#keep tagging me and I’ll keep them coming

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm going to be starting my advent drabbles for December today so enjoy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You moan at the firm swirl of fingertips against your temples. Lloyd’s hands are so big and warm that they soothe the virulent pulsing, just enough. Your toes curl and you push your skull into his grasp as you sink into the bed. 

“See, Pixie, not too bad, huh?” He purrs. You groan. He needs to just shut up. “I’ve been told I have very skilled hands, you know?” 

“Lloyd, please,” you mutter. 

“Please what? You want more?” He taunts and rocks his hips so his crotch rubs against your stomach. 

You try to shake your head but can’t in his grip. You swat his knee and grumble, “not that.” 

“Ah, come on, pixie, I can be quick but efficient,” grazes his nails over your scalp and you shudder at the cool sensation it sends through your hot skull. “You got goosebumps. I’m getting you there.” 

“No...” you murmur. 

“Mmm, yes. You don’t gotta do nothing. I’ll lick you like popsicle and you’ll melt--’ 

You flick your eyes open as a twinge pinches in your core. That’s not because of him. It’s just your biology responding to the physical stimulation. A dollar store massage pad could do the same thing. You grab his wrists and narrow your eyes. 

“Stop. I’m too tired and miserable--” you whimper at the effort it takes to speak, “to keep arguing with you.” 

“So don’t. Just let daddy Lloyd take over, baby cakes.” 

“Daddy Lloyd?” You hiss and wince at the rattle in your skull. “You’re disgusting.” 

“And you’re just like jelly in my hands. How about this, pixie dust, you just try to stop me. I think that will be fun.” He slackens his hold on your head and caresses your cheeks. Another shiver rolls over you. 

Your hands brush over his as he glides past easily. He tickles your neck and you squirm as he moves back slightly. He walks his fingers along your shoulders then grips them tightly, pushing his thumbs into your muscles. You nearly choke as you feel the tension dislodge as he kneads. 

You put your hand on his stomach and let out a wispy noise. Oh. No. It’s not that good. Oh but it is. 

“See, baby, just a toy for good boy Lloyd,” he slithers. 

You take and breath and curl your fingertips in the muscles of his torso. You’re no virgin, not some untouched nun, but it’s been as while and the feel of warm flesh plucks something deep in you. That tugging is just as much an adversary as the man who has you pinned to the bed. 

Lloyd’s fingertips continue to rub, and roll, and raze your skin. He shifts his hands along your chest and drags them over the rise of your tits. He gropes you through your bra. You bare your teeth and latch onto his middle fingers as you try to peel him away. 

“No, Lloyd--” 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you. 

He raises himself slightly on his knees and slips his hands away from your doughy flesh. He puts his elbows on either side of you, using them to support his weight as he spreads himself over you. Panic swells as you’re trapped under his tall figure. He slips his hands free and frames your sides instead, dipping his head down to bury between your cleavage. 

“Nope!” Your adrenaline spikes, and the yelp reverberates in your head like the clang of a bell. “Lloyd, no! You’re not—Ayeeeee.” 

He bites into the meat of your tit and you hit the top his head. He doesn’t react, only sinking his teeth deeper with a growl. You grab the longer strands of his hair and yank meanly. He grunts and recoils, leaving a throbbing imprint on you. 

“Ow! Don’t fuck with my hair, Pix--” 

“I’m telling you to stop--” You push yourself up on one elbow. 

“You’re moaning like a neglected housewife while you’re doing it. It’s a bit confusing--” 

“Is the word no that unclear to—you,” you put your hand to your forehead at the tick above your eye. You grit your teeth and snarl. 

“I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?” He shoves you back down. “I’m not going to put it in, promise. I just want a taste of the pixie pie--” 

He moves back to kneel between your legs. As he grips your hips and holds you down, your anger overwhelms that worrying tingle in your thighs. He bends as his fingertips curl under your panties and you bring your knee up into his ribcage. 

He coughs and pushes himself away. He touches his side and hisses, “Goddamnit.” 

“My head’s about to split and you’re trying to--” you gulp back the words as your cloudy dismay clears to horror. What was he going to do? How far was he going to go? 

“Babe, my balls are about to split open,” he whines. “I was only going to be nice. Get you a little O before the big flight.” 

You stare at him. Who the hell is this man? This isn’t Mr. Hansen and his curt emails and short commands. This isn’t the man who wanted his coffee with a single cream and his daily calendar colour coded. This is an animal. 

Ugh, you knew better than to blur the line of personal and professional. Too bad, he doesn’t. Two million dollars. That little chant is not as encouraging the further you get into this, especially as you realise, this is only the beginning. 

“Come on, baby, we can do it all over the clothes--” 

“Get away from me,” you sit up with a huff, your whole body rebelling at the effort. “I have enough to worry about without you all over me.” 

“Aw, please,” his eyes fall to your chest and flicker. You look down and sigh, one of your nipples peeking out above the bra cup. You fix it and shove him again. “Even the girls are tryna get out--” 

“Sleep on the floor,” you sneer as you turn your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand and go to your bag, unzipping it as you nearly topple over. Your head is a maelstrom. You take out a loose tee and leggings and quickly dress. 

As you turn back, Lloyd watches you with a pout. It’s disarming how he can go from pathetic to putrid and predatory. You near the bed and go around the other side. You take a pillow and throw it at his back. He sighs and stands up. He ignores the pillow and pulls back the blanket. 

“No--” 

“Hey, promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he snaps. “I’m not sleeping on the damn floor. I’m still your boss, Pixie, remember that.” 

You don’t say anything. That’s the Mr. Hansen you know. Demanding. Stubborn. You turn your back to him and stretch out on your side. You cling to the corner of the pillow and close your eyes. 

His weight jostles behind you. He groans and the bed shifts as he leans over. The light shuts off and you nearly sigh at the relief. 

He lays back but doesn’t relax. He fidgets. Tossing and turning, one way then the other. Adjusting the pillows, tugging on the blanket, bouncing the springs. You chew on the urge to bark at him to stop. 

Finally, he stops. You exhale and try to ease your muscles. The tension only feeds the migraine. You focus on your breathing as you try to coax yourself back to sleep. You feel yourself slipping, further and further. A soft drone rises in your ears, rhythmic but harried. 

“Mmm,” the hum breaks through your bubble and frustration sparks in your chest. You were almost asleep. “Mm, yeah, that’s....” Lloyd raspy voice drawls into the darkness between shallow grunts, “fuck--” 

The shaking of the bed spikes your heartbeat. You open your eyes and frown. What is he doing? Is he--” 

“Lloyd!” You spin onto your back and sit up, “Lloyd, stop that--” 

“Fuck yeah, say my name,” he strokes himself furiously. You can vaguely see how the blanket jumps around his frantic motion. “Come on, I’m almost there.” 

“You’re--” 

“Told you,” he groans and pushes his feet into his bed, his knees bend under the blanket, “keeping my hands--- to myself.” 

“Oh, god!” You turn and leap out of bed, stumbling. “Lloyd, you’re disgusting. Nasty--” 

“Keep it coming, pix, it’s helping--” 

“Ew!” You grab the pillow and twist away, stomping out, “absolutely gross!” 

“Ah, yeah, fuck, baby! Thank you....” he voice peters out as you slam the bathroom door, flicking the lock into place. 

You wince at the impact against the frame and sway in the dark. You throw the pillow into the tub and grab the robe hung on the back of the door. Fuck it. You give up. You don’t even want to sleep anymore, you just want to be left alone. 

❄️

Your alarm wakes you through the wall. You’re stiff and sore, but your migraine has relented. The few hours were enough to push it back to a tenuous shadow. One wrong move and it’ll be back. 

You climb out of the tub and turn on the shower. You wash quickly, minding the time, and get ready in the mirror, wearing the same robe you slept under. You emerge to the rocky snoring. You turn on all the lights but Lloyd remains unbothered. 

You grab clothes, a black turtleneck and the same shade of cigarette pants. You dress in the bathroom then zip up your toiletry pouch. You come out to shove it into your suitcase and scour the room for anything forgotten.  

As a final touch, you return to the bathroom and take one of the paper cups and fill it. You go quietly to the bed and tip it over Lloyd’s naked back, exposed above above the messy blankets. He squeals and bounces to life, flipping over as the rest of him is revealed to the room. You avert your eyes at his nakedness. 

“What the fuck?” He snarls sleepily, “what are you doing?” 

“Time to get up, Lloydy poo,” you clap at him. “We got a plane to catch.” 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” 

“What? I'm helping you wake up. Like a good wife, right?” 

He goes to argue then hesitates. He moves the blankets and coughs. He blinks and rubs his eyes. “What time is it?” 

“Well, it’s time enough. You have thirty minutes to get it together, babykins.” 

He winces at your tone. He stares at you as you grin. He moves cautiously toward the edge of the bed. 

“What’s... you did something?” 

“No,” you answer flatly. 

“But...” he eyes you suspiciously. 

“I’m just playing my part,” you say. “Like we agreed. Not everyone is morally debunked like you, my beloved.” 

“Stop it,” he says. 

“Stop what, my manly man. The twinkle in my eye. My other half.” 

“All of that. I don’t like how you’re saying it,” he stands and hides his crotch with his hands. 

“Stop? Oh, teddy bear, we don’t know that word, do we? Stop? What could that possibly mean?” 

“Alright, I get it. You’re mad about last night--” 

“I’m not mad, sweetie, I’m concerned because if you don’t get yourself together, we’re going to miss another flight and if I miss this flight, well, I think I might just lose my mind,” you smile, “you don’t want that now, do you, snookums.” 

“You...” he turns back to you, “you’re a bit deranged sometimes.” 

“Speak for yourself, sugar,” you march up to him, your anger fuming like smog in your nostrils, and you pinch his naked ass. “Get into gear,” your voice deepens, “now.” 

He yelps and pulls away. He looks at you like he’s been splashed with cold water a second time and he swallows tightly. His brows arch as he gapes at you. He keeps one hand over his pelvis and reaches back to rub his ass. 

“Damn, Pixie,” he finally backs off, “you’re something else.” 

“I’m exhausted and I’m annoyed, so don’t push me.” You warn him. 

“Yeah, well, better get this all out now. I’m sure the family doesn’t need you spoiling the holiday cheer.” 

“Me?” You hiss. 

He blanches, “I meant... er...” 

“Go,” you snap your fingers and put your back to him. “I gotta get all this in the car.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and you listen to him retreat into the bathroom. 

You get your bags to the door then grab your boots and jacket. Your agitation buzzes just under your skin. You have the flight to rein it in. It won’t be easy like Lloyd’s family. They don’t know you, so you can pretend with them. But your family, well, you are related to them. You share quite a few traits. 

And Lloyd. You can’t have him running round like some goblin wreaking havoc. This whole thing is his idea and yet he doesn’t seem to know the script. He’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. He’s not the type your family would expect. That’s because he isn’t your type. Never in a million years would you choose him. 

You take your bags down to the car and return to the hotel room. Lloyd is half-dressed. A pair of lamb grey pants on as he pulls on a white turtleneck with a silver emblem on the left side of his chest. The clothes won’t help the theatrics. 

You gather up his clothes from the day before. You shove them into his large suitcase. “Is that everything?” 

“I think, I just have my essentials,” he says. “Gotta style the love stache.” 

“Go,” you wave him away. 

“Thank you, honey boo, I know. I do look handsome in this, don’t I?” He taunts. You look at him with all the lack of sleep and rage festering in you from the last two days. He recoils and puts his palms up, “right, I’ll doll myself up.” 

You wait for him to disappear back into the bathroom before you drag his bags to the door. You’ll leave them there so he can pack away whatever else he has out. You go to the bed and sit, running your hands over your face. 

This isn’t just about getting through today. After the bullshit he promised his family, this is going to be months of torment. You don’t know if you have the willpower to put up with him for that long. 

[fairy-writes]

Hello- umm I'm new here and I saw your request was open..I was wondering if it's ok for me to request maybe some parent headcanons for Soshiro Hoshina,like imagine him and his s/o (the reader) having twin sons that are literal prodigy and just a overall very talented kids.I just wanna see their dynamic as a family,Like badass husband and their badass wife/husband/partner and their literal gifted prodigy twins- YOU CAN FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS BTW NO PRESSURE THANK YOUUU🏃🏻‍♀️💨

YOUNG PRODIGIES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Headcanons, Original Child Characters, 

Notes: The names I picked and their meanings are as follows (pls lmk if I got any meanings wrong, I’m using a website to translate said names)

Katsuo: Victory and/or hero

Osamu: discipline/study

__________________________________________________________________________

Okay, so at this point, you and Soshiro have likely retired from the Defense Force. Like, yes, you love your job and can go for several more years, but once you decide to have kids, he wants to be there for them and raise them properly. You do, too. 

Whether you guys decide adoption, pregnancy, or surrogacy is right for you, it doesn't matter. He’s there for it all. 

You both end up with twin boys! Katsuo is the younger twin, and Osamu is the elder twin by seven minutes.

When the boys are six years old, Soshiro decides to start teaching them the ways of the sword. 

And you really shouldn’t have been surprised to see that they are prodigies. 

Like, it takes some time for their skills to show, but when they do, they’re top of the class. 

They spar with Soshiro to practice, and of course, he goes easy on them for the first little (long) while. 

While both of them are prodigies, they excel in different ways. Osamu in the offensive, Katsuo in the defensive. 

But that doesn’t mean that they don’t feel inadequate at times…

Osamu and Soshiro came in from practicing for the day while you were busy filling out the last of the paperwork from your new desk job. It was more so to keep you from getting bored than anything else. The Defense Force paid you a hefty pension for serving for so long in their ranks. 

“Where’s Katsuo?” You lean back in your desk chair and ask your beloved husband and elder son as Osamu skips in to ask what’s for dinner. 

“He isn’t with you?” Soshiro asks as he toes off his shoes by the front door. 

At this, you frown. “No? I thought he was with you.” 

“He said he didn’t wanna practice today.” Osamu chirps as he comes out of the kitchen with an apple stuffed in his mouth. 

Katsuo didn’t want to practice? That was odd…

“Go check out back again. I’ll check his bedroom.” You eventually say to Soshiro, who nods and takes your elder son with him. 

You find Katsuo in his bedroom.

He’s curled under his alien-themed blankets, and you can faintly hear sniffling from your spot by the door. 

“Hey, kiddo.” You whisper into the silence, and he jolts in surprise. He peeks his head out from under the blankets to look at you with red-rimmed eyes. 

“What do you want?” He mumbles, and your eyebrow arches at the ten-year-old’s cold response. 

“To check on you. What’s going on?” You say, but don’t move from your spot by the door until he gives you the go-ahead. 

Once you’re seated beside your younger son, he bursts into tears. 

“I’m not good enough!” He blubbers, and your frown deepens. 

“What do you mean? Of course, you are!” He flinches away from your comforting hand and shakes his head. 

“Not as good as ‘samu! He’s loads better than me! He beat me four times yesterday, and I only beat him once!” He snaps, and you sigh. 

You should’ve known this was going to happen. 

“You’re too much like me, I fear.” You eventually say, and he looks at you in confusion. 

“Huh?” You reach forward again, and he allows you to run your fingers through his hair. 

“You know, especially when I was your age, I always beat myself up over things I couldn’t do or couldn’t do well. Growing up with your father will do that to you. But you know what?” You poked at his side until he began to giggle and squirm away. 

“What?” 

“I pulled myself up and tried my best. I was good at what I did, and I knew that. I just forgot it sometimes.” 

Katsuo looked at you in what looked like awe, wiping his tears away as he crawled into your side. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. 

“But you’re amazing!” He whispered, and you laughed, 

“I know. But so are you, my little man.” You said, and before he could deflect, you continued. 

“I haven’t seen anyone as good with defensive footwork as you in a long time. And you should be proud of that! Sure, Osamu is good on the offensive, but when he gets backed into a corner, he doesn’t know what to do. He’ll get better, I’m sure. But so will you.” You reminded him, and he just shrugged.

“Am I interrupting?” Came your husband’s voice and you looked up to him with a smile as he approached the two of you. Katsuo scrambled from your grip and threw his scrawny arms around his father. 

“I’m sorry for missing practice today.” He mumbled into his stomach and Soshiro just chuckled and ruffled his son’s hair. 

“Don’t worry about it, buddy. There’s always tomorrow.” He said and ushered him out of the room before sitting beside you. 

“So, what was his issue today?” He asked, and you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“He thought he wasn’t good enough. We had a little chat, and he’s feeling a bit better now.” You replied and felt him kiss your hairline. 

“You always were good with pep talks.” He teased, and you just rolled your eyes, but a smile nonetheless played at your lips. 

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: swearing, drinking, use of "princess", not much of anything this part tbh. eventual smut warning tho of course ( • ᴗ - ) A/N: THE SPIN OFF IS FINALLY HERE! of course, because I'm obsessive I've already written 3 full parts... I suck at writing beginnings though, so bear with me as things are a lil slow in my opinion! I hope you all enjoy it as much as you enjoyed Hunter and Hunted; and be prepared for MORE smut cause its SUKUNA OF COURSE.

index part one | part two

part one word count: 2,762

Christmas had come and gone, and you had stepped into the new year with an even angrier outlook on life than you’d had before. sure, last year had been rough; you’d been cheated on and promptly dumped for someone else, and the bittersweet icing on the cake was when you found out your ex had gotten engaged over the holiday season. you’d done what any sane person would do – drank away your feelings.

the past few weeks, your friends could often find you at the bottom of a mug, angry eyes watching as you toyed with the coaster at any bar you’d walked into. you need – no, wanted – vengeance. you imagined the look on your ex’s face if you ran into him with another, maybe hotter, guy on your arm. men these days were only looking to get their dicks wet, how hard could it be to snag one?

you came to realize it was incredibly hard.

any man that gave you the time of day seemed to be scraping the bottom of the barrel, consistently sleezy and looking like they hadn’t showered in days. or worse, still lived in their mother’s basement. the men you worked with were no better. constantly watching your ass as you walked by, attempting to slyly cop a feel in the break room, and so on.

so, here you were, walking down the street to a pub around the corner from your job to grab a drink. you had a one-track mind for this sort of thing, oblivious to your surroundings until two men stepped into your path to stop you.

“excuse me.” you muttered as you took a step to the side, trying to go around them. before you could get back to your mission one of their hands reached out and snagged your wrist. ugh, more disgusting pigs. “I’ll ask you once to kindly let go off me.”

“c’mon pretty, we just wanna talk t’ ya.” the bigger, burlier one gave you a sly grin that made your skin crawl.

“yea, walking around with a skirt that short we couldn’t help but notice ya.” the one holding your wrist tightened his grip slightly. your frown stretched down your face as you took a moment to assess the situation. what was it your friends always said? right – be loud, draw attention, scream fire and whatnot.

“oi, get your fucking hands off me!” you shouted, tugging your wrist against the firm hold.

“what do ya expect when ya dress like a whore?” one of them snapped as they stepped closer. you were only dressed for work; skirt that came down mid-thigh, button up blouse that covered every inch of your skin, so how was this outfit whorish?

“she’s got a mouth on her, huh?” they nudged each other as you struggled to get free. with your free hand, you made a fist and pulled it back. you wouldn’t be able to seriously injure them, that was for sure, but you could at least distract and get away.

“I said leave me the hell alone, twatbags!” you shouted, fist shaking but staying firm in a pulled-back position. if they made one more move, you’d muster up the courage and hit one of them.

suddenly, both men went wide-eyed in front of you and your wrist was released from it’s prison. hah, so my scare tactics worked, you thought. you’d have to pat yourself on the back later for this achievement. “aw, little ole me got you boys scared? looks like you’re about to wet your pants.” you smirked, crossing your arms in triumph.

until their eyes traveled from you, to over your head.

“these guys bothering you?”

your body tensed at the deep, baritone voice from behind you. so that’s what had the men backing off – but that scared? whoever was behind you had to be huge, like a wrestler or something. you imagine big, bulging muscles and a towering figure, and you gulped.

“I believe she asked you to leave her alone.” whoever was behind you continued, and with each word you almost shivered. his voice exuded strength, even something like anger laced in his tone. or was it just annoyance? “oh, forgot to add the twatbags part. that was a good descriptor.”

the two men stepped back and the other man stepped forward, now standing slightly in front of you. you dared to scan his figure – not a body builder, but definitely not small. he wore a black compression tee that showed off his muscles, and you could see the tattoos running all across his skin, intertwined and connected everywhere you looked. your eyes caught on his light pink hair, slicked back but disheveled on the sides as if he’d been running a hand through the strands.

“while I’d love the entertainment of watching her take a swing at you, I don’t think you want to see what happens if you retaliated.” the man merely crossed his arms before looking down at you. he did in fact tower, maybe just over you but he was still above average height. something flickered in his eyes as they met yours, and you could only stare at him speechlessly.

he hadn’t even had to do anything before the men scoffed and walked away, albeit hurriedly like a fire had been lit under their asses. you and the man watched as they scurried down the sidewalk, and you finally let out a sigh when they disappeared from sight.

“thanks for that. although I’m pretty sure I had it covered.” you felt him look at you as you watched the distance – double checking that they were in fact gone before you left the protection of the stranger.

he chuckled lowly as he shook his head. “looks like you did. but, I thought I’d provide backup just in case.”

but before he could continue, you were already walking away in the opposite direction of the two men. all you had wanted was a damn drink, and by god you were going to get one.

you could hear the faint echo of footsteps behind you, but you tried to push it out of your mind, focusing instead on the door to the bar in front of you. with a swift motion, you yanked it open, stepping inside and hoping to lose the stranger following you.

but when you heard those same footsteps following you in, your patience snapped. you turned around, irritation bubbling to the surface. “are you following me?” you demanded, locking eyes with the man who had been trailing behind you. “do I need to be worried about you too?”

he just chuckled, his casual demeanor only adding to your annoyance. “do you think I owe you something now?” you shot back, trying to keep your tone serious, though it was clear he didn’t take you seriously at all.

his laughter echoed in the small space; a mocking sound that only made your frustration grow. “actually,” he said, his voice steady, “I came back to finish the beer I left to save your ass.” he gestured nonchalantly at a knocked-over bar stool and the half-empty drink sitting nearby, the remnants of the drink he’d been enjoying before the whole mess began.

the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck as you processed his words. “oh.” you mumbled, feeling the awkwardness seep into your skin. "sorry. considering the kind of men I’ve just dealt with, I didn’t know if you were some sleazeball too.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “sleazeball? you sound like my little brother,” he said with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

you couldn't help but throw a jab back. “then he has good taste in vocabulary.”

the man’s grin only grew wider, clearly amused by the bite in your tone. his eyes glinted with something like genuine entertainment as he took a step closer. “my name’s Ryomen Sukuna, by the way,” he said, his voice dripping with casual confidence.

you narrowed your eyes, studying him with suspicion. there was something about the way he carried himself that set your nerves on edge. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable giving my full name to a complete stranger,” you replied, your tone a mix of caution and defiance.

Sukuna simply shrugged, as though your response didn’t faze him in the least. “but I just introduced myself, after acting as your knight in shining armor, I might add.” he gave a lazy stretch, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the bar, his gaze fixed on you as if daring you to challenge him further.

you didn’t back down. “that doesn’t mean I know you now,” you said, your eyes still narrowed. you turned away from him, flagging down the bartender who had just started to clean the counter. “a drink. whiskey, neat,” you said, your voice firm as you slid a few bills across the bar.

normally, you wouldn’t dare drink hard liquor on a weekday at five o’clock, but goddamn you needed it now. your nerves were on edge, but a stronger feeling had settled within you since the start of this particular conversation.

he was unbelievably attractive. pierced ears, tattooed skin, and a smile reminiscent of the devil across his lips. so so not your usual type. but then again, your type had cheated on you. Sukuna’s presence was almost overwhelming – strength, confidence or cockiness – the air stilled around him like it was intruding his space.

Sukuna watched you with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “then get to know me,” he said, his voice low and almost coaxing, as if the idea of you refusing was an amusing thought to him.

you didn’t hesitate in your response. “buy me a drink and I’ll consider it,” you shot back, your tone playful but laced with a challenge. you’d be damned if you’d make it that easy for him, knowing all to well the type of men that seem to flirt with you always turn out to be disgusting.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your boldness, but said nothing as the bartender set your drink down in front of you. it was clear you weren’t going to make things easy for him, but that only seemed to fuel his curiosity.

you were already fascinating him. from Sukuna’s first look at you, ready to stand your ground against two grown men, to now acting defiant against him even as he could see the tension in your shoulders with every sentence you spoke. were you feigning confidence or was it real? he liked the way you talked back to him; it made the conversation more entertaining, and he eased into it with pleasure.

Sukuna’s eyes never left you as you took your drink from the bartender, the smooth amber liquid catching the dim light of the bar. he didn't immediately respond, just leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression playing across his features. for a moment, you wondered if he was going to let the challenge slide.

then, to your surprise, he pushed off the bar with a slow, deliberate movement and took a step toward you. his presence felt heavier now, more intense. heat rolled off of him and over you, his cologne drowned your senses. “a drink, huh?” he mused, his voice taking on a playful edge, like he was toying with you. “that’s all it takes to get you to talk to me?”

you took a sip of your whiskey, cringing at the burn as you met his gaze head-on. “depends on the drink,” you replied, the hint of a smirk curling at your lips. you had no intention of giving in that quickly, not when he still felt like a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

Sukuna chuckled softly, the sound deep and almost predatory, like he was enjoying the chase. “I think I can handle that,” he said, raising a hand to signal the bartender. his attention briefly shifted to the man behind the counter, but when it returned to you, his expression had softened, just a fraction, though the amusement never fully left his eyes. “is whiskey your usual, then?” he asked, his tone suddenly more casual, almost conversational.

you tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s the drink I’m worried about,” you said, leaning in just slightly, your voice quieter now. “it’s the company.”

he gave you a look that said he wasn’t fazed by your words, not in the slightest. "trust me," he replied smoothly, "I’m better company than most people you'd find in this place."

he wasn't wrong. there was something undeniably magnetic about him, an energy that drew you in despite your better judgment. you could sense there was more to him than what he was showing, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what he was really after.

the bartender placed a fresh drink in front of Sukuna — a glass of something darker, likely whiskey as well, and more expensive than the one you had just ordered. Sukuna didn’t touch it immediately, instead shifting his stance so he was fully facing you, his eyes now narrowing just slightly, as if sizing you up. like you were a snack he wanted to take a bite out of.

"alright, I’ll bite," he said, his voice a low murmur as he watched you closely. “what’s your story?”

you took another sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “maybe I’ll tell you,” you said slowly, deliberately, “but it’s going to cost you more than just a drink.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into another half-smile, his confidence never wavering. “I’m up for the challenge. what’s the price?” his tone had shifted again, all business now, but there was still an edge of that playful intensity behind it.

for the briefest moment, you almost felt like you were playing a game with him, something neither of you had agreed on but that you both instinctively understood. you hesitated, eyes scanning his face for any hint of vulnerability — but there was none.

“get me another round, and we’ll talk,” you finally said, giving him a sly smile that matched the gleam in your eyes.

Sukuna didn’t need another word. he turned away, reaching for the glass, a quiet satisfaction in his movements. he knew the game was far from over, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be the one to win it.

you lifted your eyes to meet his, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. he was still an enigma, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed but with an edge that hinted at something more dangerous beneath.

“you’re a man of few words,” you observed, your voice playful but with an undercurrent of challenge. “or is it that you’re waiting for me to spill my life story?”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your attempt to provoke him. “I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied smoothly, voice low and even. you could feel his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made you want to pull back, but also something else—a curiosity, maybe even an unspoken challenge.

you took another sip, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “and what’s in it for me?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a hint of sarcasm. “why should I bother getting to know you?”

Sukuna’s smile deepened, almost like he was savoring the moment. “because,” he said, his voice now tinged with something a little darker, “I’m not just any stranger. and I think you’ll find out, sooner or later, that I’m worth your time.”

his confidence was almost infuriating, but you couldn’t deny that something about him intrigued you. maybe it was his audacity, or maybe it was the mystery that clung to him like a second skin. or possibly, that he could be the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on. either way, you weren’t ready to walk away just yet.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied, a small challenge in your voice, but this time, there was a flicker of curiosity in your gaze too.

Sukuna met your challenge with a steady, unwavering stare, his smirk never fading. “then I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out, won’t you?”

it wasn’t an offer. it wasn’t even a question. it was a promise. and whether you liked it or not, you were beginning to realize that you might just be caught up in his game—whether you wanted to be or not.

it wasn’t an offer, or even a question. it was a damn promise. whether you realized it, you were beginning to get caught up in his game – it was inevitable.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @mangiswig @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine @sorahatake @osohchoso @csolya I tagged some people that interacted A TON with Hunter and Hunted who I appreciate so so much ; so if you were tagged and would like to be removed just let me know! ♡ I hope this fic is as loved as Hunter and Hunted! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[dreamwatch]

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas. 

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair. 

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.” 

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway. 

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet. 

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him. 

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it. 

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal. 

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still  in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face. 

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream. 

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there. 

“That was… that was really cool, actually.” 

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?” 

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed. 

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.” 

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner. 

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air. 

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar. 

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it. 

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up. 

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration. 

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now. 

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?” 

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs. 

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep. 

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have. 

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside. 

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

[fanficsbysteve]

Author’s Note: So, I really wanted a cute BuckTommy Christmas story. And this is what happened. Hopefully, everyone likes it. I enjoy reading your comments and tags so please keep them coming. I also appreciate any likes I can get. When I figure out a title for this, I’ll post it on AO3 as well cause the Kudos and Comments there also give me inspiration to keep going.

Rating: G

W/C: 2944

***

Thanksgiving wasn't Tommy’s favourite holiday of year. That holiday privilege had always gone to Christmas. Growing up it had been the one day of the year where everyone in his family got along, there was no fighting, just happiness. So, the moment that Thanksgiving was over, Tommy started his decorating. He had boxes and boxes of decorations in his garage. And this year was the first year in many that he had someone to celebrate and decorate with.

Evan was still in bed when Tommy was rummaging around in the garage, slowly boxes of trees and ornaments and everything else you could imagine started to make its way from the garage into the living room. It was time to get the decorating started and nobody could tell him otherwise.

First task was organizing everything. He had decided on a theme years ago that he liked so he stuck with it. He connected his phone up to his speaker system and started to play some Christmas music to get him in the mood. Not too loud. He didn’t want to wake up Evan. Ok, so we have the tree, the mantle village, the ornaments, garland, a never-ending supply of neatly organize lights, he wasn’t going to be spending hours untangling these. He had things to do.

As he pulled different things out of their boxes, he also spent some time in the kitchen. Today was not the ‘spend too long making breakfast’ day. This was a coffee and a bagel day. The coffee machine was brewing. He was busy so he didn’t do the bagel. He did hear some shuffling around upstairs. He poured two cups of coffee, making his how he wanted, and leaving the cream and sugar out for Evan to make his. Taking his mug to the living room, he set it on the mantle and started to rearrange the furniture in the living room. He had been waiting to do this as it was noisy.

Evan shuffled into the living room holding his cup of coffee, a zombie of a human being. This must be one of the mornings where he isn’t a ball of sunshine right off the bat. Tommy was amused by this, “Morning,” he called out to Evan as he moved a chair from one corner of the room to another, stood for a second, and then nodded. This would work.

“Bah,” Evan wasn’t in a sunshine mood this morning, “You sleep well?”

Tommy answered while still organizing everything, “I slept ok. Too much food at Bobby and Athena’s house last night. The food coma helped some.”

“Good to hear,” Evan put his mug down on the coffee table, and came up behind Tommy, pulling him into a hug, “My mind just kept going so I stayed up a bit later than I had originally planned to.”

“I think I briefly woke up and saw you on your phone,” Tommy leaned back into the hug. It felt nice. It was nice to be treated once in awhile. As the older man in this relationship, he tended to be the initiator of most things, “What hole did you fall into last night?”

“Besides yours?” Evan chuckled at his horrible joke. Tommy pulled out of the hug slightly and looked over his should with a ‘You’ve got to be joking’ look, “Why Turkey is the protein of choice in North America during holidays, while in Europe they tend to have Goose,” Evan said, “Turns out its all marketing and money.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it while you help me decorate,” Tommy pulled a box with an artificial tree in it. He’d always had an artificial tree and something about the consistency that it brought felt right. Of course, a real tree was always nice, but it left a mess all over the place, took way too much effort to keep alive the length of time that Tommy liked to have it up, and disposal was a nightmare. He just liked to stick to an artificial one and add pine scented candles around the room to give the effect of a real tree.

Evan groaned as he fell onto the couch, “You decorate this early? Its the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Christmas was the one time of year when my family stopped fighting,” Tommy said offhand, “So its really the one holiday that I truly enjoy and I might go a little overboard with the decorations, and start earlier than most people do, though I think they put things up in September in some places, but its something that brings me joy.”

Evan took a swig of his coffee, stood up, cracked his knuckles, and said, “Alright then Auntie Mame,” another half attempt at a joke, “What do you need me to do? If it makes my man happy then I’m ecstatic to help,” the determination on his face didn’t mask the exhaustion that was also there. Thankfully, they both had today off.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Tommy smiled, “Since you were up half the night researching turkeys and geese.”

“Thank you,” Evan truly sounded exhausted.

“I need you to sort out the stocking holders and stockings for above the mantle,” Tommy said, “And start setting up the village. There is a picture in the main box,” Tommy pointed to the box labeled village, “On where everything should go. However, if you feel like something might look better a certain way, let me know and we can make some changes. This is your Christmas as well.”

Tommy watched as Evan went about sorting out and placing the various stocking holders and village on the mantle. It was easy enough work for the time being. It would get more difficult later when they started putting lights up on the house.

“Who’s Paul?” Evan asked out after a bit of time had passed. Tommy got all the furniture moved around and had set up the tree. He was about to start the lights when Evan asked his question.

Tommy frozen in mid-motion. Paul. He had almost forgotten about Paul.

Tommy paused for a second, “I forgot I had that one in there,” He came over and took the stocking out of Evan’s hands, “Paul was one of my military buddies.”

“Just a buddy?” Evan raised an eyebrow, “I know in my family we only made stockings for important people to us.”

“Well, it was Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell time,” Tommy explained, “And I was still trying to delude myself into thinking I was heterosexual at that time. But Paul was more than a buddy to me, I guess. We would stay up well past curfew talking about our lives, what we wanted to do in the future. That kind of stuff,” Tommy held the stocking close, “I may have had a crush on him but he was always talking about all his conquests before he went into the military,” Tommy put the stocking down, “We were sent to Iraq, whatever name they gave to justify the invasion had been earlier that year so we didn’t expect to see any combat. One night we were just chatting. It was around Christmas time, I think. Hard to tell in the desert unless you were paying attention to a calendar.”

“Hard to tell around here as well,” Evan piped in, looking out the window at all the green trees and grass everywhere. Tommy knew that Evan did miss the snow in Pennsylvania when Christmas came. It never snowed in LA.

“Well, I told Paul about all my Christmas traditions,” Tommy continued his story, “Family stockings, little villages, the whole thing. He made me promise that I would put a stocking up for him. I think he knew how I felt about him. He just didn’t want to lead me on at the same time. We didn’t talk about it like that. Anyways I said that I would of course put one up for him when we got back home. He was killed in action a month later.”

Evan got up and hugged Tommy again, “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Evan just squeezed Tommy hard while they stood there.

“I put this up as a memory of him,” Tommy continued. He grabbed a stocking holder and walked to the mantle. He took the stocking and put it up, “I originally didn’t want to keep putting it up, it brought back too many hard memories. But I eventually made one and started putting it up. A memorial of sorts.”

“That’s a super sweet story,” Evan said looking at the stocking. Tommy smiled looking at it.

                Coughing, Tommy started to rummage in a box, “OK onto the next stuff,” He pulled out the base of the tree and started puttering around to get that organized. He had spent the extra money for the pre-lit one. He liked the way it looked. The lights were more hi evenly spaced. He plugged the first part in and used that to make sure that he got the next pieces in correctly, “I do love how this looks.”

                “We always had a real tree in Pennsylvania,” Evan commented, “But then again it was also easier to just go out into the woods somewhere, ask a farmer and cut your own down out there than it is here. Unless you want to decorate a palm tree.”

                “I’ve tried doing that,” Tommy admitted, “Its not as fun as it looks. Just a bunch of lights going up the trunk. Doesn’t look as nice as the fullness of the evergreen.”

                “I agree,” Evan said. He got up and brought some baubles over and started to help putting them up.

                Tommy let Evan do what he wanted with the baubles. They weren’t needed in a specific place. But he had a few that needed to be placed a certain way. One for his mother. One for his sister. They were both no longer with him, so he needed to remember. The only family he had was his drunk of a father and he pretended that man didn’t exist. He was somewhere on the east coast last he heard. Good riddance, Tommy thought.

He walked over to the box of decorations while Evan did the baubles and started to set up his little Christmas village. His mom had loved the villages she saw in stores, she liked to fantasize about the perfect home in the perfect town where everyone was always happy, and nothing ever went wrong.

The village had its own little space on the mantle. Carefully Tommy placed each house where it should go. Little corner store near the back, dream family home on the left, a church on the opposite of the house ‘Every town needs a church even if you don’t believe because sometimes, they can be good people. Being religious doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. Being a bad person makes you a bad person.’ That’s what his mom had always said anyways. He didn’t believe it due to how horrible religious people had constantly been to him in his 40 years of life, but he kept the church just for her.

“That’s a cute village,” Evan said, “Didn’t know you were religious.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Tommy replied, “Far from it. My Mom believed in the good in all people even the religious whack jobs out there. I keep the church for her.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Evan asked meekly, “You’ve never really talked much about your family. Just your father who you very obviously don’t get along with.”

Tommy sighed, he didn’t like talking about this, but communication was key in a relationship, “Mom died when I was six. Car accident. My sister Amy was with her. They had been going out to look at all the decorated houses around my hometown. I had stayed home because I wasn’t feeling well. My father was also feeling unwell. Drink driver hit them, and they both died on the scene. This was the 80’s/90’s,” Tommy placed a little motorized skating rink in the middle of his village. He plugged everything in, hiding the power bar so that it wasn’t easily visible but was safe. No cotton snow to hide it, “That’s when Father became a raging drunk who constantly beat me.”

Evan gasped at the story, “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not,” Tommy replied, “this made me the man I am today. And the military but that less so. The military was a means of getting away when I was old enough.

“Still,” Evan pulled Tommy into a hug and gave him a kiss, “That had to have been hard at 6 years old.”

“You didn’t have the greatest of childhoods either,” Tommy countered, “We all have our trauma’s, how we handle them is how we are represented. I spent a few years going to therapy regarding mine. I don’t know what kind of stupid things I could have or would have done if I hadn’t done that.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Evan replied. They continued along with their decorating. Slowly the living room started to turn into a Christmas wonderland, “Have you ever wanted to just leave your decorations up and just become a Christmas house?”

“Every single year when it comes time to put everything away,” Tommy laughed as he replied, “But every year I remind myself, the magic of it is that you only put it out for this short time of each year. If you were to leave everything up, then what’s to get you excited next year?”

“That’s a good point,” Evan placed what he hoped was the final bauble on the tree, “We only had real trees as mentioned so there’s always a temporariness to it since you always had to get rid of it somehow. Unless you wanted dry pine needles all over your living room.”

Tommy smiled at Evan. It was nice to just do something together with just them. Usually someone from Harbor or the 118 was around so it was difficult to just get some alone time with just them, “And the final touch,” Tommy took out some wax melters and placed them on different tables around the living room. There were only 2 and he didn’t intend to have them on at the same time. One was enough to get the smell around the room, and then you turn the other on while you clean the one that just ran out of scent. He flicked the switch and went to sit on the couch. It was late afternoon now, so they deserved some time to just relax. Evan joined Tommy on the couch and snuggled up in his arms. Slowly the scent of pine tree started to permeate the room. Evan took a deep breath, “I know you said they were Christmas, but what do I smell besides pine?”

“I make my own wax melts,” Tommy admitted, “I can never find the scents I really want in the way I really want. So, I make my own with pine oil, some cinnamon, some vanilla, and the barest hint of cloves. Something to have the Christmas smell for me.”

“It smells perfect,” Evan said, “Is there anything else that needs doing?”

“Oh, there is lots to do,” Tommy replied. Evan made a slight groaning noise, “But that is for another day. Today was about setting this up and now relaxing. Maybe order something for delivery.”

“I think they added a new restaurant to UberEATS that I’ve been wanting to try,” Evan added.

“Sounds like a wonderful plan,” Tommy replied, “I’ll get that ordered, and you get to relax since you helped me so much after a food coma and a traditional Evan Internet Deep Dive kept you tired.”

“An informative deep dive,” Evan replied, not leaving Tommy’s arms. Tommy smiled, it would be hard to hold Evan and order dinner, but he would keep it that way for awhile. Tommy didn’t even smell the wax melts he made. Just Evan right now and it was perfect.

“Well, you’ll have to tell me more of that deep dive that you learned,” Tommy added, “But lets just relax a bit for now.”

Tommy was perfectly happy. He had Evan, he had his memories and his decorations. Everything was perfect. Without noticing, Tommy’s eyes may have flicked to the bedroom area without thinking. Hidden away in his nightstand, a special gift that Tommy intended to give to Evan on Christmas. But that was a few weeks away, so he tried not to get too excited about it. Tommy did hope he would say yes though.

***

Author’s Note: I just really wanted a cutesy Christmas decorating story. Christmas is my favourite holiday, so I just want a happy one for my favourite couple. I apologize if there are some conflicting ideas in here. I honestly don’t plan ahead on what I write. I just start and stop and go from there and as the words come into my head that is when they come into my story. I legit didn’t know where it would end, just that it would end eventually. Any Constructive Criticism is welcome.

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 8

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9 - Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI!! female masturbation, lots of angst, loss of parents mentioned, family issues, lots of tears

Summary: You prepare for Thanksgiving with Tommy and he catches you at an emotional point. Thats what friends are for, right? (1.2k+)

a/n: ok idk how this is gonna go over with yall but be gentle because this came to me in a dream, and through validation from @smellslikenevermore. i really dont have much else to say bc this shit is about to get juicy so buckle the fuck up. leave feedback, i rely on strangers validation because im not normal. xoxox

p.s. there will be another chapter posted at some point today, i just didnt want this one to be like 4k words lol.

Your phone rings, jolting you awake. You spit out a groggy “Hello?”. “Hey pretty lady” soft and southern, it warms you like a physical embrace. “Tommy. It is so early.” you say, rolling over and looking at the clock. “I know but I’ve gotta run to the store to grab some stuff for tomorrow, and wanted to beat the crowds. I was gonna see if you wanted to tag along.” You sigh, throwing the blankets off. “Sarah’s gonna come too if that makes it any more enticing.” he says, laughing.  “Yeah why not, give me about 20 minutes and I’ll be over.” 

You open your curtains, just like you do at the begining of every day. Joel’s are still closed, and have been for weeks now. You remember the first night you moved in and how both of your windows were the focal point of the evening. You walk into your bathroom and turn the shower on, extra hot. The steam filling the room makes you sweat, reminding you of your nights with Joel. Sweaty and suffocating. You strip down and walk to your bedside table, pulling out your vibrator. The numbing vibration on your clit makes you cum almost immediately, and the only noise heard is Joel’s name. Over and over. You cant seem to stop yourself, the relief each time better than the last. Imagining the way his fingers fit perfectly inside you, how his teeth left every inch of your skin nipped with passion, how his voice talked you through every step. Time has stopped and the shower is no longer steaming into your room. Your release on the horizon, you’re seeing stars and imagining every position Joel could put you in- KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. And its gone. As quickly as it came, its gone. You throw your toy in frustration, and throw a robe on. You make your way to the door, opening it to see Tommy and Sarah. “Woah lady!” Tommy says, shielding his eyes. “You said 20 minutes 30 minutes ago, what the hell have you been doin? I tried to call!” he says, making Sarah laugh. “Just wait on the couch. Ill be out in 10.” You say, closing the door behind them and walking to your room. You dont remember hearing your phone ring but then again, you were on a different planet, and time was non-existent. 

Piled into Tommys truck, the 3 of you head to H-E-B. “Alright, I’ve gotta get some beer, some celery, and some bread for the stuffing.” You throw your head in Tommys direction, with a look of playful disgust. “Tommy Miller, how is it the day before Thanksgiving and you dont have the main ingredient for stuffing?” you retort, giving him a light slap on the arm. “Listen, I don’t do the shoppin, blame my brother.” he says. You turn around, looking at Sarah. “And what did you forget?” you say smiling. “I wanted to make chocolate covered strawberries so chocolate and strawberries!” She says excitedly. “That sounds good Sarah! Let me know if you need any help.”  You write 2 lists, handing one to Tommy and keeping one for yourself. He’s in charge of beer and non-perishables. You’re in charge of perishables and wine.

In the store you both grab carts, and go in your separate directions. You grab Sarahs strawberries, Tommys celery, and sweet potatoes for yourself. If theres on thing you can cook, its a mean sweet potato casserole. You head to the alcohol aisle and meet up with Tommy, checking off both your lists. You grab 4 bottles of wine, 2 reds and 2 whites. “Does Joel even know Im coming?” you ask Tommy, watching Sarah grab marshmallows off the endcap a few feet in front of you. “Yeah, I told him.” Tommy says, not saying anything else. You’re trying to gauge his facial expression surrounding the question. “What did he-” “I got the marshmallows!” Sarah says, throwing them into the cart. You leave your sentence unfinished, checking off the rest of the list. 

The ride back is silent, Tommy keeps looking at you like he has something to say but he doesnt. You try not to think about tomorrow, unsure of if being alone is worse than being around Joel. Tears begin to well in your eyes right as you turn onto your street. You force them to stay put, helping Tommy unload the groceries. You help carry everything in with the exception of your things for tomorrow. Walking into the house, you’re immediately paralyzed by the smell, by his  smell. Sarah runs past you, into his arms. “Hi daddy! We went to the store and we got the stuff for my strawberries!” “Thats great babygirl.” he says, kissing her forehead. The tears are back, and theres no forcing them away this time. Your brain is flooded with images of childhood holidays with your family, back when everything was seemingly normal and everyone got along. You feel a tear fall down your cheek as you set the groceries on the island. The same island that he ravaged you on. You look up at him, hoping for any hint of how hes feeling, hoping he’ll pull you into him and wipe your tears, and tell you that everything is okay. But his facial expression is stoic, and he doesn’t move. No sign of any emotion. You wipe your tears and head straight for the door. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” you exclaim, trying to hide the pain in your voice. Pulling the door behind you before anything else is said. 

You grab your groceries out of the back of Tommys truck and trudge home. You fucking hate the holidays, they havent been the same in years. You turn the key to open your door, and feel a hand on your shoulder. “Sweet girl, whats goin’ on?” and you lose it. 

You drop the groceries and throw yourself into Tommys arms, sobbing uncontrollably. You hear the glass of the wine bottles shatter. “Shhhhh” he says, one hand holding your head, the other rubbing your back. After a couple minutes, you gather yourself and walk inside, leaving the broken glass on your porch and the groceries on the floor inside the door. 

“The holidays are just hard Tommy.” you say, sniffling. Hes in your kitchen putting groceries away. “Trust me, I know. I aint had a mama or daddy to spend the holidays with the last 10 years. And then Connie and Sarah came along, and then Connie left.” You dont say anything, but assume Connie is Sarahs mom. This is the first time either of the men have spoke about her, at least in front of you. You elaborate on your family as well. About how your father in convinced that your ex was the second coming of Christ, and was the best thing that had ever happened to you. About how it was his way or the highway. About his patriarchal ways in the goddamn 21st century. He sits beside you and just holds you again. Your tears slowly stop, but the feeling of sadness and emptiness still resides. You look up at Tommy and hes staring through you. His eyes a deep brown like his brothers, and before you know it his lips are on yours. And you dont pull away.

[ssreeder]

Sreedy!!!!! I finally caught up!!! Now, I need to figure out what to do in the meantime. Do you have any fanfic recs (or anyone else who may end up seeing this)? I'm in the Atla (Zukka), Voltron(Klance), Good Omens, One Piece(Zosan), Marauders(Jegulus), and MHA Fandom (so far). But I think I'm open to reading about anything. I'm not really into one shots, so I'm more of a anything over 50k word count. Thank you, and I also still am loving the story 💛

OMG YOURE SO CAUGHT UP IM SO HAPPY!! (Im also a huge one piece fan so im excited that you’re excited for this long ass fic haha luckily we don’t have tooooo much longer)

DO I HAVE ANY FANFIC RECS?!?! hahah oh yeah I do…. I’ll give you my longfic recs (They’re all atla I don’t read much other fic except random one shots)

first off all, war games by @lovelyelbowleech is so fucking good and long and even though I’m not caught up on the second installment I just know it’s so fucking good and you’re going to love it I promise trust me it’s amazing. War games is angsty and smart and fun you’ll be so happy! (& hurt)

also my new obsession the Mercy of Magpies by @ranilla-bean is soooo good I wanna scream about it all day and night. The world building is so extensive and delicious and then there’s a ton of amazing art that goes with it I swear it’s so good! I would recommend this one to anyone even if they aren’t in the fandom.

ok another long fic I enjoy WHICH IS ONE OF MY LONG TERM FAVES (I’ll catch up I swear I love love love you TAOB my wonderful first long zukka fic…) is the Art of Burning by @hella1975 I lost sleep reading this! The author also has fics for MHA!! Just check out her ao3 she’s an incredible author will rock your world I promise!!

DOG TEETH is the only not atla fic I’ve never read that I will recommend because again, @hella1975 poured a part of her soul in it so it’s good… and really really PAINFUL.

ONE OF THE FICS THAT INSPIRED LIAB is the one & ONLYYYYY: Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_wonderful_thought (if you know their tumblr let me know!!) SO SO SO GOOD!!! Prison zuko! Isolated being disturbed & sokka being persistent and just such a good story!! One of my first true fanfic loves.

another gem I adore is actually one inspired by liab it’s La’s Wrath by anon and even though I can’t tag them if they read this just know this dark and tantalizing fic really takes an interesting perspective at what would have happened if the boys died and angsty but fun spirit shenanigans began. I love it so much it’s honestly my comfort fic haha

anything by @a-witch-in-endor in just mind blowing but: this is a gift (it comes with a price) rocked my brain chemistry in a way that was wonderful and intelligent and AHHH SO GOOD!!

Boomerangs and Rainbows is another AMAZING fic by someone who’s tumblr I don’t know but will totally add if I find out their tumblr! It’s a great fic I haven’t read in a while but I remember LOVING IT!

those are the longer fics that are more of that darker kind of angsty themes but I will do a few honorable mentions haha!

(not)according to plan by birdyhands (sorry I don’t have hour tumblr) but it was my very first zukka fic and I just fell in love with the potential of their relationship haha. If home is a place ,where do I go? By @maaaxx it’s currently being rereleased but I had the pleasure of reading the first chapter and fuck it I love me some sassy hakoda!

The Things I Would Do (To Steal Time With You) is the definition of a good long fic!! This one is by @erisenyo & it’s honestly such a relaxing time. Now don’t get me wrong! there’s a lot of tension both political and emotional communication happening but no one’s getting tortured so it’s a good breath of fresh air! The chapters are filled with so much wonderful world building I’m such a sucker for a good fleshed out world! This should keep you busy for a while!!!!! I’m so thankful that you’ve given me a chance to shout out to some of my fave fics and authors I wish I could scream about more of them!!! you’re such an amazing reader, I’m so thankful to have someone like you who takes the time to share your thoughts on not just ao3 but tumblr as well. All of these authors would be so lucky to have you as a reader I hope you enjoy!!!!

[mollywog]

Out of Context Lines

Tagged by @distractionsfromthefood 💕

the rules: if you're tagged, make a new post and share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your unposted WIP with zero context.

“The contract cost an arm and a leg… guess I still owe the arm.”

Tagging: @rarepairheathen @vasilissadragomir @plainshobbit @gerrimommy @kingedmundsroyalmurder

[wizardofarles]

one thing about canon Laurent I really admire and even envy is how constant he is. once Damen earned his trust he never took it back. what was it Damen said, something like, “when his walls went back up it was with Damen inside them”. for someone who went through what Laurent went through he’s shockingly stable in relationships

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck Tims has 4 daughters

Izutsumi’s relationship with the whole party is very fun and heartwarming, and her relationship with each party member has something unique and special, but besides Senshi being the mama hen I really love how Chilchuck looks after Izutsumi in a father-ish way. He’s the only one in the party that sees her like an actual human girl lol. He treats her with respect while not letting himself be walked over, and I think there’s something to be said about it, esp since Chilchuck knows how it’s like to be infantilized and pet like a cute thing much like our favorite catgirl. He does handle her like a guy who has 3 adult daughters, parenting instincts kicking in

Listen I knooow the party is breaking up with the end approaching but I’ve been thinking a lot about if Izutsumi decided to stick with anyone and I think it’d be really nice if she stayed with Chilchuck. I love Chilchuck’s store so much, I have so many headcanons and fic plans involving it, but listen.  I feel like Chilchuck would be a good person to look after her, she’s still a teen and shown not to be mature enough to know what to do with herself and feed herself right yet, she could become Chilchuck’s store mascot like a cat that’s always lounging inside hehe.  He gains another sort-of-daughter and she keeps her favorite pillow, a loss-loss deal on his end but Chilchuck is too responsible to not take her in if needed mwahahaha Izutsumi would have no remorse, he’s ready to suffer for her comfort

Ok girl we get it he’s your dad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: my gut said go full self-indulgent so I did.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Your phone lights up again. You’ve already waited too long. You can’t avoid this any longer and in that moment, avoiding Lloyd’s family is a bigger priority. You get up, thankful to be away from Lloyd’s wandering touches, and excuse yourself to take the call. You don’t miss the scathing judgment from Gwenyth, but you don’t care either. 

You go out into the hallway and try to keep your voice down. There’s enough chatter that you’re not entirely concerned. You answer and close your eyes. 

“Hi, mom--” 

“Where are you?” She demands. “You said you would be here. I’ve been waiting. Calling. Your sister too. We’re all worried--” 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I missed my flight--” 

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t put that together,” she snaps. 

“I’m sorry, mom. Really. I know—I messed up again. I really wanted to come but that was the only flight--” 

“It’s not that you couldn’t make it, it’s that you couldn’t even let me know! I’ve been in shambles, thinking the worst. I check the flights to make sure there were no crashes, I’ve been looking through news reports.” 

She starts to devolve into breathy sobs. You feel horrible. Your guilt overwhelms your self-pity. Suddenly being stuck with these rich snobs isn’t so bad. Your mother has spent half her Christmas worrying over you, and know her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she actually tore some hair out. 

“I know I should have called. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to figure something out,” you lie, poorly since the defeat is in your voice.  

Your mother has always been your kryptonite. She’s not cruel like Gwenyth, but her disappointment is devastating and all too easy to earn. She just wants the best for you but you’ve never managed the best. 

“So you can come?” She sniffles. 

“Um, not today, but I’m looking at tomorrow.” Another frail falsehood. “I promise, I’ll let you know--” 

“Sweet pea,” Lloyd’s voice undercuts yours and you cringe. You put your finger up and turn to signal him to hush. 

“Yeah, mom, I’ll try for tomorrow and if I can’t get there--” 

“Mom?” Lloyd echoes with a smirk. 

You shake your head. 

“Who’s that?” Your mom asks. 

You grimace and glare daggers at Lloyd as he comes closer. You outstretch your arm and put your hand just below his chest.  

“Mom, it’s just--” 

Lloyd easily reaches past your resistance and swipes the phone. He puts it on speaker with a tap of his thumb as you lunge at him. He grabs your arm and forces it up. Nearly dangly you from it as you lash with the other. 

“Is this mom?” Lloyd asks brightly. 

“Um, hello? Who is this? Where’s my daughter?” 

“Mom, I’m here. Lloyd, give me the phone back--” 

“Boo, what’s going on?” She asks. 

Lloyd looks at you with a mischievous grin and mouths ‘boo?’ with a tweaked brow. You shake your head again and plead. 

“Mom, it’s nothing--” 

“I think I spoiled the surprise,” he speaks over you. “We’re going to be coming tomorrow.” 

“We?” She ekes out, you hear the worry mounting in her voice. 

“Please don’t be mad at Pixie, she was just being a good girlfriend. We stopped by my family’s house and oh boy, the snow we got up this way,” he tuts in a very convincing monologue. You’re stunned into silence at his act. He sounds like a decent person but you know better. “And you know, everything was so hectic as we tried to dig out that it just got all ahead of us.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Boo?” She asks desperately. 

“Mom--” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m Lloyd. Her boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” You mother breathes, “boo?” 

“Yeah, mom, er,” you wrench your hand free and smack Lloyd’s arm. “He’s um, going to come with me, so uh--” 

“I’ll be there, both of us, with bows on,” he promises. “Please, allow me to apologise from the bottom of my heart for keeping your daughter from you. You can’t blame her. It was entirely me. I am not a morning person and she can only do so much to keep me in line.” 

You grit your teeth as you squint at him. How does he sound like such a dweeb? Well, looking at him with that mustache, he kinda is one. 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, very nice,” your mother coos, “I can let everyone else know. Oh, boo, you could’ve told us--” 

“Again, that’s on me,” Lloyd preens, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

“It is, it is,” she assures. “Oh, it will be so nice to meet you. We’ve never met any of Pixie’s men.” 

“Mom,” you groan. 

“We never really thought she had any. She’s always been so focused on work, and before that, it was school--” 

“Mom,” you jab Lloyd’s ribs as he smirks bigger and bigger, then snatch the phone from him. “Promise, we’ll get there but uh... gotta go. Love you.” 

“Love you too, boo. Oh and it was nice meeting you, um--” 

“Lloyd,” he supplies and sticks out his tongue. 

“Bye.” You hit end and put your phone in your pocket.  

Your agitation peaks and you can’t help from shoving Lloyd. It barely affects him which annoys you more. God, he is such a little—big turd. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“What? I just did you a favour.” 

“A favour? You just dragged my family into this bullshit--” 

“Well, hate to break it to you, boo,” he emphasizes the last word as he grabs your hands and pulls them away from his stomach, “but they’re going to have be. We promised mine a white wedding.” 

“You are so--” 

“So...?” He prompts. 

“Urgh.” 

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. It’s a ticket out of this place. Literally. So you just let me know where I need to book tickets and I’ll pull a few strings--” 

“Strings? You couldn’t pull these earlier?” 

“On Christmas Day? Please, even I can’t do that but the day after Christmas, my guy’s getting into the punch right now, he’ll be just tipsy enough--” 

“You are torturing me,” you accuse. 

“I really can’t deny that,” he snickers as he lets you go. “Now tell me where I’m booking these tickets too and I’ll hop right on that...” he looks you up and down and bites his lip, “as much as I’d like to hop on something else.” 

You huff, “Toronto.” 

He twitches, “Toronto? As in... Canada?” 

You nod and roll your eyes. 

“Wait, Pixie puff, you’re Canadian?” 

You tilt your head and look at him. You shrug, “what does that matter?” 

“Well, I thought you type were supposed to be nice, first of all.” 

“Just make the call,” you sneer and cross your arms. “You’ve already mangled this Christmas, may as well put it out of its misery.” 

“Why don’t you do the same for me, huh? I’m suffering, Pix. Just give it a squeeze” he gets closer. You flutter your lashes then he wiggles his hips. “These pants are killing my circulation. I told you, I don’t wear underroos.” 

“Back up before I lose it,” you warn. 

“I’m close to losing it too, baby face,” he groans. 

“Make. The. Call.” You demand. “And I’ll happily break the news to your dear sweet mother that we need to go get ready to fly out.” 

His expression sobers and he exhales heavily, “Pix,” he utters quietly, “sometimes, you’re scary. Don’t... don’t piss off mom too much. Please.” 

“Book the tickets, honey poo,” you chime in an acidic tone, “and I’ll make sure mommy’s not crying into her champagne.”  

You poke centre of his chest and bounce on your heels before you spin away. Your mother’s disappointment might be like arsenic but Gwenyth’s is the exact antidote you need. 

❄️

“I know a girl in Toronto. A few actually,” Lloyd says over the steering wheel. He’s tasked with driving back to the hotel since you imposed sobriety on him as punishment for the day. “Strange, you’re nothing like them.” 

“I don’t care,” you grumble. 

“Ugh, your wheel is too low,” he mutters as he stops at a red and tries to adjust it. You don’t respond.  

You just want to lay down. Your head is pounding from the lack of sleep and Lloyd managed to book you an early morning flight which will curtail any meaningful sleep. You close your eyes and ignore his fussing. 

Finally, he steps on the gas. “So, Canada, you grew up with those geese, huh? Explains the bite--” 

“What?” 

“I read somewhere they have teeth--” 

“Why the heck are you moaning about geese for?” 

“I hear it now. Couldn’t place it before. I thought Minnesota or somewhere but when you’re angry, you get this twang--” 

“Be quiet,” you let your head drop back again. “I’m getting a migraine.” 

“Aw, baby,” he coos. 

“Lloyd,” you growl. 

“I can make it better. I read somewhere that you can massage it better. Oh, and you know, orgasms--” 

“You read a lot of nonsense for someone who I never see reading,” you drone and prop your elbow against the door to cradle your head. 

“There’s a wealth of information on the internet when you’re not scrolling porn,” he chuckles. You let out a disgusted noise. “Don’t worry, pixie. I’m committed to this. Me and you, we’re going to get our piece of the pie and make off like bandits.

"So you let me play the loyal husband. I’ll get you all spread out and loose, I’ll rub your head and your shoulders, then my hands might wander a little bit more...” he hums. “I’ll touch the peach a bit, I just can’t help myself, but I think you’ll be ready by then.” 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snarl. 

“Ah, come on, flying is so stressful and after the day we had, we both need that release--” 

“How many more times do I need to tell you to stop?” 

“And how many times do I need to tell you I won’t? It’s fate now, Pixie.” He clucks and slowly turns. You lift your head and look up at the hotel sign. “Hey, if you like the long game, I can go along with it. Make it hurt so good.” 

“Do you ever think of anything else?” 

“There’s a constant undercurrent that never really leaves my mind,” he shrugs as he parks. “But I’m great at multitasking.” 

You grumble and shake your head. It sends a throbbing pulse through your skull. You undo your seatbelt and drag yourself out of the car. As the door shuts, you wince. Then Lloyd’s and you feel the nausea start to crawl through your guts. The lack of sleep, the stress, the alcohol, it’s a perfect recipe for a deadly migraine. 

You do your best to push through as you make your way up to the room silently. Lloyd is not so quiet. He’s rambling about something; a shirt? You don’t know and you don’t care.  

You take out the room and enter the hotel suite. You drop the key and your purse and shed your coat. You hang it on the hook on the back of the door and tread further in. You don’t stop until you get to the bed. You ease yourself down and bury your face in the pillow. 

“Pixie,” Lloyd’s worry puts you on edge. You raise your hand and wave him off without lifting your head. “You need some Advil?” 

You shoo him again with your fingers. You popped some with your last glass of wine. You probably should’ve opted for water. 

Your alarm is set. You will have to awake before the sky shifts that slightly lighter shade of grey and try again. You know better than to trust Lloyd, but you’re putting some faith in him to get you home. 

You feel the bed dip behind you and Lloyd’s mutters and grumbles creep into your ears. You move the pillow over your head and hug it against your ear. You tune him out as you urge your mind down to the depths. In your bouts, there is no relief, but sleep can at least dull the agony. 

Your brain turns to sludge as the steady pounding evens out to a tempo. You drift into the muddy no man’s land between waking and otherwise. You’re conscious enough to feel the pain, but you're detached enough to bear it. 

Time crumbles around like sand in a glass. Your mind swirls with churning recreations of the day behind you. Most of them fractured and nonsensical. Voices without words, faces without names. 

A shiver washes through you as a tickle flutters down the back of your thighs. The cool sensation flows over your skin. You shudder and cling to that tenuous state of dissociation. A jolt forces you out of the void. 

You roll over and throw your arm out. It bounces off of Lloyd’s shoulder as your eyes slit. You yipe as you find him tugging at your pants. You kick and amplify the siren whining in your head. 

“What are you doing?” You rasp as you flail at him. 

“Relax, pixie stick, I’m just trying to help you relax. You can’t sleep in this,” he peels your pants down your legs and you swat at him again. 

You look down and find your sweater gone, only your bra to conceal your chest. You quickly hide behind folded arms. “What the hell?” 

“Damn, Pix, you never said you had a dump truck he untangles the fabric from your ankles. 

You whimper and push yourself up on your elbows, you bareness secondary to your irritation. “Get way from me.” 

“Just let me rub you down,” he begs as he runs his hands up your calves. “Promise, I’ll be a good boy. I kept my dick strapped down, baby.” 

Your eyes flit down unthinkingly. He’s in only his briefs. The rest of him is exposed; his fur-trimmed chest, his thick but firm stomach, and his muscled legs. You look him in the face and he winks. “Made you look.” 

“Stop, please,” you flick your fingers at him. 

“You got me struggling,” he begs as his hands trail further up and he kneads your thighs. “I’m hurting like prom night and you been grinding on me in a tack ballgown all night--” 

“Ew--” 

“It’ll make you feel better--” 

You catch his fingers as he traces the edges of your underwear. As you curl up, the weight of your head thunks own at the base. Urgh. 

“No--” 

“I’m just going to rub you down like a good boy. That’s it,” pushes against your hands. “You can even keep these on.” He runs his thumbs along the front of your panties. “They look fucking delicious anyway.” 

“Lloyd.” 

“Shhh,” he hushes you and shoves your hands off of his. 

Before you can stop him, he straddles you. He puts his large hands around your skull and you whine. H works his fingers into your scalp as he continues to shush you and presses his thumbs to your temples. The warmth of his tough makes you sigh. You hate that it feels good. 

“Just like this, baby,” he purrs as he keeps you pinned under him. “Just relax.” 

Your eyes roll back as you shatter to pieces. In this state, you have no strength to fight him. Besides, why should you stop him when it feels so amazing? 

[lumiilys]

Dyou think that when Stede is sad or having a bad day he just stays quiet? The average person can’t tell he’s not doing good but Ed just knows. His jokes are less enthusiastic, he makes fewer silly comments, and he’s got this faraway look in his eyes. And Ed knows he’s gonna have to ask multiple times before he actually gets Stede to tell him what’s up cause Stede will always just go “yes I’m fine don’t worry just tired ☺️” at first. But eventually when whatever is bothering him comes out he’ll get to spend the rest of the day wrapped up in Ed’s arms.

[acourtofquestions]

Boots crunched in hay, and then he was knee to knee before her.

Aedion.

There was nothing kind on his face. No pity or warmth.

For a long minute, they only stared at each other.

Then the prince growled softly, "Your plan was bullshit."

She said nothing, and couldn't stop her shoulders from curving inward.

"Your plan was bullshit," he breathed, his eyes sparking. "How could you ever be her, wear her skin, and think to get away with it? How could you ever think you'd get around the fact that our armies are counting on you to burn the enemy to ashes, and all you can do is run away and emerge as some beast instead?"

"You don't get to pin this retreat on me," she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.

"You agreed to let Aelin go to her death, and leave us here to be slashed to bloody ribbons. You two told no one of this plan, told none of us who might have explained the realities of this war, and that we would need a gods-damned Fire-Bringer and not an untrained, useless shape-shifter against Morath."

Blow after blow, the words landed upon her weary heart. "We—"

"If you were so willing to let Aelin die, then you should have let her do it after she incinerated Erawan's hordes!"

"It would not have stopped Maeve from capturing her."

"If you'd told us, we might have planned differently, acted differently, and we would not be here, damn you!"

She stared at the muddy hay. "Throw me out of your army, then."

"You ruined everything." His words were colder than the wind outside. "You, and her."

Lysandra closed her eyes.

Hay rustled, and she knew he'd risen to his feet, knew it as his words speared from above her bowed head. "Get out of my tent."

She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey, though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. She should fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her, needing an outlet for his fear and despair.

Lysandra opened her eyes, peering up at him. At the rage on his face, the hatred She managed to stand, her body bleating in pain. Managed to look him in the eye, even as Aedion said again with quiet cold, "Get out."

Barefoot in the snow, naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs, as if realizing it. And not caring.

So Lysandra nodded, clutching Ansel's cloak tighter, and strode into the frigid night.

"Where is she?" Ren asked, a mug of what smelled like watery soup in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. The lord scanned the tent as if he would find her under the cot, the hay.

Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier, and said nothing.

"What have you done?" Ren breathed.

Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.

So it didn't matter, what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair, wasn't true.

Didn't care if he was so tired he couldn't muster shame at his pinning on her the blame for the sure defeat they'd face in a matter of days before Perranth's walls.

He wished she'd smacked him, had screamed at him. But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow, barefoot.

He'd promised to save Terrasen, to hold the lines. Had done so for years. And yet this test against Morath, when it had counted ... he had failed.

He’d muster the strength to fight again. To rally his men. He just ... he needed to sleep.

Aedion didn't notice when Ren left, undoubtedly in search of the shifter with who he was so damned enamored.

He should summon his Bane commanders. See how they thought to manage this disaster.

But he couldn't. Could do nothing but stare into that fire as the long night passed.

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[margaetyrell]

hi. just came to say i’m alive and well (mostly) if anyone cares. i simply broke down due to emotional stress so i had to delete the app and cut it all out. idk how long it will take, but i’ll be back and catch up on blogs/tags/messages by then! hope you’re doing great, i’m sending you all my love and a special shoutout to @itsniceto, @mycastlescrumblingdown, @jdschecter, @intomymelancholia and @mayangelsleadyouin for being such a ray of sunshine. miss you and love you all soooo so much 💜