my knot this very second, is that I'm so fucking respectful of our traditions."

Ari's deceivingly soft, low purr sinks into your ear.

"I don't mind giving a good chase, you know that little omega." His teeth graze your earlobe. "We can play like that after our wedding night."

"If you're able to move, that is." He chuckles, rocking his hips against your ass.

#noseyrosey1597 #reply #bad moon rising #alpha ari levinson #alpha ari levinson x omega reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Environmental Generational Amnesia: When We Forget Nature’s Past

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/environmental-generational-amnesia/

One of the most traumatic and formative experiences of my life occurred when I was thirteen years old. The woods that I loved exploring behind our yard were completely bulldozed one day; I discovered this when I got off the bus from school. It was part of the destruction of an entire wild area that would become yet another subdivision devoid of trees and vines and wildflowers, with no place left for bobwhite quail or garter snakes in the flat green lawns. I was devastated, and in an attempt to try to help me my mom chatted with the developer when she happened to run into her in town. “She knows how you feel,” my mom said. “Her woods were the ones that were torn down to make the junior high track.” Not only did it just not make sense to me that someone who had been through what I was experiencing would then go on to do the same horrible acts, but it was also my first introduction to the reality of environmental generational amnesia.

The term was coined a few years ago in a paper by Peter Kahn and Thea Weiss. It refers to how each generation considers how it first experienced a place as its true baseline, and any change that comes after it is abnormal or unnatural. So for me, the track at my junior high with just a line of trees along the creek was my understanding of its baseline, but the developer remembered that land as acres of woods. A hundred years ago it may have been a farm. Go back several generations to when only the Osage lived here, and it was probably undamaged oak savanna, or perhaps a tallgrass prairie.

When you multiply that shifting understanding of the “normal” state of a place by all the people in a given area, something is bound to be lost as generations die off, and new ones are born into the present state. Couple that with a serious lack of nature literacy, and you have fewer people discussing what the place is versus what it once was.

In cases where almost all the land has been significantly changed by human activity for centuries, it can be incredibly challenging to piece together what it was like before we came through and wrought such imbalances. The only evidence may remain in a few remote undamaged patches, scraps of partial plant and animal communities, and oral and written information passed down by people, whether indigenous or colonizing. Sometimes ecologists and other scientists need to look at the ecosystems of neighboring areas to get some idea of what might have been here before. It’s often a matter of trying to piece together an incomplete puzzle, giving best educated guesses as to what filled the empty niches.

If you have a population that has a dim memory at best of what a place looked like before it was changed at all, they’re less likely to understand when there’s a problem. I knew, for example, that it was wrong to tear down the woods behind my home, but my baseline was “mix of trees and shrubs of various species surrounding a creek with a limestone bed next to a twenty year old subdivision.” No one could tell me what that farm looked like before it became a farm, and I didn’t understand at the time that the mix of plants and animals I knew and loved were neither the complete original assortment, nor were they all native. How was I to know that my yard was once spacious grassland, dotted with white oak here and there? How should I have come to understand that the woods I had cherished were badly out of ecological balance compared to what had once been, that they were exhibiting signs of recolonization after multiple massive disturbances before I was even born?

And this is just one example of one person’s understanding of one place. This environmental generational amnesia has rippling effects worldwide, with people not understanding that the rivers nearby aren’t supposed to be as stick-straight as they are, that the coastline should be covered in wetlands rather than open sand, that the dense forest is only there because natural fires were suppressed and allowed the trees to take over the last meadows. There are even those who have no idea that their air, water, and soil aren’t supposed to be loaded with pollutants, because pollution is all they’ve known for generations. It’s tough to imagine an extinct wetland when you can’t even see the water for the trash, and the sky is brown instead of blue.

It’s not going to be an easy task to try to revive the collective memory of Lands That Were. A good starting point is to talk to our elders, both alive and dead. When we ask those who still live what they remember of a place, we can glean important details even if they themselves weren’t ecologists, or formal scientists of any other sort. If we can take them to these places and have them show us where important landmarks were and describe what has changed, we can start to see more clearly what’s been lost. And when we read the writings and view the landscape art of those who are long passed, we get important snapshots of what was there long before any of us today were alive, tracing that ecological story closer to its origin.

We also need, more than ever, to preserve what ancient ecosystems still remain, whether that’s old growth forests, or prairies that never knew the tearing of the plow, or wetlands never drained or polluted. We can’t just miraculously replace them in a matter of a few years, and they offer us crucial pictures of the end goal in places where  we are attempting long-term habitat restoration. They are living, breathing records of what places looked like before, of the biodiversity and other natural structures that were in place for thousands of years.

Finally, we need to be talking openly about the disconnect between what is and what was. If I, as an incredibly nature-obsessed kid, was startled to think about how my “normal” was only a faint shadow of past ecological glory, then imagine how jarring it must be for someone who is further removed from nature to understand that the forest they walk through is really supposed to be a prairie. (Especially after many years of being told that “planting trees” is the answer to all the ecological problems we face!)

With time and education we can bring about awareness, and that awareness will help us make better decisions for the future. There are so many people who want to undo ecological destruction and make the world a better place; we just need to have better, more accurate information out there on what can be reasonably done. Much of that hinges on having a clearer idea of what’s been lost, so that we can make plans to save whatever is left, and restore as much as we can.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#long post #ecology #habitat restoration #environment #environmentalism #conservation #nature #science #scicomm #colonialism #wildlife #natural history #outdoors #activism #climate change #climate activism #ecopsychology #conservation psychology

[hubookunaluwawa]

the horrifying realization that someone genuinely knows you

it wasn’t supposed to go this way. it was supposed to be easy. casual. fun. but now, you feel like puking. because the second those forbidden words left his lips while he was buried deep inside of you, after a night of the both of you pretending not to know how the other felt, all hell broke loose in your heart. you were able to keep your composure through the end, but once he cleaned you up and fell asleep, you quickly grabbed your stuff and got the hell out of dodge.

your throat tightens up, and your eyes start to sting as you head for the bus stop. one minute passes. then five, and then ten. and then, as if this night hadn’t been bad enough, droplets of rain began to drizzle from the sky. this bus couldn’t be coming any fucking slower, you think, and you nervously tap the side of your leg, hoping with all your might that he didn’t realize you left, because if he did–

“y/n?”

fuck.

“hey!” you feign innocence as you quickly glance at him, “what’re you doing up?”

“i could ask you the exact same thing,” he returns, his smile masking something foreign… something vulnerable.

“oh, well, yeah, i mean, i have an 8 am class, so i have to head back to my place.” you feel your easygoing facade beginning to crumble as you continue to stare straight ahead at the road. you felt gross, lying to someone you always felt so comfortable around. you just hope he doesn’t realize it before the bus gets here.

“really?”

“yep!”

“i mean, i thought you said you don’t like doing… this…” he motions between the two of you, “the morning before an early class. said it fucks up your internal clock and stuff,” he remarks in a tone that makes it crystal clear he’s not buying a word you say.

you turn to look at him once again, and he’s staring at you with a hooded unwavering gaze that you’d mistake for apathy if you didn’t know him any better. unfortunately, you do know him better: enough to notice that the unfamiliar look in his eyes is blatant fear, as if he thinks you could disappear at any moment. and then, how much he knows you hits you all at once, and you’re left a scared little kid with no idea what to do.

“yeah, i guess i just forgot.” you’d have to be in complete denial to think he couldn’t hear the distinct crack in your voice, fake smile be damned. the two of you stare at each other for what feels like hours until the tears threatening to spill from your eyes make you look away.

“y/n.” but his eyes are still on you.

“mhm?” don’t.

“y/n, please.” only on you.

i can’t.

“i need you to tell me if i just fucked everything up back there.” the desperation in his voice is unmistakable, making you catch your breath. your face falls, and your heart hurts more than you ever thought possible.

“why’d you say it,” you whisper, “why’d you have to go and say it?” and his heart shatters at the brokenness of your voice because it was him who did this shit to you.

“when we started this, we promised it wouldn’t turn into anything. and it was fine when it was just me feeling something, but it won’t work with the both of us–”

“why?” something’s changed. he’s angry. “why won’t it work? why can’t we let it work?”

“because shit like this never does!” you scream, and you can feel everything you’ve been bottling up inside for the past few months escaping your body in one go.

“it never does,” you say with a quiet laugh. “we’d get together, and then you’d get bored with me–”

“i could never get bored with you–”

“–or i’d get bored with you,” you continue while noticing the fleeting look of hurt in his eyes that’s quickly overshadowed by anger, “and then we’d only be with each other out of obligation. we’d be ruining a really good thing just for the chance of something different, so just forget it, because whatever… it is that you feel won’t last,” you say as if it’s the funniest thing in the world while gesturing towards him.

“oh, fuck you.” he laughs, tugging his hair in frustration.

“fuck you!” you retort, delirious from the fact that this conversation is even happening at all.

“no, fuck you for trying to tell me that what i feel isn’t real.”

“okay,” you scoff as you begin to walk away. you don’t know where you headed, but as long as he’s not there, you know it’s where you need to be.

“and fuck you for making me love you! in more ways than just one!”

you freeze for probably the 50th time tonight, and you finally look at him again to see the shine in his eyes as he speaks.

“please don’t disappear when i tell you this,” he practically whispers to you with a once-again fearful look.

and you don’t. you’ve heard your fair share of “i love yous” in your life, and they all meant the same, substanceless, conditional thing. and so, the more you heard it, the less you believed it. you’ve seen relationships–both yours and those of the people you care about–fall apart because people will romantically love those that they don’t even like platonically. so you believed, and continue to believe, that romantic love without a platonic basis is an incredibly common recipe for disaster. you know this, and yet, you don’t think you could run from him right now even if you tried.

“i’ve never felt what i’ve felt for you with anybody else. i think about you all the time. like, you’re the first thing i think about in the morning and the last thing on my mind every night. and whenever i see you, it feels like what everybody talks about in the movies and the songs, and it’s like the heavens open up and everything makes sense and my world’s brighter because you’re in it. i’m completely and utterly head-over-heels in love with you.”

he just thinks he is, you try to remind yourself, but this shit isn’t real. it’s just infatuation, a burst of attraction, a trick of the mind. it’ll go away eventually–

“but it’s not just infatuation like you always say.” you mentally curse him for being able to read your mind and peel back your layers so easily, but he takes a step closer to you as he speaks.

“because you’re also the one person i feel most comfortable around. i could be having the worst day of my life and seeing you for a few minutes would make it the best, because everything about you makes me happy! everything! i mean your smile and your eyes and the way you giggle at the corniest jokes and the little crinkle you get on your forehead when i say something dumb and… how you make me feel safe enough to talk to you and know you won’t think i’m crazy, and how passionate you get about the things and people you care about: all of it has me completely obsessed with you, and all i know is that i wanna keep making you breakfast in the mornings and holding you close at night and going on late night drives with you and hearing you laugh because your laugh makes me feel like i’m dreaming whenever i hear it and i can’t help but laugh too because i just can’t believe that, out of everybody on this planet, you keep choosing to be here with me and i just… i love you, y/n. and even if this doesn’t last, i wanna be with you for as long as i’m able, because it doesn’t feel like my love for you is ever gonna go away.” 

and he breathes out the final declaration with a confidence that leaves you stunned because holy shit you’re actually starting to believe him. you can’t tell whether the wetness on your face is from the pouring rain or your own tears. maybe it’s both. but all you know is that, now, he’s holding your heart in his hands. and the scariest part is that he’s holding it with as much care as he’d treat his own heart. no, as much care as you want to treat his. and then, he starts to ramble, which you’re sure you’ve never seen him do (in fact, you’re pretty sure this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak).

you can’t stop yourself from looking at his lips, and the space between you grows smaller and smaller until it ceases to exist.

“i mean, it’s like you’re branded on my heart. you have this insane amount of control over me and i’m constantly wanting to be around you and hold you and make you happy because you feel like home to me but in the best way possible and i just want to be that for you too, and if you don’t feel the same way, that’s completely cool, and we could just forget this conversation ever happened, because you’re also my best friend and i don’t wanna lose you, and i–”

your lips taste sweet against his, and your hands cup his cheeks with a delicateness that makes him feel like crying, and he feels happier than he thinks he’s ever felt because he knows what this kiss means.

you take a moment to break apart, the tip of your nose brushing against his as he chases after your lips, and you desperately proclaim, “i’d never get bored of you either. i love you. i love you. you’re all i want.”

the bus you were waiting on passes you both by, and he meets your lips again, sighing into the kiss with relief. and you both make a silent promise, right then and there, to never let each other go again.

#eren x reader #eren jeager x y/n #eren x you #fwb to lovers #college!eren #angry rain confession #love confessions #this was made w eren in mind but you could imagine it w whoever honestly #iwaizumi? erwin? suna? aki? choso? sakusa? the world is your oyster !! :D #this is my first fic so y/n is kinda based on me 👀 #but i might make a series out of it on ao3 (bars)… #is delicateness a word???? i honestly have no idea #it's as real of a word as substanceless i'll tell you that much #the ending is very dookie and there’s a lot of run-ons but we move !!! #constructive criticism is very much encouraged like please tell me if it's trash !!!

[keirawantstocry]

okay but what if...fitpacbo but Tubbo had Tommy and Molly in his head - gods that Tubbo somehow signed a contract to that now possess him or something - and they possessed at the wrong time...

(with love) have a great day!

i got carried away...

Pac fell asleep in familiar arms but woke up with unrecognizable eyes. He leaned back from his boyfriend to look him over. “Tubbo?” 

The man sat up slowly and cocked his head. “Yes?” 

“Your eyes are different, amorzinho. Are you feeling okay?” 

His eyes had lost their swirls of green, currently sitting in a state of clear blue. Everything in Pac's body was on alert. His body was his but he doubted that what was in there was his boyfriend. But was that a neutral thing or a horrible thing? The thing stood up in a quick motion, exiting the bed to stand near the door. 

Not Tubbo blinked. “I… am Tubbo.” 

“Okay, now I'm concerned,” Pac said softly. “Let's wake up Fit and talk about this, yeah?” 

Not Tubbo nodded slowly so Pac leaned over to the far side of the bed to shake Fit awake. He awoke with an affectionate grumble but froze when he sat up and saw Not Tubbo staring at the both of them from the other side of the room. 

“What's wrong with him?” Fit asked quietly. 

“Nothing,” Not Tubbo rushed to say. “I am Tubbo and uh everything is fine.” 

“No you're not,” Pac said softly. “Don't lie to us, we can get through this easily okay?” 

Not Tubbo sighed before he dropped down, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay. Fine. My name is Tommy.” 

“And who exactly are you?” Fit asked. 

Tommy glanced up at them, eyes sparkling like sapphires. “His husband.” 

“Tom,” Pac said carefully. “He mentioned you.” 

Tommy perked up. “He did?” 

“He said you tricked him into marrying you,” Fit said with a laugh. 

Tommy pouted. “Yeah, okay, maybe I did. But I mean. I wanted him so stuck with me. We have a lot of history.” 

“Before the island?” Fit asked. “I thought he didn't remember his life before the island.” 

“He doesn't,” Tommy affirmed. “But I do. I remember everything. We ended up in… very different places. I ascended to godhood after the end and he ended up here.” 

“The end of what?” Fit asked. 

Tommy hesitated then laughed. “It's a long story, I don't think I have time to tell you. I lived with him on the SMP since we were 15 and until we met our final end there at 17. Two… incredibly long years.” 

Fit whistled. “You guys met your end there at 17? Fuck.” 

Tommy shrugged. “We lived a shit life.” He swung his arms out and grinned in a way Tubbo would never. “I'm just glad to be free from all those shitheads.” 

“Fair,” Pac said gently. “I'm glad to be free of other worlds I've lived in as well. Still got things to remember them by though,” he said gesturing to the metal leg by the side of the bed. 

Tommy stared at it, eyes widening. “Is that yours? That's fucking sick. All I ever got that passed from life to life was scars.” 

“I suppose you can't show us those,” Pac said disappointed. “Since you're in Tubbo's body. Wait! Did Tubbo have scars in this other world?” 

Tommy nodded excitedly. “Yeah! Shitty story but I always thought he looked cool.” He lifted Tubbo's hand up to his face and dragged it down the side. “Burn scars. Explosion to the face.” 

Pac could feel his eyes lighting up. “That sounds so cool. He has burn scars now. On his back. I love them.” 

Tommy laughed, such a different laugh from Tubbo's. “Of course you do. I've heard about you. Big fan of strong men yeah?” 

Pac flushed but he was still smiling. “Sim.” 

Tommy gasped, bending over at the waist. Fit grabbed him as he collapsed, eyes rolling back into his head. He gasped loudly, back arching before he collapsed. 

When his eyes opened again, he was Tubbo once more, familiar green and blue swirls in his deep eyes. He squinted at them. “What happened?” he muttered sounding bleary. 

Fit and Pac exchanged a glance. “You don't remember?” 

Tubbo sat up slowly and shook his head. “Feels like I just got hit by a bus.” 

“You got possessed,” Pac explained. “Tom?” 

Tubbo groaned, falling back. “Aw, that fucking idiot.” 

Fit laughed. “He's an interesting guy.” 

Tubbo shoved his palms against his eyes. “He's an idiot, that's what he is.” 

They both laughed before pulling Tubbo further back up on the bed. 

“Well, I'm glad you're back,” Pac said, nuzzling his nose against Tubbo's neck. 

“We're glad you're back,” Fit corrected. “Although if Tommy ever wants to come back, I'm sure we'd both love to talk with him. He seems like a cool dude.” 

“If by cool you mean an insufferable idiot with an inflated sense of self then yeah.” 

Pac laughed. “Oi, shut up. Don't talk about your husband like that.” 

Tubbo groaned. “Husband my ass, shut the fuck up.”

#sorry for making everything ab lmanberg and the dsmp it WILL happen again #qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #q!tubbo #q!pac #q!fit #q!tommy #poly morning crew #fitpacbo

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

#stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv alex x reader #stardew x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv alex x farmer #stardew valley scenarios #sdv scenarios #sdv alex scenarios #stardew scenarios #saeri writes;

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 48

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Y/n goes a little apeshit at JojaMart lmao

Author’s Note: *Crawls out of a pit covered in dirt and blood. Slaps this chapter down in front of you, on a SUNDAY no less!*

My health situation hasn’t improved whatsoever, but I will prevail, damnit!!

I wrote most of this and posted to ao3 early this morning, and haven't had a chance to proofread really. I'll do my best to get that done soon ^.^ Sorry if there are any weird wordings. Also sorry for the complete lack of Seb and Magnus in this one, I hope the shenanigans make up for it <3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

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I hate that stupid, cryptic, blue note I got.

Ever since it came, I think about it every time I check the mailbox, without fail. I don’t want to, I kinda just want to forget it exists, but I just… I dunno. I have a bad feeling about it. A gut feeling. Like, something’s totally up with it. It’s just been sitting in my closet for safekeeping until I decide what to do, though.

For some reason, I’ve been too nervous to bring it back up to Magnus. He’s forgotten it exists, from what I can tell. I think I’ll do my best to keep it that way for now. It feels more like my burden to bear than his, and besides, he’s already got the whole region to take care of.

After today’s confirmation that I don’t have bills or anything important like that, I head inside to get ready to leave the farm. Reeeally hoping my routine will shake out my heebiejeebies.

I got the OK from Magnus to use his fancy shrine for Spirit’s Eve. Got an idea of what I think I want to make myself look like, too. Maybe a tiefling or something. If tieflings don’t really exist, I’m sure some sort of succubi, or imps, or some sort of creature that looks like one’s gotta, no? I suppose I could always fall back on just pretending I’m an elf… man, a tail and horns would be so fun though. 

Either way, tomorrow is the big day and I am so ready for it.

I mean, like, almost ready. Whatever.

Today I’m going to Magnus’ place to get some practice in. Just a precautionary measure to try not to, like, blow myself up or something.

I’m gonna keep my outfit cozy and easy to move around in, but I have half a mind to make sure I wouldn’t mind losing these clothes in particular if something goes wrong with the transformation. Just some leggings, some crew-cut socks, an old hoodie, and my favorite boots, since I won’t have my shoes on in the shrine anyway. All of it is in black. Sebastian cosplay. 

I’ll pop my red studs in too, gotta commit to the bit. I haven’t had time to talk to The Emo and see if he actually did get his shit pierced last night, but assuming he did, and assuming he was able to use these for it, I wanna go all out, baby.

Now, before I head to the tower, I’ve got some errands to run around town. I woke up a bit late so there’s gonna be more people out than I’m looking forward to, but hopefully I have no creepy Alex encounters or awkward conversations with Shane again.

I promised Sam I’d visit him at work sometime soon, so I might as well head there first. He hates it there, and it’s been a while since we’ve caught up, so I’ll hopefully be a welcome distraction. I’ll bring him a coffee too to keep his spirits high.

After it’s done brewing, I grab two foam cups and pour the coffee in. Knowing Sam, he probably needs this stuff sweet, and I’m in the mood for sweet too, so I pour in a bunch of vanilla-flavored creamer. To make the beverages ~gourmet,~ I add a little whipped cream to each, as well as a light drizzle of chocolate syrup. After securing the plastic lids and giving Cannoli some well-deserved love, I head out.

While I pass by the bus stop, I make eye contact with Pam. I’ve never spoken to her, but… I dunno. I can’t tell if I like her or not. She gives me a nasty stink eye and I can only further assume she’s as mean as she outwardly appears. Unless she was just cursed with an intense resting bitch face...

I smile Pam’s way anyway. She doesn’t smile back, but that’s okay. It doesn’t benefit anyone to be so judgemental of her.

I pass a few local moms once I make it to the town square. None really mind me, which could mean they either didn’t notice, or they don’t care. Either is fine by me. I don’t hear what they’re saying, but Caroline talks very animatedly just before the rest of the group bursts into laughter.

I turn my attention back ahead as I pass by Pierre’s and nearly bump into Marnie as she’s leaving the shop.

We both squeak out a little “Oh!” before apologizing in unison.

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” I double down. 

“Oh, that’s fine. I rarely ever am!” She then motions to the two cups in my hands and adds, laughing, “At least the coffee’s safe!”

I awkwardly nod in agreement. Then, a brief flash of myself actually spilling coffee somewhere down the road raids my mind, my necklace tingling against my skin and my fingers practically buzzing.

Great.

“Everything alright, sweetie?”

That probably looked weird. “Yeah, sorry,” I try to recover, “just sleepy today!”

I take a sip of coffee to emphasize my point. Plus, I might as well drink what I can before these puppies go down. Hopefully I’ll be able to save at least one of them when the time comes.

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that!” She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I need to get back to the shop, but take it easy and don’t overwork yourself, you hear?” 

I nod, thanking her and waving her off with a shy grin before I continue moving. Once I get closer to the spot I’m supposed to be spilling these drinks — just before that little bridge over the river by JojaMart — I begin to walk more cautiously. If I can just keep these steady and focus on the ground… 

A sneeze creeps up on me. Oh god. Oh god oh fuck oh no.

Just as I’m beginning to carefully place one of the cups on the side of the bridge for safe keeping, the sneeze forces its way out of me. Luckily, one beverage — the one I hadn’t drank from yet — stays safely in my hand. Unluckily, the one I was working on trying to keep safe fell to the stones at my feet, opening up and dispersing its contents fucking everywhere.

God damnit. 

“Nice one.”

God fucking damnit.

I look up to the voice. It turns out Shane’s outside having a smoke. He’s at the opposite end of the bridge watching my clumsiness unfold with an aloof look about him. He’s bent over to lean on the stone wall, his right elbow propped up and his corresponding cheek in his palm. His left forearm is flat against the structure while his left hand lazily dangles his cigarette between two fingers.

Is that pink nail polish on one of them? I wonder if that’s Jas’ doing. 

I merely groan back my response, picking up the now-empty cup to discard in the trash bin near the store. As I proceed on my walk of shame past Shane, I point out, “At least my clothes stayed safe.”

Shane follows and asks, “How many ants do you think you murdered with that accident?” 

I grin a little at his dry humor. “Oh it was a massacre,” I bounce back. “The war in Gotoro pales in comparison.”

“Ha!” Oh my god, I made Shane — the grumpiest fuck I’ve ever met — laugh?! “Right on. Seems like pointless violence anyway.” 

I turn to see if I can catch him smiling for the first time, like, ever. It’s not there anymore, but there’s a residual brightness in his features.

Shane snuffs out his cig on the ashtray built into the garbage’s lid, abandoning it there before shoving his hands in the pockets of his bright blue shorts.

“Those sons’a bitches,” he nods in the direction of my carnage, “they had it coming.”

My nose scrunches as I laugh a little, giving him a funny look. “Damn, what’d they do to you?”

There’s a playful glint in his eye, as he deadpans me. “Exist.”

I shrug and nod — I get it, they can be pretty annoying! — and follow the man as he makes his way through the white-rimmed, glass-centered automatic doors. I try not to cringe outwardly at how many self-righteous pro-Joja fliers are on them.

Shane stops a few steps into the store. Turns around. I stop too and look up, tilting my head. What’re you looking at, punk? I think to myself. Dunno if I’d be pushing my limits by trying to say it out loud. Better not.

Shane gives me a weird look too, but I can barely see it. My senses are taking their damn time getting used to the obnoxiously fluorescent lighting.

“Don’t you shop at Pierre’s?” Shane wonders out loud.

I blink a few times as I adjust to the environment and then nod. “Visiting Sam,” I explain.

“Ah.” He nods too, in understanding, and then looking the other way he continues, “Enjoy.”

Shane makes his way towards a door to the right of the manager’s office. Says “Employee’s only,” so I’m assuming it’s a break room or something. I don’t miss the incorrect apostrophe, but choose not to linger on it either.

“You too.” He looks back over his shoulder, so I pair my well wishes with a lazy salute.

“Buh.”

…Buh?

I smile. I think he’s warming up to me!

Feeling a tad lost now that I’m alone, I look around before making any advances. Should’ve asked Shane if he knew where Sam would be around now. I dunno how the shifts work around here.

The cashiers to my left — a visibly exhausted red headed woman, probably in her late 30s or early 40s; and a scrawny, scruffy looking teenager, with thick-framed glasses sitting atop his freckled nose — both look miserable.

The boy is boredly leaning against the counter, zoned out on the ground in front of it. The woman looks totally spaced out on nothing in particular. It almost seems like she’s fighting off sleep, too. Poor lady. 

The woman and I lock onto each other. She looks away from my face before I can even register it, but I notice her eyes flicker longingly to the coffee cup in my hand a few times after the fact. I peer between her and the beverage twice before I all but scurry away into the aisles. I’m too awkward for this. My only option is to retreat. Never said I wasn’t a coward.

While I venture past the boatloads of boxed, bagged and canned foods in search of the resident dog boy, I observe some of the products. Some don’t look safe for consumption, while others seem like they’d be fun to try as a one-off sort of deal. It overlaps a few times as well. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to try this cereal which very explicitly states on the box that it’s more sugar than grains? It makes me stifle a giggle. I like the brutal honesty. 

I stop and stare at it for a sec. Gnawing my lip. Wondering if I should just…

No. I shan’t.

I break away from temptation and trek on. As I reach the end of the aisle, I pan across the back of the store. More shelf-stable products, a small produce section… ah!

Sam looks like he’s supposed to be mopping the floor near the freezers. To be fair, he is holding a mop, and it is touching the floor! But instead of cleaning, he uses the tool as a microphone; singing against the end of the brown wooden handle, both hands passionately gripping it as he bends his torso to quietly belt one part in particular. Sam’s eyes are shut, his bulky black headphones are secured over his ears, and he has not a single worry in the world. 

Holding his coffee in both hands now, I stop walking and lean against a nearby shelf. Observing. Waiting. Eventually he’ll have to see me.

He does a little spin move and carelessly bumps into the bucket of soapy water he’s working with, causing it to slosh around a little. Some of it lands on the floor, and some on the pants of Sam’s jumpsuit. Doesn’t faze him in the slightest. 

He does another spin the opposite way and nearly knocks over the conveniently placed display of sprinkles that are situated right in front of the ice cream freezer.

I feel like I should probably stop him before something bad happens, but he looks so damn content and so stinkin’ cute that I can’t be assed. 

Just as I’m thinking this, he opens his eyes, completely avoiding my direction while he immediately peers over his shoulder. Sam scans around, getting a full view of the proximate areas. It seems like he’s just making sure he’s not about to get caught by his boss or something, if I had to guess.

Eventually he lands on me. We both smile wide, and I triumphantly hold up his (unspilled!!) coffee in one hand, presenting it with a small flourish of the other and a bow of my head.

“For you, my good sir.” I make sure to sound extra fancy, dropping my voice an octave and annunciating my words a bit too much.

He looks around again before meeting me in the middle with a fist bump, completely ignoring my bit. Aw man.

“Hell yeah, thanks dude!” 

I shoot some awkward finger guns at him, “You got it, bud.”

“You didn’t make yourself one?”

I sigh, lamenting, “I did…”

Sam scans my face as we share a short silence. Then, the lightbulb almost visibly goes off in his noggin. “You spilled it, didn’t you?”

Pursing my lips, I nod. “I spilled it, yeah.” 

“Buuummer, dude.” He pats my head and I sigh, leaning into his touch. I’ll be damned if I don’t still love head-pats, even if it’s been a while since I’ve gotten one. “Wanna split this one then?” he offers, palm still on my crown. At this point he’s just trying to messy me up.

“No thanks, I’ll just grab another later if I’m really craving it.” Not having noticed the trance I’ve been in as my hair gets slowly and steadily ruined — it feels nice, okay? — I finally look up at him, cheekily glaring as I manually remove his large hand from me. I add on as I try to repair the frizzy aftermath, “Sick performance, by the way!” 

“You think so?” he beams. Makes me laugh.

“Of course! It looked like you were having a lot of fun.”

Sam’s face is a bit flushed as he takes the compliment, not even trying to hide it; he has a big goofy grin on his face, too.

It drops and Sam looks behind him as a deep voice with a bit of a southern twang booms from one of the aisles nearby. “Samson?”

“Shit, here.”

Sam hurriedly places his coffee into my hand and rushes back near his water bucket, looking around for his manager as he moves. I try to make things less suspicious by pretending to look at some nearby end caps. 

I take a peek over when I hear Sam greet the man, “Hiya! What’s up, Morris?”

Crossing his arms and puffing out his chest to try and make himself look mighty, a man in a navy blue suit, a bright red bow tie, and a poorly-applied black toupee corrects him. “That’s Mr. Saxton, son.” 

I roll my eyes. Awesome to know the guy running this Joja is just as insufferable as the dudes who work on the corporate side.

Sam puts an anxious hand on the back of his neck, and halfheartedly smiles as he apologizes, his speaking patterns much more formal than before. Poor guy… it hurts to see him having to tone it down so much for this dipshit.

I turn my attention back in front of me so as to give him some privacy. Not sure he’d want me to hear him getting his ear talked off.

This display is full of holiday cards... I might as well waste some time with these bad boys. I pick up one with a cartoon beagle wearing a birthday hat on it, stealing a sip of Sam’s coffee as I read the pun on the front: “Have a doggone good birthday!” Alright, nice and cheesy start…

I flip the card open. It starts blaring Baha Men’s “Who Let The Dogs Out.” Fucking hell. Jumpscare me, why doncha! I shudder at how tinny the music sounds — likely made worse by its volume — then close the card and place it back in its spot, not bothering to read more.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I peer over my left shoulder, and see that Mr. Saxton is making his way towards me. A vein is popping in his forehead, but he has a toothy smile on his face that screams customer service. Not sure what’s going on and feeling a little anxious about the situation, I don’t answer with words — I just turn my body to him and watch him expectantly. 

My eyes flicker to Sam real quick, who’s closer to the opposite end of the freezers now. He’s looking over here though, and when his eyes catch mine, he mouths “Go!” and motions his arm towards the front end of the store. Maybe he got caught socializing or something… wouldn’t doubt that there’s probably heavy surveillance in here. Man.

I look back at Sam’s boss as he says, “I’m going to need you to discard your beverage.”

My brows furrow and I tilt my head. “Why?”

Ah, he’s the asking-questions-is-talking-back type: He huffs a deep breath and tilts his head as if to mimic me, clasping his fingers together in front of his ribs. The smile and vein are both still on his face.

“It is not only unacceptable to bring your own food into a grocery store,” he strains, “but I cannot have you spilling your drink all over our products.”

…I haven’t spilled anything. What does he think I am, some crusty little kid? 

Damn, this is bringing out a rage that I haven’t experienced since working behind a Joja desk. I didn’t know I was even capable of it anymore. Must be something about the overstimulatingly bright blues, or the blindingly white strips of lights. Same ones we had above each cubicle in the office.

My anxiety is rapidly replaced with a petty yearn to cause a ruckus as I realize that I don’t work for Joja anymore. I never have to even come here again, actually.

I don’t answer to this fucko! I don’t answer to anyone!

Screw this guy!

Feeling courageous, I put on my own customer service mask as I inquire, “Do you want me to spill this on your products?”

“E-excuse me?!”

I hover the cup near the cards, tilting it a little. Doing a little eyebrow wiggle too for good measure. “It feels like you dooo.”

“I— w-what are you doing?”

Seb would be so proud if he were here. Not sure how Magnus would react, but I’d like to imagine he’d support me too.

Completely on impulse, I bring the cup in front of me and splash a little coffee in the man’s direction instead of the cards’. The now-lukewarm liquid splatters onto the white button-down beneath his jacket and rapidly seeps into the fabric, leaving a light brown, unsightly splotch.

Sick, got him where it hurts and none got on the floor! Less work for Sam!

Making sure my voice is just as cheery as Morris was trying to keep his, I cap this off, “Stop treating your employees like crap and stop treating complete strangers like children, asshole.”

This feels so good. My heart is racing and my pits feel a little moist and I might just end up an anxious mess the second I walk away, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t cool as fuck in the moment. When Leah asked me last week if Magnus ever wanted to go apeshit, it didn’t even occur to me how badly I wanted to go apeshit.

I walk down the nearest aisle as Morris continues sputtering something about me leaving, paying for this, whatever.

Shane’s kneeled down in the middle of the aisle stocking shelves. He faces me for a moment and grins slyly. “That was cool as hell.” Why does this feel so validating? “A woman after my own heart.” 

HUH?

I blink that fucking flashbang away — seriously, the last time I saw him he was still being a dick, and today he’s treating every interaction like we’re fully acquainted, if not more, what the heck — as he turns away to scan items onto the shelf again.

“I really didn’t do much…” I really didn’t. Just kinda caused a minor inconvenience for the guy. 

My hands are shaking though, so it must be catching up to me.

“That still took some balls.” He glimpses at me briefly and adds, “Y’look like you might cry, though. Get outta here before I change my mind about you.”

I huff out a quiet laugh and steady Sam’s — well, my, now — coffee in both hands. “On it, boss.”

#sdv rasmodius #sve magnus #magnus rasmodius #magnus rasmodius x reader #stardew valley rasmodius #sdv sebastian x reader #stardew sebastian #sebastian stardew #sebastian stardew valley #m. rasmodius #stardew valley #stardew #sve #sebastian sdv #sdv wizard #stardew wizard #stardew valley fanfic #stardew fanfic #stardew valley sebastian x reader #wizard x reader #rasmodius x reader #rasmodius #FAWY #sebastian x reader #sebastian #sdv shane #shane sdv #sam sdv #sdv sam #stardew valley sam

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [38]

chapter thirty-eight, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

June 3rd 2017

The little sparkly silver birthday hat sits crooked on Tommie’s head, her freshly cut short hair in a mess and her bangs are fluffed out of control. There’s silver sparkles on her forehead, catching the light alongside the beads of sweat on her forehead.

She’s wearing her beat up skeleton cowboy boots, a pair of shorts and a new sparkly waistcoat George got her for her birthday. 

Her cheeks are flushed but her tipsy smile drops when the door finally swings open, “Matt?”

“Finally!” He complains, pushing his way into the house Adam had rented in Ohio for her birthday, where her surprise birthday party was being held, “Where’s Adam?”

“Um, kitchen, I think….”

He nods, not saying much else, her eyes focus on the burnt out joint he’d dropped and she steps on it quickly before following him inside.

“You’re late.” Carly says, back of her hand hitting Matty’s shoulder as he grabs a glass to fill it with water, tipping it all down himself as he starts downing it. His white 

“Late to what,” He looks around leaning against the kitchen counter, “Why’s there so many people in the house right now?”

Carly steps back, then she reaches forward, hand grasping his chin as she opens up his eyes, “Are you high right now?”

“Just on weed.”

She shakes her head and pushes him to the side, “Are you serious?”

“It’s just weed, Carly, calm down. Where’s Adam?”

“Upstairs, I think, getting Tommie’s bir-”

“Great, cheers.” He says before heading for the stairs, almost hitting Tommie over as he passes her.

She leans back so he can pass, brows raised as she meets Carly in the kitchen, “What’s he doing here?”

She crosses her arms and looks back at the door as Carly sighs slowly, “He was supposed to be here hours ago.”

Her head snaps to Carly, her hat falling off her head, being caught by the string which makes it hand around her neck, “You invited him?”

Carly reaches out to fix the hat, brushing her bangs down and then fixing her hair, “Adam invited him. Like two weeks ago ‘cause he was moping around.”

Tommie picks at the skin on her fingernails and sighs, she leans back against the counter with her arms crossed, staring into space and hoping Matty will stay away from her.

The past few months since the Brits have been hell, touring around but feeling completely alone. Of course she had the guys, but only Ross knew what had happened that night, and even he didn’t know everything.

Caleb has stayed away, they’ve been in the same room maybe once since it happened, Gabby had come to tour but she and Matty had gotten hotel rooms and travelled separately leaving the others on the bus.

That’s when Tommie felt like she could breathe again, one less person made the metal container much more bearable to be in.

And now, on this night dedicated to her- something she would’ve hated four years ago if it wasn’t for Matty building up her birthday tolerance- she’d felt the happiest she’d been in months, maybe even years.

With Carly following her around with extra drinks and Adam giving her a slice of pizza every time her hand was empty.

Even Button had been making her feel special by cleaning up her own toys (she didn’t want any of the strangers to steal them so she hid them in different places around the house).

There’s not too many people here, the band and their girlfriends, Jamie and his missus, Denise and Louis had flown over too, some tour helpers and a few other people. Phoebe had sent about ten thousand messages apologising that she couldn’t make it after receiving an invite from Adam.

There’s no Caleb, no Gabby. And until now there had been no Matty.

She sips from her drink again and Carly leans forward to adjust the party hat on her head when it starts slipping again, “Just ignore him, he’s come to see Adam, will probably leave after that.”

She nods with a quiet sigh but quickly smiles when Rome calls her over to ask about one of the presents she’d received. 

It’s much later when Matty returns, she hadn’t even realised he’d come back downstairs but a loud racket from the kitchen only she seems to hear has her coming face to face with him.

There’s around three or four smashed glasses on the floor, Matty’s left hand is cut to pieces but he doesn’t seem to mind as he continues to fix himself a drink.

“Matt?”

He looks up, eyes squinting as he leans towards her to see who it is better, “Oh, hey.”

“Oh, hey?”

“Hello, Thomas, such a fine night tisn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes at his sarcasm and leaves the kitchen to head for the bathroom upstairs where Adam had made very clear to everyone is the place he’d stored the first aid kit that they usually keep tucked away on the bus. He’d made the purchase a few shows back when George had cut his finger when trying to make dinner as the bus was moving.

When she returns he’s sipping from the glass and she shakes her head asking him to come with her, “Why?”

“Just… please?”

That’s all it takes, he’s following her into the quiet hallway, and down the little steps out to the porch.

He has many things on the tip of his tongue ready to say but keeps his mouth shut when she forces him to sit.

She sits beside him and wipes the blood from his palm carefully, he winces, the pain sobering him up as he takes his hand away from her.

“I need to get the glass out.”

“How’d that happen?” His brows are furrowed and he’s leaning against her to stay upright.

“I don’t know.”

He winces again and she pulls his hand a little more harshly, “Stop babying me.”

“Stop being a baby.”

He huffs and she holds his hand up when it’s all cleaned up, “I told Gabby I wouldn’t talk to you.”

“Gabby doesn’t want you to talk to me?”

“No, Gabby said we’re bandmates and we have to talk to work well. But I don’t want to talk to you.”

She slides away a little, turning her head to look forward, “Does Caleb let you speak to me?”

“I haven’t spoken to Caleb in four months.”

“You broke up?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

She sighs and shakes her head at him, “You’re all cleaned up, can go finish your drink now.”

“What happened?”

She just looks at him, the party hat crooked and tears in her eyes catching the light reaching them from the kitchen window, reflecting the sparkles on her hat, “Oh…”

She nods as he suddenly realises, but he stands and heads for the door, but she can’t help it. Can’t help asking, reaching out.

“Why, Matt? Why’d you have to ruin it for me?”

“You were miserable.” He shrugs.

“Did you think it would make me happy?” She scoffs, “This life I have now. I’m in some kind of- of limbo with my relationship. With Gabby, with you.”

He shrugs and scuffs his shoes against the pavement, “Exactly, you don’t think Matty, only think about yourself.”

“That’s not true-”

“Not true? Look what’s happened, you’re still with Gabby, still got the guys cause they don’t know what’s happened, you’re fine. I lost my boyfriend, my best friend, Gabby…”

He shrugs again and she shakes her head one of the tears finally falling, “I’m sorry.” He decides to say, not looking at her, he can’t look at her.

“For what?”

“That you’re in love with me.”

She raises a brow, but then they furrow. And if he’d just look at her he’d see that face he hates seeing. The one that shows her confusion and sadness at the same time, the one that has tears in her eyes and a frown on her lips. 

“Cause I’m not in love with you.” He tells her. “I can’t be in love with you now.” He clarifies.

She finds herself holding her breath as he stands, “Why not?”

“I- I can’t.”

She stands in front of him now, party hat long forgotten as she rips it from her head and clutches it in one hand. Giving her something to hold onto, something to hold her back. “Am I that bad? What’s wrong with me, Matty? What’s so wrong with me you can get it up but you can’t fall in love?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it.

It’s not that he’s not in love with her, it’s that he won’t let himself be in love with her.

Of course he’s in love with her, he always has been. But he’ll ruin her, he doesn’t want to ruin her. He wants to get it right, to be sober and love her every second, to spoil her and wake her up with a smile on her face. To have Allen and Button run around together in a garden of their own house, a house they’ll buy and move into together.

But they can’t have that.

He can’t give her the life he wants her to have, he knows Caleb won’t either, which is why he worked so hard to split them up. He’ll agree he went about it all wrong but he just wants her to find someone good, who can give her everything he wants to give her and more.

But at the same time he doesn’t want her to find that if it’s not with him. It’s why he worked so hard to sabotage her and Caleb’s relationship.

“Go back to the stupid party,” He tells her, “Find another friend of Adam’s to fall in love with.”

She stands, speaking before he disappears down the pathway, “Do you know what this stupid party’s for, Matt?”

He shrugs, kicking at the floor which causes him to lose his balance for a few seconds. He stumbles, and she clutches the party hat even tighter not to reach out and steady him. 

She’s tired of being the one to steady him. 

“It’s my birthday.”

He stays silent, still not looking at her, “Twenty-three today.”

Still he says nothing, so she goes on to fill the silence. It’s never silent between them. Usually it’s filled with their shared laughter, or calm breaths or skipped beats of the heart.

“You know, coincidentally, that’s the age you were when everything between us started going to shit.”

“Tom-”

“It’s the truth, we haven’t been us, Matty and Tommie, for a very long time. And- I’m tired of trying for us to be that way.”

“We’re fine, perfect….”

“We haven’t talked since February, Matt. We’ve been on tour for almost five months now, and haven't said a word to each other…”

“I fucked up, I know that-”

“Yeah, you did. We both did.” She admits, “But I can’t-” She shakes her head, “I don't like feeling this way.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll try harder-”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Ma-”

“Then what are you saying? I never know what you’re trying to say. So just say it. Outright, fucking say it.”

“I hate that I’m in love with you.”

The door behind them opens, Adam pops his head out, “More pizza’s here.”

She keeps staring at Matty, he looks back up at her, Adam doesn’t move.

“Happy Birthday, Baby.” He says simply.

She nods, watching him turn, hands shoved in his jacket pocket as he heads out into the street, head ducked to protect himself from the rain and disappears from their view.

She tosses the hat away from her and sits on the steps of the house, arms wrapped around herself as she watches the hat get washed away down the street in the rain.

Adam sighs, “Come on inside, it’s raining.”

She shakes her head, lighting a cigarette from in the pocket of her shorts and staring out into the street, “What’s going on?” Adam asks after he’s sat beside her on the greying steps.

She shakes her head but he nudges her, “Come on, put that big smile back on your face. I’ve missed it.”

“I’m lonely,” She says, arms wrapped around herself, a fresh cigarette in her mouth. Adam looks at the ashtray beside her, there’s fourteen cigarettes in there, and he hopes to God that it hasn’t been cleaned out for a few days. But they’ve only been here for a day, he hopes there’s a few other smokers here, but she and George are the only two that he's seen disappeared for a smoke tonight. 

“I can’t sleep.” She says again, taking a deeper drag,  “I think I’m depressed,” She tells him, “Or Autistic.”

“Oh, you’re definitely Autistic.” Adam says and she cracks a little smile as she looks down. “You can be both. Have you… talked to anyone about it?”

She shrugs, “Like who? Caleb?” She scoffs, “Haven't seen him since February, he’s avoiding me.”

“Why?”

“Cause he knows I’m going to break up with him,” She sighs, “Matty was right…”

“Wow, never thought I’d hear you of all people admit to Matthew Healy being right.”

She chuckles, but it turns into a weird strangled sob as her entire face contorts and she starts crying, leaning her head onto Adam’s shoulder.

“I hate him.” Adam’s not sure who she’s talking about, Matty or Caleb at this point.

“He- I hate him. Can’t stand him. He makes me hate myself… and he’s so… so American-” Caleb then, “And condescending, he has to correct the way I talk and makes me feel stupid around his friends, and I…”

“Break up with him then.”

“I can’t do it over the phone-”

“Email?”

She chuckles again, rubbing at her nose harshly, “I can’t do that. It would break me if it happened to me-”

“He knows that, that’s why he’s avoiding you.”

“You know, the end approached us before the beginning.” She says.

He readjusts his grip, pulling her back a bit so the rain won;t hit her legs, “Why did you start dating him?”

“He listened to me… and I don't know, I felt like it was a way to distract me I guess…”

“From what?” She breathes in, chest stuttering, she considers telling him. She thinks over how it will go, how she will say it, how he will react, their relationship once it’s revealed. 

‘I slept with Matty, the day before I saw Caleb… we fell out over it so I went on a date with him to get back at Matty, make him feel the way he made me feel.’

‘You slept with my best friend? Are you serious? What’s wrong with-’

“Life…”

He hums, “Not to make Matty jealous?”

She looks up at him slowly, “Why would I do that?”

He chuckles, “I’m not stupid, Tommie, or blind. I know everything-”

She turns to the door in realisation of her loose mouthed best friend, “Ross! I’m gonna kill him, he told you-”

“Everything.”

She winces, head ducking down as she closes her eyes, “Ads-”

He shrugs, “You can talk to me about that kind of stuff you know-” He is quick to jump in and correct himself, “Not sex stuff… Please don’t tell me about that.”

She giggles a little, sniffling with a nod, “Okay… not even about how he-”

He unravels his arms to plug his ears and she laughs again.

He grins at the fact he got her to smile again, he pulls her into his side, kissing the top of her head, “Break up with Caleb, focus on yourself, don’t worry about Matty or the band right now. Take time off if you need it-”

She shakes her head, “I’m not quitting the band.”

“It’s not quitting, more like taking a break. No one will know, we’ll say you’re ill or something.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not leaving, not taking a break. I’m fine.”

“Don’t push yourself.”

“It’s not a push, more of a slow drag.” She says which has him laughing again as he shakes her a little.

“Promise me if it gets too much you’ll just stop. Go home, have time to yourself. I’ll come with you if you need it.”

She nods, lifting her hand and they link pinky fingers, “I will, Ads, don’t worry.”

“I always worry.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro

-let me know if you want to be added :)

#show me yours matty healy #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 x oc

[mncxbe]

Sweet n Low

𝑨𝒌𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: csm spoilers, sad Aki, on and off unestablished relationship, lil bit of smut and silly, slice of life// 2.3k words

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: ok so my city's full of wax cherry trees and they all bloomed this week♡ i was riding a bus when i passed some of the bloomed trees and they looked like they were covered in snow and it gave me this idea for Aki// divider by @benkeibear

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕: Aki rarely takes days off of work. It’s pointless, a waste of precious time he could spend hunting down devils, but after getting injured into a fight, Makima forces him to go on vacation.

The heavy snow on the streets of Tokyo was long replaced by blossoming trees and vendors selling sakura mochi. Everything is so much lighter during spring- the air, the people, everything except the weight on Aki’s shoulders and the questions weighing on his mind. What’s he supposed to do with a free week? The whole point of this vacation is for him to relax and recover, so staying at home with Power and Denji is out of the question. The only other place he knows is Hokkaido, but he swore he’d never go there safe for the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Truth is, Aki has nowhere to go, and when Aki has nowhere to go, he comes to you.

When you open the door to your apartment, your colleague greets you with a nod “Hey there”

Oh hi, Aki. You move to the side, letting him step inside. As always, Aki takes off his shoes and sits down at the kitchen table, looking around the apartment while you make him coffee- medium grind, slow drip with no milk and a pinch of sugar. You notice he’s quieter than usual, his expression darker as he stares at something outside the kitchen window. During the few years you’ve known each other you learnt that Aki has the bad habit of getting lost in his own thoughts when things got tough– his mind is both a refuge and a prison, but today it seems to be the latter. Placing the steaming cup of coffee next to him you squeeze behind his chair, wrapping your arms around his neck. I see you were discharged. You feel any better?

“A little bit…” he muses “Look, I was wondering if I could crash at your place this week. Makima made me take a week off after my injury” You smile, nuzzling your chin in the crook of his neck. He always smells so good despite smoking, like a fresh summer breeze. I’d let you stay but I’m going back to my hometown this week so… “No, no it’s okay I get it. Forget I asked” Aki and you are close, but not close enough to let him stay at your place by himself. Still, you can’t shake off the feeling that you have to do something for him. You could come with me you suggest and he tenses up, shaking his head “I couldn’t possibly it’s your vacation. I don’t want to intrude” Nonsense you giggle, slowly running your hands up the sides of his face and into his hair to undo his topknot. The protests that fall from his lips are quickly silenced when you trace soft kisses on his neck and jaw, working your way up to the shell of his ear.

Come on, Aki, it’ll be fun. You and me in my little hometown for a whole week you whisper, rolling his stiff muscles under your palms, easing the tension in his shoulders. We could go on walks all day. I’ll show you around, it’s a pretty village, quite quiet too, perfect for you to relax. Your hands slide lowers down his chest and abdomen, finding purchase on his thighs. Your body’s practically flush against his back and Aki’s breath catches in his throat when you kiss his cheek again I can help you relax–

“Ok, alright, I’ll come with you” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, one of the few signs of affection he showed you. You straighten your back at his compliance and ruffle his hair, earning a soft frown from the man Wonderful, we’re leaving tonight.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

You reach your hometown by morning, just before sunrise, and you rent a room at a local inn. “Why don’t you just stay with your family?” he asks the moment the door to your room slides shut behind you. He drops his luggage on the floor and reaches for his pack of cigarettes Because I promised you I’d stay with you. You snap your fingers to get his attention and Aki turns to see you pointing at a no smoking inside sign and huffs, mumbling curses under his breath as he returns the pack to his breast pocket. “I really have to go all the way to the front porch to have my damn cigarette?”

Sort of you laugh and it’s like music to his ears. He takes a deep breath in to calm his nerves and looks around the room: it wasn’t much larger than his own bedroom, with a bed in the middle and a table for two in the corner, next to the built-in closet. A fresh breeze seeps inside the room through the open window, carrying a faint flowery scent. It was early morning and people were slowly starting to come out on the streets “So, what’s the plan for today?” Jee, Aki, relax we just got here. We should sleep for a while, we’ve been up all night you say as if you didn’t sleep during the whole trip. “I think I’ll pass. I’m going to take a walk around town” You nod, yawning as you slip out of your clothes and into your pajamas. You sure you don’t want to stay?

Curling up between the sheets with you in his arms sounds awfully tempting, but he needs to be alone at least for a while. “I’m sure. I’ll be back in a few hours though”

And so he leaves the inn and walks down the stone paved street lined with pretty houses, family restaurants and shops with closed windows. From time to time, someone passes by and gives him a friendly good morning but aside from that, the place is silent. There are no cars rushing around, no bustling crowds and no devils massacring innocent civilians, just peace and quiet, as if the whole town was frozen in time. Aki doesn’t understand how a village just hours away from Tokyo could be so serene, but he welcomes the normality of this place, allowing it to settle down over him and soothe his worries.

He finds a bench on the main street and takes a seat, procuring his pack. He cups the flame of his lighter with a hand, sheltering it from the soft breeze as he lights a cigarette and takes a deep breath in, the smoke stinging the back of his throat. Aki drops his head back and closes his eyes, listening to the birds chirping in the distance. Perfect, everything is perfect, he’s certain he made the right decision by joining you on this trip. He’d go back to you in a few hours and you’ll show him around town, maybe he’ll even get to meet your family one of these days and the two of you would have a good time. Maybe he will even allow himself to believe that you are more than occasional fuck buddies.

But then he notices the trees and the sense of peace crumbles. As he looks up at the crowns of flowers above him through half lidded eyes they seem covered in snow and nausea washes over him. How did he not notice them sooner? Fuck his mind for not allowing him to have one peaceful moment before memories of the day his family died rushed in. Suddenly, the picture he conjured up of this corner of paradise, his plans to enjoy the vacation are spoiled, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. He ashes his cigarette and gets up from the bench, retracing his steps back to the inn, away from all the things that remind him of his past. He shuts himself in, desperately trying to ignore his memories and the white trees lining up every street that make him feel like the world is caging in on him.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s in his room until your sleepy voice snaps him back to his senses. Aki, you’re back so soon? you mumble, rubbing your eyes and stretching out an arm, beckoning him to join you in bed. And he does, shrugging off his jacket and slipping under the sheets. Did you have fun on your walk? He mumbles a yes, though you can tell he’s not in the best of spirits, so you simply smile up at him, holding his face in your hands. I’m glad then. Maybe we could go to the hot springs later today. I’m sure you’ll love it. Your touch feels so warm against his skin, your lips so deliciously sweet when you kiss him. Aki hooks an arm around your waist and deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another and your breaths grow shallower as he pulls your pajama shorts to the side.

His actions are urgent, desperate, but you let him kiss you and touch you and fuck you and he does it like you’re his lifeline. Because in moments like this one, when he's plagued by his past, the pain so vivid and intense even years after those unfortunate events, you are the only thing that brings him peace.

So what’s up with you, hm? You seem awfully tense.

The sun sunk low under the line of the horizon a few hours ago, the only source of light coming from the lampposts on the main street, a hue of gold floating dissipating in the dark of the night. Aki’s back is turned to you as he pretends to sleep, his ribcage rising and falling with each breath he takes. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk– he’s been acting strange ever since he returned from his walk and didn’t even join you to the onsen, but you can’t just leave him like this.

Shifting closer to him, you run your hand along the expanse of his arm, feeling his muscles relax under your touch. You’re not going to accomplish anything by ignoring me, you press and he sighs, turning to lay on his back. He looks so pretty in the soft light that seeps through the open window, his jaw tense, lips pressed in a tight line, lashes batting slowly as if to fence off the sleep. When he finally speaks his voice has a distant edge to it. “It’s just the trees. They remind me of the snow in Hokkaido”

And is that a bad thing?

Of course you don’t know, he never told you about his parents and he has doubts that this is the right moment to have this conversation. But your eyes are so imploring as you prop yourself up on your forearm and look down at him, waiting for some sort of clarification.

“You know... my parents and my brother died when I was a kid, killed by the Gun devil. It was winter and everything was snowed in. I was playing outside with my brother but I sent him to grab something from the house and that’s when-” His voice is strained, like he has to force the words out of him and you feel your heart breaking for him. Your gaze drifts to at the tree in front of your room’s window, its white flowers basking in moonlight and somehow you can see it: the soft glow of the petals and the way they slope to the ground when the wind sweeps them off their sepals resembles snowflakes falling.

You fiddle with the collar of Aki’s t-shirt, trying to find the right thing to say. Would he even appreciate your sympathy? You know he’s not the type of guy who likes to be pitied and you fear doing worse, pushing him farther away. I’m sorry to hear you say under your breath, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist and placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. I didn’t know it’d be like this.

“Don’t apologize, it's not your fault. I’ve got my own issues to deal with, but I want us to have a good time here” His reassurance doesn’t really have the effect he hoped for, he can tell you’re already overthinking. Aki cups your cheek, tilting your head up, making you face him. “I mean it, Y/N. Don’t worry.” His lips brush against yours in a soft kiss, his hand finding its way to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “Plus they’re just fucking trees. I won’t let them ruin the only actual vacation I had since I joined the Public Safety”

But won’t they bother you if you see them all the time? I mean, hell, they’re everywhere.

"I know they are…” his voice drifts off as he leans closer to you, his deep blue eyes scanning your features as he traces the contour of your face with his fingertips. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch, a reminder that you’re here. That he’s here. He’s not in the frozen land of Hokkaido, not in his childhood home, but in a little town with cherry trees east of Fukuoka. This is your home, your life, and for a week he’s allowed to be part of it, to forget his worries and leave his past behind. And he’d be damned if he let a couple of plants ruin it for him. So he kisses you again, gently pushing you back down on the mattress as he whispers against your lips “I guess I’ll just have to keep my eye on you whenever we’re outside.”

#‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚ #chainsaw man #chainsaw man aki #aki fluff #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #csm x reader #csm #aki x reader #csm aki

[ryuyejiho]

"Will you be my girlfriend?" - Han

Pairing: Han Jisung X Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: School

Summary: It was supposed to be the perfect date for a confession of feelings but something went wrong. However, that didn't stop Jisung from his plans

Word Count: ~1.1k

________________________________

There are exactly three minutes left until the end of the last lesson. It was already a few minutes before I packed up all my belongings to get out of the classroom as quickly as possible and run to the school exit.

My friend Jisung was even already sitting sideways to the bench to get off his chair evenly with the bell.

Which is exactly what he did at that moment.

He literally ran out of the classroom and I followed him trying to catch up. Behind me I could still hear the teacher's voice shouting that the lesson wasn't over yet, but I honestly didn't give a damn because a bell is a bell. Information about the end of the lesson.

When we ran outside the school grounds we only saw our only bus just leaving the bus stop. We were supposed to take the same bus an hour ago to a festival where our favorite singer was supposed to be. Since it was at the other end of town the bus there was only one and every two hours or so so so there was no chance we would make it.

"If it weren't for that stupid lesson we would have been there long ago" said an angry Jisung kicking a pebble that was lying by his leg.

"if we hadn't gone they would have lowered our grade" I replied being equally angry. They should have told us about such a lesson at least a week before and not an hour before.

"and what do we do now?"

"I don't know, maybe let's walk somewhere. We can go to the skatepark" the park was literally next to the school. There were always a million people riding there on bikes, rollerblades, scooters or skateboards like Jisung did.

I always admired him for his skills but whenever he wanted to teach me something I refused.

"okay then, let's go " he said and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care. I felt very sorry for him because I knew how much he wanted to go there and how much he cared about this concert.

"hey, don't be sad. If not now, then some other time" I ran up to him wanting to catch up with him and put my arm around his shoulder.

"you know how I cared. It was supposed to be a perfect evening and as always something had to go wrong" he said overwhelmed, resting his head on mine.

"I know, but we can't do anything anymore. We can't afford a taxi all the way there, the bus got away from us. We can go there by bicycles if you want" I said with false enthusiasm at which the boy looked at me like I was crazy.

"do you want to bike 35 kilometers to the concert and then ride back the other 35 kilometers while drunk? I doubt it" we sat down on a wall at the entrance to the park and thought about what we should do next.

Not even five minutes passed as Jisung suddenly jumped down happily from the wall and looked at me. We looked at each other for a long moment, me at him like he was crazy and him at me as if he had just won a million at least.

"get up! Let's go to my place! We don't have anything to do anyway so we can go get ramen at my place or something" he made a perverted face at which we laughed and I carefully jumped off the wall.

****

We went into his room where the boy immediately went to the bed and threw all the pillows he had on the floor. I sat down at his desk wondering what was going on in his head sometimes and he went out to the kitchen and brought two chairs with him. He ran again and brought two more which he set at equal intervals to the previous ones so that together they formed a square. On their backs he put his big quilt which was probably to serve as the roof of this contraption, on the floor between the chairs he arranged a blanket and inside he threw all the pillows he had. He walked over to the desk and took his laptop from it, disconnecting it from the charger before.

Satisfied, he placed the laptop deep in that structure and quickly walked back to the kitchen singing some unfamiliar song under his breath. I started laughing at him when I heard the banging of two glass things and after a while a bunch of curses. After a while he came back with two bowls and two glasses which he placed on the floor next to the chairs. Then he looked at me and with theatrical gestures invited me inside.

Happy, I went inside and sat down between the pillows. Jisung threw another blanket inside and came in, sitting down next to me. He smiled at me and covered us with the blanket, earlier pulling the laptop and bowls closer, one with popcorn mixed with chips and the other with fruit. On the laptop he turned on Netflix on which he searched for one of our favorite anime.

"may this evening be as romantic as if we were at a concert" he said looking deeply into my eyes and smiling. At his words I just nodded my head and snuggled into his side.

In the course of watching the already fourth romantic movie, we cried about ten times. We lay cuddled up to each other and tried to calm our emotions while the movie's credits were already flying in the background.

"are you all right?" he asked in a deep voice from crying to which I nodded and raised my head to look at him.

"why do you choose such movies? Because of you, I've already used up my tear limit for the whole next month" the blond man laughed softly and gets up leaning on his elbows.

"that's good. I don't like it when you cry" he smiled broadly but after a while he got quite serious. Strangely enough when I just happened to lick my lips dry from the salt on the chips.

"why such a face?"

"I have something for you" he suddenly said and walked out of our shelter. I heard him walk over to the hanger where we hung our hoodies when we came in and after a while he came back to sit next to me. I looked curiously at the medium-sized box he held in his hands.

"what is this?" I asked, seeing how his hands had begun to shake and how he was getting stressed.

"I wanted to give it to you after the concert well, but.... I'm giving it to you now" he put the box in my hands and looked at me calmly. I opened it and to my eyes appeared a lovely necklace with a heart that had a key-shaped hole in the middle. I pulled it out from inside and admired it when he pulled his necklace from behind his shirt. It was shaped like a key.

Surprised, I looked alternately at his necklace, at mine and at him.

"do you like it?" de asked nervously at which I laughed.

"of course I like it. It is beautiful. But where did you get so much money to buy it?" I asked, looking at the brand name on the box.

"I saved some money and finally bought it" he shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"you could have bought something for it. A new skateboard, a game. What's the occasion anyway?"

"no occasion at all" he said quietly and then after a long moment added taking a deep breath "I wanted to ask you something"

I nodded my head waiting for his question, while continuing to admire our connecting necklaces.

"what is it?" I finally asked when he didn't say anything.

Jisung, saying nothing, suddenly moved closer to me and touched his lips to mine. I sat in shock not knowing what to do but when I felt him pull away I quickly grabbed his shoulders and brought him back closer, deepening the kiss.

We sat like that for a long moment until we ran out of air. When we moved millimeters away from each other the boy spoke up whispering.

"will you be my girlfriend?" saying nothing, I moved closer to him again and kissed him once more, putting all my emotions into this kiss.

I knew that Jisung understood what I meant because he started smiling and put his arms around me, putting us on a pile of pillows.

#stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids #stray kids fluff #han jisung #han skz #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #changbin #bang chan #felix stray kids #hyunjin #i.n stray kids #lee know #seugmin #jyp stray kids #fluff

[jo-harrington]

Genesis (An As Above, So Below Story)

**This can be read in tandem with As Above, So Below as it contains spoilers. The scene with Eddie at the end is a direct lead in to Heaven.**

Summary: In the beginning, there was darkness...

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight)

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Fluff, Meet Cute, Origin Story, Minor Gore, Not Great Parents, Religious Elements, Supernatural Elements, Fate vs Free Will

OC is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side and her mother's side can be left up to interpretation. She is loosely Roman Catholic. I will not be giving her a name, or any major physical descriptors if I can help it but her cultural identity is integral to the larger story.

Note: Damn, so I was just doing an outline for the final chapter of AASB (we are quite a ways away) and this came to me...almost 5k later here we are. If you are reading the series, you might notice some of this popping up again at some point. Thanks to @deathbecomesthem for another set of eyes and enabling me to write something that made my heart ache.

This series is not for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"'What is life for?' he asks himself. 'What is my life for?'"  ― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

March 1983

It was a good day.

It made you nervous by lunch.

Well, nervous wasn't the right word for it.

Guilty.

Rightfully so; Nonna would ask how your day was once you were home and if you had anything to say other than something bad or something guilt-ridden, you'd get an earful. And you didn’t mind it so much coming from her, it’s when Mom started butting in that made things complicated.

You couldn’t stand them fighting anymore.

So you prayed for something bad. Well…just something not good.

One of the nuns being in a nasty mood and giving you a pop quiz, one of the boys from Holy Cross making fun of you when you got on the bus home, a nasty customer during your shift at Food Town, even skinning your knees on the walk home after work.

But no. It was a perfect day. Even old Fortunata on 23rd noticed you walking home and brought out a plate of scaliddi because your birthday had just passed and she knew they were your favorite.

She even asked you if you wanted to come in for espresso and you declined around the hand that pinched your cheek.

It might have been strange to anyone else but to you it was normal. You had a handful of friends at school, sure, but your main entourage consisted of all the little Italian ladies who’d worked at the factory and went to bingo with your Nonna.

Which meant Nonna was talking about you during Bingo again.

You invited her over for coffee and pastries after mass on Sunday instead, so she would let you go, and silently apologized to Nonna that you’d have company instead of getting to watch reruns of Dark Shadows together.

Her secret, shameful indulgence. And yours.

By the time you made it home, it was dark. Streetlights flickered on but you paid them no mind. You'd made this walk a thousand times before safely, and you'd do it again.

Even the shadowy figure sitting on the porch steps didn't make you pause.

"It's been a while," you greeted awkwardly, Mary Janes scuffing the sidewalk as you climbed the steps. You held out the plate to him as you passed. "Scaliddi?"

"I don't eat," he shook his head.

"There's always a first time," you joked.

"Your father is home."

That caused you to freeze.

"Oh?"

"He's hurt."

"Oh."

"You don't seem upset."

"Am I supposed to be?" you shrugged. "He always comes back with cuts and bruises...and then he heals. And then he leaves again. Off to save the world."

"Not this time," Gabriel shook his head. You frowned; that didn't sound right. You shoved your key in the lock, ready to go inside and see just what he meant. You turned to look at him as you shut the door, uncaring of the words he said next. "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes and closed the door on him. Locking the deadbolt although you knew that wouldn't do much if he really wanted to come in.

You let yourself into Nonna's flat and heard distant voices at the back. They stopped as you shut the door; Nonna softly called your name and then shuffled down the hall.

You'd never seen her look so weary in your entire life, and it only got worse the closer she got to you.

Deep lines of worry carved into her face, eyes sorrowful, hands wringing over each other. Hands that had a rosary wound around them.

She immediately reached out and grabbed your backpack and Fortunata's plate and set them down on the plastic-covered French Provincial couch that was the centerpiece of her front room. And then she turned back to you and cupped your face. Her lips pursed and she took a breath as though she had something to say...but she exhaled shakily and shook her head, denying herself the chance.

"You ok Nonnie?" you whispered.

There were tears in her eyes and she forced a smile.

"Of course I'm ok, you're home safe," she told you softly. Her hands shook as she squeezed your cheeks and then took one of yours. She tugged you along down the hall behind her, like she had a million other times growing up. "But we have company. Vieni."

It's tense in the kitchen.

You're slumped in your usual seat, Nonna's seat beside you intermittently empty as she bounces between the table and the stove--stirring and slicing, scooping and serving--and across from you is your father looking...dead. Truly. He looks like he's barely clinging to life, covered in cuts and bruises, one eye so bloodshot you can't see any white, with his right arm in a sling, hand bandaged, missing two fingers.

You're struggling between staring at him and avoiding him altogether.

Beside him, in the chair your mother usually sits in when she's home--you're sure she fled once she saw you had a visitor--sits a stern man in a black cassock. Father Alexander Jinette, one of the Order's contacts within the Clergy. He's calm and charismatic and acts like he knows everything.

He doesn't, you already asked a few curious questions to test his faith and got some bullshit answers in response. But you figured he'd also be testing yours so it was only fair.

Jinette spent the last hour eating homemade bread and telling you how the next few decades of your life will go.

"We'll get you to Rome immediately," he explained. "The Knights have already been called. You'll take your oath and then...let fate take you. You'll probably start where your father left off in Lisbon."

"What about what I want to do?" you asked. "What about school?"

"What about it?" he shrugged distastefully. "What you want doesn't matter; school doesn't matter. You've already learned everything you need to know. Already reading about...Monstrumology and demonology...the Bible? No? You don't need...math. Your studies will be a little more practical from now on. On-the-job training, if you would."

He was the only one in the room that laughed; like he wasn't joking about your life...or your inevitable death.

On and on he went. Explaining how missions work. How often you'd get to come home to rest. How long your father's recovery would take and when he would be back in the fray.

"You, of course, won't see each other," he explained as Nonna handed him a plate. "The temptation to...prioritize one another over innocents...you understand."

"She does," your father answered for you. "She was born for this."

Your eyes darted back to him, feeling a burning sense of...confusion, betrayal...you couldn't pinpoint it exactly. You felt everything and nothing, all at the same time. You were numb.

Nonna slid plates in front of the two of you then sat down with one herself. You snatched a fork off the table and then began to dig into the heap of pasta and chicken when Jinette cleared his throat.

Your eyes slid to him again and he raised a brow in question, then folded his hands in front of him in prayer. Nonna followed suit and your father did the best he could...considering...and you...

"I need a minute," you muttered and pushed yourself to your feet. You darted out of the kitchen, ignoring your father calling after you, and went out to the back yard.

You could hear the distant sounds of the Metra a few blocks away, kids playing further down the alley, and thunderous footsteps down the back stairs following you.

"I just needed air," you defend yourself as your father joins you outside. "I think I'm allow--"

"That was embarrassing," he scolded you immediately. "Don't you realize that?" You round on him and stare incredulously; for a man who looked like he was about to keel over just moments ago, he certainly got his second wind fast when you didn't obey your new master.

"It hasn't even been 5 minutes!" You scoffed. “What if I just needed to smoke. Or had to take a shit?”

“This is not how I raised you—”

“You’re right, because you didn’t raise me.”

You watch the words strike him as hard as if you’d just walked up to him and slapped him.

It felt good.

And all at once, the overwhelming numbness disappeared and you were filled with acute clarity. All the feelings...over a decade of confusion, anger, sorrow, loneliness, and resentment...overcame you.

It was an out of body experience and in hindsight, you should have gone easy on him given his injuries...but when had he ever thought of going easy on you? For as long as you could remember, as soon as he'd made this...legacy...known to you, he'd beaten the devil into you one wicked word, dismissive glance, and denial of "normalcy" at a time.

And now he would have to face its resurgence.

I don't understand why you think you have a right to tell me--expect me--to just nod my head and accept any of this shit. How dare you bring that guy into our home and let him boss me around?

His jaw clenched and he rolled his eyes and scoffed intermittently between your words.

You got to live your life before Papa died. Now you're sending me out there to die before I've even gotten a chance to live. That's what this is...you know that right? It's a death sentence.

He tried to talk over you, tried to say you were being childish, that you didn't know what you were talking about. That this was precisely why you had to go. To grow up.

It'll kill Nonnie if I go. Kill her if she has to stay here alone with mom. They hate each other; don't you know that? Hate each other because of you. Mom hates me...because of you.

Of course it was your mother's perfect timing to pull into the driveway as those words echoed down the block.

Your shoulders heaved as you caught your breath and she stared at you and your father with tired eyes as she slid out of the drivers seat and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Thought you’d be gone by now,” she muttered.

“Nonna made dinner,” you explained.

“Of course she did.”

“Tell your daughter,” your father hissed at her, coming up behind you and landing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “That she’s acting childishly.”

“She’s a child. What do you expect?”

"Well," he spun you to face him now, knowing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. "It's time for you to grow up. No more tantrums. No time for teenage rebellion. This is it; it's up to you now. The fate of the entirety of our family rests in your hands.

"You need to make a sacrifice, for all of us. In the end...you'll get your reward. We all will."

"Hasn't my entire life been sacrifice?" You bat his hand away from you. "A sacrifice that I never chose. This was never my choice, dad. I shouldn't be...I shouldn't have been born to be a means to an end. To be your free ticket to heaven."

You watch the emotions morph on his face and you swear you feel the ground beneath you shake just the slightest bit, as though he debated letting it split open to swallow you whole. You might have preferred that. Instead he took his anger out the human way.

"Free? You want to talk about free?" He lunged and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at his wounded arm. "You want to talk about sacrifice? Let's see what happens when the darkness takes its pound of flesh from you. Let's see what you do when you're staring down the jaws of a monster that only means to kill you. I'll be laughing when you come to regret your words. When you face your own mortality."

"Some father," you spit at him. "Laughing. Guess when that time comes I'll just die."

It was strange, deciding what pieces of your life were a necessity and what could stay behind.

Everything seemed necessary.

Clothes, books, tapes, the abundance of protective tchotchkes that your father had sent you over the years, the little stuffed bunny that you and Nonna had won playing the quarter game at the carnival a few years ago.

Your mother had sent you in to pack.

She'd gotten between you and your father, snapping about "what the neighbors would think." She made sure to emphasize that there would be no dinner until you were ready to go.

Then she slapped the keys to the car in your hand and sent you inside. Alone. So she and your father could talk.

"Probably asking if she could leave now," you sniffed. "No obligation to stay anymore."

But Nonna needed help. As much as they were always at each others throats, you knew they couldn't do it alone. Either of them.

"It's not like you're never coming back," you rationalized. "Mom can just...take one for the team...again...until you're back."

But what if...what if you never made it back?

Your father had been doing this for 16 years and this was the first time you'd seen with injuries like this. He could heal himself, for God's sake. If Jinette and the Order wanted to send you to face...whatever had caused his injuries...with no experience outside of a book and some fucking around in the garage with a knife and a crucifix...

You could play the tough, angry, annoyed act all you wanted but...you were afraid. This shouldn't have been your fight.

It was entirely unfair.

But this was your punishment. To fit whatever you needed for the foreseeable future into a duffel bag so you could go and...be a hero?

"Be a pawn," you collapsed on your bed and hugged a pillow to your chest. "Be a sword."

You didn't want to. You didn't want to. Didn't WANT TO. DIDN'T WANT TO. YOU DIDN'T WANT--

"So what do I want then?" You rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

Who were you? What would your life look like if this wasn't waiting for you?

No one had ever given you the chance to find that out.

No career aptitude tests, no sessions with a guidance counselor, no college applications. You'd floated the idea of taking classes at the community college by your dad last time he'd been in town and he said he'd think about it; did he know that this was waiting just months in the future?

You were doubtful he even knew you had a job at the grocery store or a drivers license. Your mother had caved after months of you begging both times. Nonna just turned a blind eye; whatever made you happy, after all.

Mom...

You glanced over at the keys on your nightstand. You may have had a bit of a temper tantrum and just stormed into your room when you came inside, so the keys had...come with you.

The car was just in the driveway. Papa's dirt brown Mercury Marquis that he'd gotten because he would rather drive than take trains or planes for missions close to home. After he died...well, Nonna certainly didn't drive and your parents had their own cars, so it just sat...rotting in the garage unless your mother wanted a joyride that was a little more rough and tumble than her Sierra could handle.

You'd heard her talking on the phone once, about street racing on Lower Wacker. And how the Marquis could actually go pretty fast when it wanted to.

You wondered what that was like. Your experience driving had only been within the stop-and-go streets of your neighborhood. You'd never even driven on the highway before.

You'd never...lived before.

No concerts, no parties, no field trips, no dates, no first kiss. What did it feel like to go to Disneyland? Or...or see the Statue of Liberty? Or even a drive in movie? You'd never even been outside of the greater Chicago area before. Not even a drive up to Wisconsin for the Renaissance Fair.

You acted before you had the chance to rationalize it, before you had the chance to come up with a plan. Suddenly the things that were a necessity were clear as day and you threw them one after another into your duffel bag.

Clothes and this book but not that one and that shoe box full of cassettes at the bottom of your closet. Your wallet and the little rubber-banded wad of cash in your underwear drawer that you saved from your paychecks instead of putting it in the bank. And, after everything else, the little black cord from Nonna's old mourning robes that now hung from the headboard of your bed.

So she would always be with you.

You snatched the keys from your nightstand and rushed over to the window. You opened it as silently as you could and threw the bag out, then followed it. The slight drop wasn't bad; you maybe pulled a muscle on landing. It wasn't like the movies made it seem.

But that also might have just been what you got for skipping gym one too many times.

You were sure you'd see the light on the back porch turn on when you stuck the key in the ignition and the Marquis ROARED to life.

Or when you forgot to open the gate before you backed out of the driveway and it CLANGED as the bumper smashed into it.

But as soon as your foot hit the gas, it didn't matter.

You looked in the rearview mirror once as you made it to the end of the alley. No one was running after you, no lights turning on spontaneously. No shouting.

Only a familar-shaped shadowy figure that stood unassumingly in front of the still-swinging gate.

March 1984

You were tired.

It was glorious.

It was tedious.

A year on the run, a year of everything you never thought you’d be able to have. And you’d taken it for yourself, greedily. Contentedly.

Driving and dancing and camping and talking and becoming. Becoming the you that you’d otherwise never get to be if you had followed the path fate had set for you.

Any adventure that you could only have imagined a year ago…suddenly became your reality. You didn’t need permission to be happy, if that’s what you wanted.

Just because you didn’t need permission though, didn’t mean you just got to have happiness.

Any time you decided you could settle, take a break from constantly pressing down on the gas pedal of life, someone would pop up. Gabriel, mostly. Your father, once. And the jobs you’d just taken or the apartments you’d just paid for would get left in the dust so you could avoid their confrontation.

Which is why you were in Indiana. You’d honestly tried to avoid the tri-state area once you left Chicago. It was too close to home, too easy to find. Too easy to be tempted to go back. But you needed to get through Indiana to get to your next destination.

Wherever that might be.

It was a torrential downpour when you exited the highway and soared down dark, suburban streets to your next pit stop. A roadside motel off Route 69 according to your probably-outdated road map. Maybe there’d be a diner or something nearby. Otherwise you could sleep in the car and find breakfast come morning; wouldn’t be the first time.

It was getting tiresome.

You were tired of being anybody; you wanted to be somebody again.

You thought that you’d find out who you were taking on this adventure but in truth…you already knew.

You had been your father’s safety net. Nonna’s best friend, her treasure. Your mother’s burden. You were so incredibly resilient and strong. A whisper with the capability to become a scream. Misunderstood by the simple lack of an attempt to understand. You were brave and adventurous. Crafty and cunning.

Not beautiful but…purposeful.

You had a purpose here on earth and you knew deep down it wasn’t what fate expected of you. What everyone expected of you. You knew because of the way your soul sung when you first backed out of your driveway.

But you were alone. Alone and tired, which brought desperation.

It was a dark cloud that filled you. Consumed your being. You wondered, more than once, if that cloud had been there all along. Desperation led you to running away in the first place and had kept you going ever since.

Only now the dark cloud of desperation made you want to go home to find some light again.

And you knew you couldn’t do that.

The flickering motel sign was a beacon of hope in the dark, and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

The manager, an old man rivaling Methuselah, didn't cease his newspaper reading as you ran into the office from the rain to ask for a room. You questioned whether he had heard you when he blindly reached behind him for a key.

"Number 4," he announced and then held his hand out for his payment. You fumbled with your wallet for a second as he explained the check-out time, the free coffee at 6am, and that the vending machine and coin washer were both unapologetically broken.

"Do you need a wake up call?" he said as he stuffed your cash in the register.

"No."

"Hmm, good," he dismissed you with a wave of his hand. An unspoken fuck off then.

You were about to turn and head to your room when you paused and asked, "can I have the want ads?"

He sighed heavily but peeled the pages apart and handed you the requested pages blindly.

"Don't stay in Hawkins too long," he said sagely. "Or you're liable to get stuck here." Then he waved you off once again.

You stepped back out into the rain and fumbled with the room key and the newspaper, only for a flash of lightning to bring your attention to a structure across the street.

A dirt parking lot with all of 5 cars in it and a one story house-turned-bar with a few faint neon signs in the windows.

Better than nothing.

You shoved your key and wallet back in your pocket and then used the newspaper page as a cover as you darted across the street.

The Hideout was nothing to write home about. A handful of mismatched tables and chairs with a few sleepy drunks sipping on beers and throwing back handfuls of peanuts from bowls on the tables. The bar itself was small and sticky, and the bartender was too.

"Can you make a cherry coke?" you asked. He sniffed judgmentally but nevertheless dug out a dusty bottle of grenadine from behind the bar. He grunted something about no cherries, and you didn't know if you were just that thirsty or grateful for a place to sit that wasn't your car, but it was still the best cherry coke you'd ever had.

Thank God for your ability to heal; it was probably going to shut your body down otherwise.

There's a commotion and in the dark corner of what probably used to be the living room, a group of boys start making some noise. There's a "stage" made up of two-by-fours that creaks as they get a drum kit set up and they'd unplugged a Coors neon sign to get power to their amps.

There was no countdown; they just got to playing.

A loud and unrelenting sound that even had you bobbing your head a little. They weren't great but it wasn't the beloved mess of tapes you'd been cycling through for the past year; it was new and it made you feel something. The four of them shot smiles at each other between bouts of concentration signified by closed eyes and tongues caught between teeth.

Your eyes met with one of them; the lead singer...or...guitar player? Or so you thought; hard to tell since they'd eliminated one of their only sources of light. Long hair and long noodley limbs, and ripped jeans and too much...just too much.

But he was cute and he noticed you.

It made your chest hurt a little.

That was enough to get you to turn around and try to ignore him.

You'd met your share of cute road boys who kissed too hard and fumbled too much and didn't ask for a phone number you couldn't give them anyway. You didn't need a wink and small talk and all of that. You needed...

...you needed a place to stay.

You turned around on the shaky stool and tested your luck by asking the bartender for a pen. He passed one over along with another cherry coke and you got to searching the damp classifieds to the cacophonous background.

You let one sigh after another as you read each ad in depth and found each one not to be good enough. A house for sale? No. A babysitting job for triplets? No. You hated little kids. There was an apartment over the deli that might be promising. And a job stocking shelves at the grocery store. You had plenty of experience with that.

You did another cursory search of the paper before looking back to the bartender.

"Hey," you asked tentatively. "What's this town again?"

"Hawkins," came a voice behind you. "You're in Hawkins."

You spun on the seat to face the source.

Noodle boy.

He fidgeted where he stood, fingers flitting at his sides nervously. When he was up on the "stage" he had the unwarranted confidence of a rockstar but here he was...

"Do you like cheese fries?" he blurted out, then wrenched his eyes shut.

You let out a blasting honk of a laugh, and then clapped your hands over your mouth to snicker at him.

He was adorable.

You made to apologize for your laughter, but you were hit with...feelings. His feelings. And yours.

Weariness and hope and adrenaline and attraction and amusement and embarrassment and comfort and discomfort and safety and hunger...

And. And. And.

"S-sorry," you sobered yourself and tried to ignore the feelings. "I didn't mean to laugh, that was just..."

"Out of left field?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah I kind of just blurt out the first thing to come to mind sometimes. Usually bullshit."

It was endless.

The mix of feelings danced with each other in the space between you.

It felt warm, and after a jaunt in the rain...the warmth felt good.

"Bullshit is good sometimes," you told him with a smile.

"Great, because I'm full of it." You laughed again and so did he. "I'm Eddie."

The feelings were light.

Eddie was light.

And in that moment, you let him shine into the dark parts of you.

“I told you. You don't love someone because of their looks or their clothes or their car. You love them because they sing a song only your heart can understand.”  ― L.J. Smith

#eddie munson x reader #aasb #as above so below #Eddie munson x oc #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson fic