#oh to confess your love in the pale moonlight

[osachiyo]

tw. fem!reader, reader is hinted to be chubby, cowgirl, praise, hinting at cum-eating at the end, fyodor basically worships the ground you step on, body worship, most likely ooc but it's whatever, just overall very soft n cute :) mdni

an. i always imagined fyodor with a chubbier reader, idk - i just love the contrast so much <3 so this is a drabble for my friend (love u maya ty for buying me nitro...) ^^ this has been in my drafts for way too long. 0.6k wrds

fyodor took a sharp intake of air as he focused on the view in front of him — you, oh sweet you on top of him, lowering your hips onto him as your pretty little cunt swallowed more and more of his cock. his face was flushed to a pretty pink, pupils dilated in lust and sheer passion he held for you.

"mmh, you feel so good, love," he moaned softly, hand reaching up to knead the fat of your thigh. his breath quickened at feeling you clench from the genuine praise he gave you. your swollen, glossy lips parted to let out moans of his name, making his length throb inside your gooey walls.

"f-fedya," you gasped when he suddenly thrust up into you, his cock being pushed directly against your g-spot.

"ohh yes, darling — does that feel good?" fyodor cooed at the cock drunk look on your pretty face, it suited you so much.

god, you looked absolutely heavenly to him — the soft moonlight peeking through the thin curtains practically made you glow — not to mention how sexy your body looked. he loved how... soft you were compared to him — the delicate rolls on your back, your soft 'n squishy tummy, the plush of your ass and ugh, those delectable thighs of yours — it all made his head spin.

not to mention how your tits would jiggle everytime you bounced up and down on his sensitive cock, it made him want to bite them — mark them as his.

"oh darling, i just can't take my eyes off of you," he confessed, thin lips curling up into a smirk at the bashful look on your face.

you continued moving up and down on his cock, throwing your head back when fyodor decided to fuck up into you again — resulting in an almost pornographic moan leaving your lips.

he reached his free hand up to flick and rub at your clit, rolling the little nub between his slim fingers — making your pace stutter and pussy tighten around him. "you feel so good, моя любовь, " he tipped his head back into the soft pillow, biting down on his bottom lip as you gushed on his dick. you could feel him throb inside you, balls slapping against your ass, while you ground your hips onto him.

fyodor felt like he was in a trance — you made it look so good, and feel even better. "close?" you whispered, a moan getting caught in your throat when fyodor started thrusting up even faster — and harder than before.

fuck yes. fyodor was so close to hitting that peak that he so badly needed — but he wanted you to cum first. he needed you to cum first. could he really call himself your man if he didn't make you cum before him?

and make you cum he did — your pretty nails digging into his bony shoulders as you threw your head back from finally reaching your high, juicy cunt fluttering and pulsating around his throbbing cock — fyodor's hips stuttering as cursed breaths left him, trying not to clench his eyes shut as he admired the blissed-out look on your face.

"beautiful," fyodor moaned softly as he finally came deep inside you — his warmth filling up your sticky walls so nicely.

"you're beautiful," you breathed out, watching his eyes soften — a hearty chuckle leaving his pale, thin lips before devouring yours in a passionate yet hungry kiss.

you gasped loudly when fyodor laid you on your back on the silk sheets — kissing his way down from your soft tummy to your heavenly cunt. you sighed softly when he parted your legs, pupils dialating from the filthy view of his spent leaking down your folds and on his bedsheets —

how could he NOT have a taste?

© 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ do not copy/translate/repost and/or recommend any of my works on different platfroms under any circumstances. reblogs greatly appreciated !

[sleepypanda27]

Quarter past midnight

Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky proves that he knows one or two things about romance.

Words: 740

It is a quiet Sunday afternoon at the Avenger compound. Everyone's doing their own thing. You're comfortably nestled on the couch in the living room, watching a romantic comedy.

Meanwhile, Bucky is pretending that he's doing something in the same room to watch the movie with you. He pretends he doesn't like these kinds of movies, but secretly he loves them.

A couple of times you had offered him to sit down and just watch the movie, but he politely declined.

There's a passionate making out on the screen. The first big kiss for the couple. You let out an audible huff.

"What?" Bucky chuckled, standing somewhere beside you. You hadn't even noticed he had moved.

"Uhh, I just want someone to kiss me like that." You sulked, looking up at him.

"Like that?" Bucky frowned. "It looks like he's eating her face."

"You just don't understand romance." You chuckled.

"I-?" He couldn't believe you said that. "I don't understand romance? Doll…I'm better at it than these corny movies you're watching."

"Yeah?" You questioned his statement. "Then prove it." You challenged.

"How do you want me to prove it?" He frowned even more.

"Tell me, how would you confess your love." You crossed your arms and sat back, waiting for his answer.

"Well…" He thought a little, rubbing his scruffy chin. "I would take my love interest to a restaurant, bring flowers, and say some pretty and sweet words. Maybe there would be some dancing involved. And after that the big kiss and confession in love." He said with a confident smile.

"That sounds…so cheesy." You chuckled.

"What??" He cried out as if you had just shattered his world and hurt his soul.

"That's a bit much." You crinkled your nose.

"Wow, words hurt ya know." Bucky acted offended.

"It is what it is." You shrugged and went back to watching the movie without noticing Bucky's longing gaze at you.

~~~

"Whatcha doing here so late?" Bucky quietly asked emerging from the dark.

"Oh my god!" You jumped, turning around and closing the fridge door. "You scared me." Smiling, you sat at the counter, opened the water bottle, and drank from it. "I was thirsty. And what are you doing here so late?" you asked a little flirtingly since the two of you were all alone and wanted to tease him a bit.

"Same." He slowly walked to you, stopping right in front of you. His eyes were dark and intense. You could feel his minty breath. Taking the bottle from your hands, he softly brushed your fingers, and he drank the water without losing eye contact. As he closed the bottle he licked his lips. Smirking he gave it back to you. "I was thirsty." He said with a hint of dark desire behind his blues, you noticed in the pale moonlight that shone through the big windows. You had a feeling, he wasn't thirsty just for water, and your heart started beating faster.

"About what you said the other day…" He started with his signature one-sided smile dancing on his lips.

"Yeah…" You encouraged him to talk, leaning a bit closer to him, trying to see his features better.

"I guess, I would do it a bit differently…" He lightly bit his bottom lip. "I would find the right moment…" Softly, barely touching, he placed his hands on your knees and moved them higher up your thighs.

"Aha.." You almost moaned, losing yourself in his dreamy eyes.

"I would just do it." He said as he tangled his fingers in your hair, holding the back of your head, and kissed you. While his other hand moved under your thigh bringing your whole body closer to him. You grabbed his shirt trying to pull him even closer. The kiss was intoxicating, to say the least.

"Well, what's the verdict, judge romance?" Bucky whispered, still holding you in his arms. Breathless and craving more. His ocean-blue eyes looked into yours, causing butterflies in your stomach to go crazy. "Was this how you wanted it?"

"Yes." You smiled, blushing. "This was even better."

"Good." The corners of his lips tugged into a smile. "I hope we can do it again sometime."

"Definitely." You kissed him again, deciding you didn't want to wait another time.

"Is this the part where I declare my love for you?" He smiled playing with your hair.

"Only if you mean it" You chuckled.

And he did.

[lovebugism]

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration. 

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full. 

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear. 

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand. 

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue. 

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride. 

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying. 

In some ways, it feels like you are. 

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles. 

It makes you laugh too. 

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring. 

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop. 

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist. 

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint. 

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard. 

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah. 

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him. 

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem. 

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else. 

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin. 

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again. 

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose. 

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest. 

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife. 

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble. 

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk. 

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you. 

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt. 

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you. 

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty. 

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now. 

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all. 

It’s that exact thought that scares him. 

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking. 

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline. 

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away. 

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious. 

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed. 

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you. 

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition. 

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once. 

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—” 

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more. 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway. 

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him. 

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you. 

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again. 

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy. 

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw. 

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console. 

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat. 

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back. 

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card. 

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet. 

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently. 

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer. 

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again. 

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real. 

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her. 

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head. 

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you. 

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth. 

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear. 

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of. 

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door. 

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,” Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes. 

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin. 

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right. 

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise. 

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then. 

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to. 

You don’t. 

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry. 

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”  

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears. 

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free. 

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver. 

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room. 

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe. 

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him. 

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them. 

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85. 

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you. 

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you. 

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch. 

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny. 

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.” 

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it. 

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in. 

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red. 

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides. 

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely. 

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all. 

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises. 

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway. 

For Max, for Steve. 

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there. 

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel. 

Maybe that’s what this was. 

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else. 

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him. 

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again. 

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette. 

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore. 

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in. 

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs. 

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.” 

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you. 

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone. 

You’re grateful for it. 

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head. 

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her. 

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you. 

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

��You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers. 

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.” 

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers  “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between. 

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

 “That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him. 

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear. 

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

[r0ttenhearts]

what could have been

scaramouche x online friend! reader

sypnosis: meeting up with scaramouche after being online friends for 4 years doesn’t go as planned

warnings: unrequited, scara leading reader on, suggestive content

there he was. the scaramouche, your online best friend of four years. he looked exactly as he did on his cell phone camera, pale porcelain like skin and his sharp, striking eyeliner. it could almost put your own to shame. meeting at a convention wasn’t exactly the way you had hoped to meet. not too long ago, dreaming about the day he would confess his feelings to you and eventually it leading up to a date to meet him in person. that was your dream. but you could settle, as long as you got to see him with your own eyes, not through a screen.

you saw the way his eyes lit up as his eyes met yours. his black jacket hugged his figure perfectly as he walked towards you, a smile on his face. “(y/n), don’t tell me that’s you.”

you could envision the way your cheeks turned crimson at his words, smacking his arm playfully as you shake your head. “oh, shut up! and look at you, you’re not exactly what someone would expect either.”

he knew you were poking fun at his height as he stuck his tongue out, grabbing your hand as you both went from booth to booth together. it had gone smoothly but the nerves inside of you were buzzing. that warm feeling of his hand holding yours was driving you insane.

the rest of the convention went on, you and scaramouche both sporting a filled up tote bag with merch and goodies from your favorite games and shows. it almost felt unreal, standing next to him as you both waited for his uber. his face being illuminated by the moonlight while you stood on that sidewalk. curse the way of the night that would bring shadows to a face like that.

once his uber showed up, he pulled you into the car with him, claiming you were safer with him anyway. you trusted him, took his word for it, of course. it was scara. you had known him for years the worst he could do is tell you something mean, right?

that’s what you thought until your lips mashed together in the hallway of his apartment, his cold hands undressing you as you both made your way to his room. it was so familiar to you that you didn’t have to look around after seeing it so many times in his webcam calls.

maybe it was just the loneliness you felt, that feeling eating you up inside before him. before you met and got close. that feeling that terrified you to no end, the realization that you would never belong. never have a place to call home, or someone to call home. maybe that’s why you did it with him. that’s why you felt you could lose yourself into him, allow him to kiss you, and now push himself inside of you.

the look in his eye as he sat up in bed the next morning, cigarette to his lips as he confessed to having a lover. telling you, you’d be blocked once you left the comfort of his apartment, never to see or talk to him again. it was a different kind of betrayal. the kind you wouldn’t shake off for months.

your fingers trembled, standing on the sidewalk outside of his apartment building.

“@theballader’” has blocked you from viewing their tweets.”

“Your message could not be delivered. This is usually because you don't share a server with the recipient or the recipient is only accepting direct messages from friends.”

“add friend”

meeting scaramouche was all but the beginning of means for you. you stayed away from everything you once loved mutually, games, shows, servers, forums. anything you thought you might see him be active in or even remind you of him. quiet nights at the bathroom sink with tears running down your face were not uncommon after that day. how cruel could the world be. you just wanted a friend. a friend you fell for, but someone to care for you. someone that you knew you’d never have.

taglist: @samarill @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @ayameei

[lovelykil]

somethin' stupid─

ᯓ izuku midoriya

cw; angst I think

note; was this angsty enough I really wanted to a scenario with this song !!( ; ﾛ)ﾟ ﾟ

song

the moment was just right, as a gentle breeze gracefully caressed the two lost souls. Their warm bodies only inches away, gazing upward and admiring the beauty of the night sky with a myriad of white tiny stars twinkling in their view.

was this finally it? You ask yourself as you peel away from the sky to your best friend of many years. Even under the moonlight glow he still looked so beautiful, so peaceful gazing up into oblivion. He leaned against the railing of the balcony, outside his dorm as did you.

hanging out with him in the night was normal... he enjoyed your company and well, you did too. Maybe a bit too much. You wondered if he enjoyed it just as much as you do. Your cheeks grew hot when Izuku finally turned his attention towards you, his eyes focusing on your lingering ones.

panicked, you immediately look away.

"are you okay y/n?" His gentle voice melts your heart, you can't hold it in anymore. You bite the inside of your cheek staring down at the dark ground. Your mind is a mess, your heart thumping so loud with every second you don't respond. He reaches out about to touch your shoulder but comes to an abrupt halt.

"I love you." You mumble through your nervous lips. Your head hangs low but eventually, you look over at him. His reaction is exactly what you imagined, shocked. Those forest green eyes of his no longer at peace, but shocked. He's shocked.

"what?"

"I love you, Izuku." You two gaze into each other's eyes, but you gaze harder hoping to find something that would make all your worries flood away but, he closes them.

his pale cheeks have a slight rosy hue to them from your confession as he directs his gaze downward. He lets out a faint sigh.

your heart sinks.

"I—I don't think I can return those words Y/n.." Izuku murmurs, his voice laced with hesitation and sorrow. You suck in your lip and return to the rail, your face away from his. The tears. The hot tears, were brewing.

"o..oh."

"I'm sorry."

you step away from the railing and swiftly wipe your forming tears, you shake your head.

"I'm sorry for saying something stupid like that." You chuckle lightly to ease the pain and walk back to the rail, now separating yourself from him. You can feel his eyes on you as you look up, your eyes watering and lips trembling slightly.

you wished he would just pull you in for a hug, but the both of you knew that wouldn't be smart. He averts his gaze above. Silence falls over the stressful atmosphere for only a second.

he mutters into the night when he explains himself, "I want to be a hero, I don't think I have time for love.." He plays with his fingers.

"okay."

"y/n.."

"I said okay." The slight aggressive tone in your voice was understandable but it still made the future hero hurt inside. Izu tries his best not to hug you, he wants to, badly. Instead, he simply nods and doesn't say anything more.

both of you remained looking up at the sky, the night was peaceful but the atmosphere was filled with apprehension and sadness.

did you really need to go on and say somethin' stupid like I love you?

[celestoria]

Genshin Impact (Taylor’s Version)

Tags: SFW with semi-angst Characters: Scaramouche, Zhongli, Kaeya, Lyney

Scaramouche (The Way I Loved You)

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain // it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name // So in love that I acted insane // And that's the way I loved you // Breaking down and coming undone // It's a roller coaster kind of rush // And I never knew I could feel that much // And that's the way I loved you.

Loving you was so frustrating…yet so addicting.

Scaramouche had a complicated way of showing his feelings towards other people and always rubbed them the wrong way. However, you didn’t give up.

You noticed how the same lips that mumbled disdainful complaints were the same ones that would kiss you so passionately under the pale moonlight. His hands that would brutally throw a fight when needed are the same ones that would hold you delicately as he leads you to a secret spot only the two of you know.

Sure, there are times when you wouldn’t meet eye to eye, but in the end, no word would mean as much to him compared to the first time you told him you'll never leave him. Scaramouche felt so alive since he fell in love with you and he would never trade it for the world.

Zhongli (Wildest Dreams)

Say you'll remember me // Standing in a nice dress // Staring at the sunset, babe // Red lips and rosy cheeks // Say you'll see me again // Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha // Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

Times of old may be memories of the past but those moments shall never be forgotten.

How long has it been since he last saw you? A month? A decade? Centuries? It all feels the same when you’ve lived for 5000 years.

Still, he can’t bear to forget every bit of you, even if it pains him to reminisce about the days you called him yours. He loved how your hair flowed with the wind the first day you met each other during a busy day at the harbor, the distinct scent of your favorite perfume that could easily make his head turn, and even that beautiful shade of red that often smudged on the side of his neck whenever you were going out.

Sometimes your ghost haunts him in his dreams, but alas it was just a figment of his imagination playing what could have been if life was a little bit kinder to the both of you. But if everything is just one Samsara cycle playing over and over again, he promises to love every one of them until Teyvat and Celestia itself ceases.

Kaeya (Cruel Summer)

I'm drunk in the back of the car // And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (oh) // Said, "I'm fine, " but it wasn't true // I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you // And I snuck in through the garden gate // Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) // And I screamed for whatever it's worth // "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Everyone has their fair share of secrets, and Kaeya was no exception.

But he kept them buried where no one would find them. Like the last time he opened up about his deepest, darkest secret to someone he trusted, Kaeya fears you’ll push him away once he finally comes undone in front of you.

However, it was such a pain to keep things like that. Always yearning for you but never having you. Brave is the kindest word you can call a fool, so call him the most foolish man on earth when he poured his heart confessing to you how much his heart aches for you like it's his guilty pleasure.

He was ready for rejection to kick him in the guts like a horse, but instead, he was meat with your flushed cheeks and warm smile. To him, he felt like he was confessing shame, but to you, it was the few words you always wanted him to say.

The weight of pining finally fell off his shoulders, freed with the knowledge you always felt the same way for him. Kaeya’s thankful that even though luck often refused to be on his side, it gave him this small chance to find something sweet to make everything seem a little less cruel.

Lyney (Today was a Fairytale)

But can you feel this magic in the air? // It must have been the way you kissed me // Fell in love when I saw you standing there // It must have been the way // Today was a fairytale

To him, loving you felt like a romance novel, always making his heart flutter like the wings of doves flying out of his hat. It must have been love at first sight, the way your enthusiastic, wide-eyed smile became enthralled with his street performances as you stood amongst the crowd.

How lucky he is that fate allowed him to have someone always by his side. Though he was the magician between the two of you, you were always the one taking his breath with whatever you had to offer.

You seem to know how to make his gloomy days a little bright with a bright smile, how to make the simplest gifts feel like the grandest gestures with him, and how to make real life feel like a fairytale that he thought would only be possible in children’s books. The sun always seems to be burning on his cheeks whenever you try to kiss him.

Even though he knows every magic trick there is, how in the world he managed to pull such a beautiful person like you will always remain a mystery to him. That must be destiny’s own little magic, he guessed — always finding a way to let two people tied with a red string of faith find each other in a chaotic mess of a world.

[ziinesso]

Under the pale moonlight, sitting on the old wooden bench in the garden, the two lovers meet for a nocturnal conversation, as they have done for so long.

"C/N… Do you remember the first time you told me you love me?"

You were still children at that time. It was a youthful love, they said. He had a crush on you. He didn't know what to do with that secret. Too young to understand the nuances of this budding love, too vulnerable to confront the reality of his feelings.

"Y/N, my love, please. Don't tease me."

"I'm not teasing you, I'm just reminiscing."

So, he chose to wait. He planned to wait for a long time. But one autumn day, for a reason that still escapes him today – just seeing you had triggered this reaction – he muttered those three words. I love you. The secret was revealed.

"It was embarrassing."

"You're wrong, it was adorable. When you realized what you had said, you turned so red, and by the time I said your name, you had already disappeared."

At that time, that first declaration didn't improve your relationship. Quite the opposite. Too young, too vulnerable, in the years that followed, he avoided you.

"I never apologized for those years."

"Which ones?"

"Those years of silence. When I avoided your eyes. For… I guess fear of discerning rejection."

"I never held it against you. You were young. Kids often say things they regret later. I just thought it was a mistake."

"That loving you was a mistake?"

"More like your confession was a mistake, that you didn't mean it. I thought you were ashamed."

"I meant it."

"When we were kids?"

"Yes. I loved you already. It just took me time to accept it."

When adolescence found you, it became difficult to blame youth as the culprit for this love. It had survived the test of time. They couldn’t call it a youthful love anymore. It had become simply love.

"That was the second time you told me you love me."

"I was nervous. Even more than the first time."

This time, he knew exactly why he was muttering those three words. I love you. He wanted to share it. With you, he wanted to experience it.

"I was nervous too."

"You didn't seem nervous to me. You seemed calm. You seemed… beautiful. Very beautiful, Y/N. I was finally looking at you after so many years, and you were so beautiful."

His words make you smile. They make you smile because those were the same thoughts swirling in your head that day. He was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that had warmed your cheeks. Oh, how difficult was it to reveal your secret in front of such a beautiful man.

"I was because it was the first time I told you that I love you."

- NEJI, itachi (nt) ; kazutora (tr) ; eren (aot) ; sakusa (hq)

[fandomnerd9602]

Submission

Nun!Wanda x Male Reader

For @lifespectator and @aloneodi

To say that you and your bride were enjoying the magnificent freedom that a marriage afforded would be an understatement, perhaps the biggest.

You and Wanda worked in the same convent and fell hard for one another. So much that you and her were singing praises when Father Wong informed you that you could still work at the church and be allowed to pursue a relationship together.

Wong's only rule was that you and Wanda not make out or worse in the house of worship.

You thank the Lord that you and Wanda were sent on little errands outside of the convent and into the nearby town. It allowed for many opportunities to steal kisses and make out with one another in the pale moonlight.

You proposed to Wanda and she gladly accepted. Well more like tackled you to the ground in the garden and kissed you with the kind of passion that Adam and Eve probably had for one another on their wedding night.

Wong was more than happy to officiate your ceremony and allowed the two of you to move into a little cottage not far from convent.

You and Wanda would never say it aloud but you were both glad to be living in a place besides your church, because some of the things you and her have been up to lately would be downright sinful.

Many Sundays where you found each other stealing little glances as you went about your job taking care of the children in Sunday school. The way Wanda would tease you with just a wave of her fingers, how you'd find yourself wishing what she would do you with those bewitching fingers.

Of course you found your own little ways to tempt and tease your wife back. Little looks or even the way you'd show how good a parent you could be, it all drove her over the edge. It made her want to drag you back to your cottage and take her already.

And so that brings you to right now. Wanda had been the one doing all the teasing all day. Even her wordplay was getting very tempting as she was making dinner with you.

"Do you want breasts or thighs, detka?" she asks with a little smirk.

"I-um...thighs?" you tried to articulate.

Wanda couldn't help but smile. She knew exactly what buttons to push on you. The same buttons she was pushing after supper too.

You were working on a report for Wong when Wanda glided into your little study room, a little mischievous smirk on her lips.

"I found the best book in the Scriptures for us to read together" she says.

"Which one?"

She sat on your lap, her shorts rising up ever so slightly, exposing that silk like texture of her legs. How soft it felt over you. "Song of Songs. I can't help but think of how that relates to us."

"That's a book of a married couples...wedding night" you could feel the heat rising all over you.

"Oh how her breasts are like two fawns...her neck is like an ivory tower" Wanda reads a quote from it aloud. One of her hands glides over her own neck and then over one of her clothed breast. "Don't you think, detka?"

"Remind me to talk with Wong tomorrow" you manage to say

"Hmm? why?"

"Because I'm going to need confession after what i'm going to do to you" you whisper back as you pick her up, her legs wrap around your waist as you kiss her fiercely and carry her away quickly to your bedroom.

Wanda giggles the whole way there. "Detka" she moans in your ear.

Wanda (L/N) former nun, your loving bride, the future mother of your kids, and the biggest temptation you have in your life.

[neewtmas]

hihihi im here with the request hehe thank you so so so so much again you’re so amazing i can’t believe it

lockwood x she/her reader with the prompts

"Prove it."

"How much of that did you hear?"

“It's a long story." "I got time, try me."

but if they don’t make sense just go with the flow you’re already so so so so so wonderful for doing all of this i’m not gonna be picky lol 🫂🫂🩷🩷

hellooooo!!! thank you so much for these great prompts and for your patience!

I have to admit I did struggle with an idea at first but I think I turned it around and now I'm actually really proud of this, so I hope you like it too :)))

Enjoy 1.5k of Lockwood goodness just for you <333

masterlist

When you woke up, the room was filled with the pale glow of the full moon shining outside the attic window. Usually, Lucy pulled the curtains close when she went to bed, so there shouldn’t have been a way for the moonlight to disturb your peaceful slumber. Your eyes were heavy as you felt around the other side of the mattress. It was cold, Lucy’s blanket still folded up from the morning before. You slowly sat up, looking over at the little digital alarm clock on Lucy’s bedside table.

11:30.

Due to a headache, you had gone to bed earlier tonight, leaving your three colleagues behind in the living room. The pounding in your head had subsided considerably after a few hours of sleep, but your throat felt dry like sandpaper. You reached over to the cup on your bedside table, only to find it equally dry. Oh well. With your house slippers on, cup in hand, you made your way down the stairs. You made an effort to be quiet, just in case anyone else was sleeping already.

The kitchen was dark, and you didn’t bother switching on the bright light which would have probably only hurt your eyes anyway. The faucet was right by the window, where the moon shone bright enough for you to see what you were doing. After two cups of water, you were ready to make your way back to your bed. As you carefully pulled the kitchen door closed behind you, your eyes fell on the thin strip of light that poured out of the living room onto the floorboards of the hallway.

On second thought, maybe the bed could wait and you could join Lucy for some late-night talks in the living room. You stepped closer to the door, subconsciously trying to move as quietly as possible. As you approached the door, you could hear Lockwood’s voice as well as Lucy’s. So they were both still awake. The door was slightly ajar, allowing you to peer into the room before opening it fully.

Lockwood and Lucy sat on the couch, Lucy with her back to you. George was nowhere to be seen, probably in bed already. Something about the way Lockwood and Lucy were turned towards each other made you stop in your tracks. The hand that had been ready to push open the door slowly fell to your side, as you watched with wide eyes as Lockwood took both of Lucy’s hands, smiling at her tenderly.

“Look, I’ve been trying to get this off my chest for such a long time. Ever since you started working here, really. You are so important to me.”

It felt like someone had placed a noose around your neck and pulled it tight. Were you about to watch Lockwood confess his love to Lucy?

Lockwood hesitated now. You watched Lucy squeeze his hands. “Go on”, she said encouragingly.

“More important than I could ever put into words. Everything about you is perfect to me.”

Suddenly you felt like throwing up. Your head was spinning as you stumbled backwards and blindly felt for the wall to steady you. The thought of them being able to hear you didn’t even cross your mind as you practically raced up the stairs.

⫘⫘A few minutes prior, in the living room⫘⫘

“No, stop! Try again.”

George was slouched in one of the chairs, biscuit in hand. “That was horrible, Lockwood. Where are the feelings? Where is the love? I’m not feeling the love!”

Lucy had to bite back a laugh as Lockwood grimaced. “It’s Lucy! You try confessing your undying love to Lucy, and we can talk again.”

She kicked his shin. “Hey! Don’t forget I’m trying to help you out here. Just imagine it’s Y/N. Shouldn’t be that hard, we know she’s all you think about.”

The tips of Lockwood’s ears went pink. “Alright, alright. Let’s try again. Lucy, don’t look at me like that or I’ll laugh.”

Lucy made an effort to keep a neutral expression. Lockwood went to grab both her hands and took a deep breath.

“Look, I’ve been trying to get this off my chest for such a long time. Ever since you started working here, really. You are so important to me.” A short pause. George nodded encouragingly and showed a thumbs up. Lucy squeezed Lockwood’s hands.

“Go on.”

“More important than I could ever put into words. Everything about you is perfect to me.”

Lockwood was about to continue when the sound of footsteps on the stairs sounded through the room. He immediately dropped Lucy’s hands. “Did you hear that?”

George got up, turning to the door. “Yes”, he said slowly. “Sounded like someone running up the stairs.” He and Lucy exchanged a worried look as Lockwood rushed to the door. “Shit! Do you think she heard?”

“Probably.”

“That was not the plan!” But Lockwood didn’t stay to explain what exactly the plan was, instead, he ran out into the hallway and up the stairs, taking three steps at once.

Lucy looked over to George. He just shrugged. “Maybe that was the kick in the ass he needed.”

Lockwood was sure that he had never run up a set of stairs that fast in his life. He was out of breath as he came to a halt in front of the door to the attic. His hands were sweaty as he knocked a few times, praying that you would open the door.

At the knock you sat up on the bed, frantically wiping away the tears from your cheeks. Who could that be? George? Maybe your running had woken him up and he was here to tell you off. You buried your head in your pillow. You didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted to wallow in self-pity and cry about the fact that the boy you liked, liked your best friend instead. But the knocks continued.

You wiped your cheeks again, just for good measure and hoped that the tears weren’t so obvious. You pulled open the door, ready to tell George that you were sorry but not in the mood for a scene, but the words died in your throat as you came face to face with Lockwood. You gasped, trying to close the door again. He moved so quickly that you barely registered it and held it open.

“Are you crying?”, he asked, and while you shook your head, the tears came back with a vengeance at the concern and tenderness in his voice. “No”, you sniffled, taking a few steps back. “Leave me alone, please.”

He ignored you. “What’s wrong? Were you downstairs?” You didn’t say anything, just wiped another stray tear. Lockwood sighed deeply. “How much of that did you hear?"

It felt like your stomach had tied itself into a thousand knots. “Listen, Lockwood, I’m happy for you and Lucy, but please, I need some time to myself right now.”

“Y/N –“ Lockwood ran his hand through his hair. “Listen to me. It’s not what you think.”

Suddenly, you could feel anger rising within you. What was he trying to do? Flirting with you for months, keeping your hopes up, only to then choose Lucy and tell you ‘it’s not what it looks like’.

“It’s not? It seemed awfully clear to me, Lockwood.”

You could tell he was hurt by your sharp tone.

“I swear it’s not. Please, Y/N, you have to believe me. It's a long story."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "I got time, try me."

Lockwood buried his face in his hand. It was hard for you to see him like this. He seemed to be in great distress.

He stepped closer to you, and you allowed him to take your hands, even though you immediately had the picture of him doing the same to Lucy in your mind.

“This is going to sound so dumb, but I promise you it’s the truth. I’ve been thinking so long about how I could possibly tell you how I feel about you. And George had this idea – this stupid idea where I would confess to Lucy, but pretend it’s you. Like a practice run. That’s what you heard.”

You stared at him. “How could I possibly believe that?”, you finally asked, and his shoulders slumped down. “You always know exactly what to say, in every situation. How am I supposed to believe that you need to practice –“

“Because you make me so unbelievably nervous, Y/N. You should have heard the five attempts before that final one. It was pathetic. George could have come up with something better.”

You smiled weakly. “I’m not sure about this.”

Lockwood looked at you, desperation written all over his face. “I know a way of proving it to you if you let me”, he said, his right hand slipping up your arm to cup your cheek. “Please?”

Your head was spinning from his sudden closeness and the warmth of his hand. You closed your eyes. “Prove it”, you whispered and your heart skipped a beat as you felt the soft touch of his lips on yours.

[byeuijoo]

what is love? 𐀔 asakura jo

genre : pure fluff ⋆ warnings : absolutely none ⋆ wc : 0,8k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ୨ ✩ ୧

« what is love? » he asked you quietly, his face bathed in the moonlight passing through your window. jo was currently slumped against your mattress, his ebony hair spread carelessly on your pillow while you were lying next to him, belly against the bed, chin resting against the palm of your hand. a smile took place on your lips at the sound of his question, his soft voice destabilizing the quiet silence that had previously occupied the room.

pretending to think, without your eyes ever leaving his, your index finger pressed against his pale skin, tracing the curve of his jaw to his chin with your fingertip. « love is.. » you began to say, the sound of your voice echoing in his head like the most bewitching of melodies, « love is your voice. »

he didn't seem to understand, looking for the slightest innuendo in your words to find any clue as to the meaning of your sentence. but jo didn't have time to think as you spoke again, « just hearing your voice can give me butterflies in the stomach. » — you wanted to explain things as you felt them, so you continued your confession, bringing your index finger up to trace the outline of his eyes delicately.

« love is your eyes, » you declared, as he watched you with as much adoration as possible, and this simple little thing caused your heart to miss a beat, « the way you look at things is unique, the gleam in your eyes always makes me feel like i'm even more precious than the biggest diamond. »

jo could swear he'd never enjoyed listening to someone talk so much. he loved that little crackle in your low voice, the way words roll off your tongue like poetry. you were like a sweet dream he didn't want to wake up from. it's thanks to the way you talk that he started to take an interest in you — your voice was the sweetest and most captivating among the whole class. he watched you change position : your right hand previously scattered over his face, now resting against his chest. for the left hand, you moved it delicately so that your fingers intertwined with jo's, suddenly stopping his delicate caresses on your cheek.

« love is your hands, » you resumed, pulling his hand to your lips to place a warm kiss against its back, « when they touch or intertwine with mine, a gentle warmth can't help but permeate my whole being. they are reassuring and comforting, like the ultimate cuddle you need during hard times. »

jo didn't know how you made him love you even more than he already did. nor did he know how his heart managed to beat so fast in his chest. much less how you could refrain from commenting on his flushed cheeks.

« and finally, love is your lips. » you continued, in the most sincere voice in the world, bringing your hand up until your fingers lightly brushed his lower lip. your smile was even sweeter, your eyes filled with stars, and you breathed joy, which filled him with happiness. « jo, every time you smile.. oh gosh, i swear the ground caves in on me. i've never felt my heart race so fast. » you explained, and he could hear your smile in your words. you were so pretty, you were the prettiest in his eyes. no one had ever shake him up as much as you — and he wouldn't lose the love that bound you together for anything in the world.

« love is you, asakura jo, » you end up saying, your voice growing weaker, as if you were sharing the most confidential of secrets with him, « your whole being makes me discover a little more every day what love means. »

unlike you, jo wasn't good with words. but instead of talking, he could act, even if it took him all the courage in the world to do so. then, after a moment's thought, the boy sat up, his warm hands caressing your face in the most delicate of ways. it was as if your cheeks were caught between two cotton fields, and in front of you, the most radiant, comforting and warmest of summer suns appeared. his smile filled the light that was missing from your night, shaking your whole being, giving your heart uncontrollable palpitations. you knew jo was the answer to all your questions about love — and this was confirmed once again when he placed the most unforgettable kiss on your lips.

« i love you, » he murmured against your mouth just as your fingers grasped his sweatshirt, « i love you more than words can ever describe. »

and he was right : because no words could describe the love you meant to each other.

⠀

reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !

taglist ౨ৎ @wtfhyuck @yuma-is-mine

[dolliestfairy]

𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎 𝐵𝓊𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 ᮫ׅ ๋ 𝆹 ׅ⸰ 🫧 ͙ࣳ ⸰ֺ⭑

Powerful Sorcerer Gojo Satoru falling in love with Chubby!fem!reader who is a Water Fairy 🫧🦋

Authors Note ✿ : this is a request from @arisucat :3 this is also kinda rushed i just done this prob like 1 hours or some idk, anyways enjoy and if you like my works, please give reblog and feedbacks! tysm.

Warnings ✿ : male masturbation, breeding kink (?), i think thats it lmfao, the rest of it was just fluff fluff fluff. lmk if miss anything though. reader skin color is not announced.

Wc : 6,3k

The first time he had laid his eyes on you he swear to the sun and star that you're the most beautiful creature he ever seen in his entire life.

no Moon, or Stars, or even his blue eyes can beat your beauty. you're an exquisite one.

he really love seeing you showing your talent, espesially with children. where he sees at the fountain in the middle of the garden surrounding by little childs.

sometimes he paid himself to join you and the little children, making them all laugh, and also he was there to make you laugh too ;).

he love about how around you filled with such laugh and joy, the happiness of the children, how you show your water power to them, making them confused yet curious however.

it sparks something in gojo.

the first time he sees you he tell himself that he just think you're a very exquisite creature and it makes him overwhelmed, but as times goes by, he realize that he was actually starting to..... falling in love.

the way you show your power to children, how friendly and shy you are, how you were making the childrens happy, how you make him feel so happy...

it leads to his thinking of wanting to marry you and fuck with you. having kids together and making those little humans of yours happy.

and he didnt even denied his thinking. he really does wanna fuck you in your wedding dress, in the middle of the night, pressing your back, breeding you, and make babies with you.

he always drowning in those nasty romantic dreams while his hands holding his cock, stroking it up and down, dreaming about you, thinking about you, and imagining the future of you both together.

it doesnt gonna take long enough for him to confess to you and how the way he said "i love you" and "would you like to be mine?"

its been 7 years since you both dated, theres a rough time but you both always try to help each other.

and after 7 years waiting, he finally had a time to make you completely his.

𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 📝

Gojo invite you to a garden you always visit of where you make entertainment for childrens, it was still afternoon on when he message you

{ Hello Y/N! ha-ha-ha... if you have time, would you like to meet me in your favourite garden tonight? }

{ oh why of course toruu' :) }

{ thank you so much dear! you're the best! meet me on the pale moonlight tonight, at your favourite garden, from your Satoru <3 }

you read the message while giggled a little bit, you actually want to ask 'why' but you think he just tryna plan some surprise for you, and you dont want to mess that up, so you just agreed with him.

﹍.﹍.﹍.﹍

now its the time, you had seen the moonlight, it almost turned pale. you had your soft-blue colored dress on, you had your hair done and your high heels, you also tuck and hiding your wings inside your dress. you're all ready. now its time to go!

﹍.﹍

you've waited for the bus to pick you up, at the meantime, you had been texted Gojo Satoru.

{ Toruu' i'm all ready, i'll be right there in 20 minutes 💙 }

{ of course babydoll! wait me there. }

after the short text, you see some light coming towards you, turns out it was your bus, now you get in and wait for 20 minutes to get to the location.

﹍.﹍.﹍.﹍.﹍.﹍

finally...... you arrived, you look around the water fountain in which you didnt found him so you texted him again.

{ toru i'm beside the fountain, where are u?? }

Toruu' didnt respond.

so you called him.

*Bzztt* *Bzztt*

*Pick up Sound*

"Toruu? where are u? i'm sitting in the fountain and i havent seen you"

"BABYDOLL I'M SORRY! i'm coming really fast rn!"

you heard rushed footstep in the phone as if he was running. And soon enough you really heard the rushed footstep, outside your phone. you quickly turn your head to where the sound come from in which you find him.

"oh toruu!..."

"sorry Y/N i got like extra work but i finally did it all!"

you sigh at his explanation. in which you say

"its ok toruu, at least you're here now. anyway why are u inviting me to this place here? is there is something you wanna talk about?"

gojo finally snapped back to reality, he looked at you with wild eyes and said

"Why of course Y/N! i got big surprise for you! but i need you to look back and close your eyes right now!"

"what why?.."

"just do it! you're gonna love this one."

you put your back to his direction and closing your eyes, you heard some things that you dont know what is it so you said.

"T-toru what is i-"

"ok Y/N you can open your eyes now!"

you open your eyes and look back at him only to find him on a position where his left knee is on the ground, and his right knee is up. his hand was holding a ring box containing a very expensive and beautiful looking ring.

you gasp at him.

"toru?...."

"yes babydoll. i want you to be mine. i want you to stay in my home, sleep in my bed, having a little babies of me in your hand, how you would be so good to me, how you would make our childrens happy. i want it all, i want you. i've been waiting for 7 years for this, and i cant take it anymore, i really need you to be mine." he said as he look at you with a hungrily eyes as if he wants to devour you.

"G-Gojo satoru are u.. are u really being serious right now?"

"Of course Darling!"

"oh well i would love to be yours al-"

not finishing your sentence, gojo quickly grabbed his hands around your waist and hugging you.

"oh fucking finally!, those 7 years of waitin' & waiting! i've finally got you. you're all mine now babydoll.."

"mhm yes satoru, yes.."

﹍.﹍.﹍

2 weeks later.

"Y/N hurry up he have been waiting!" your friend says.

"okay F/N, i'm coming i'm coming...."

this was it, your wedding day. how've you both waited so much for this. you at that time was putting some accesories in your hair, until your friends finally shout at you again.

"Y/N come on!"

"Jeez okay okay F/N..."

you quickly go to the front side, there was a big curtain in front of you. if you open it, then its all going to began.

you take a breath, one, two, three...

you slowly open the curtains. and then theres you look at him, Gojo Satoru. standing & smilling at you. you see Yuuji, Megumi, Nanami on the other side. you see your family and his. you slowly but surely walking down the alley of the weddings. you see people turn their heads and look at you. you didnt mind them. you still put your heads to the direction of Your Beloved man.

Gojo then offered his hands to you, in which you accept.

the priest then said

"Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall lived?"

you both look at each other and says

"yes. i am."

"and with this, Do you take Gojo Satoru as your husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

both you and satoru then, once again, looked at each others eyes. in which you replied.

"yes. I will take Gojo Satoru, as my lawful Husband."

Gojo Smiled brightly at you, he quickly pick you up and put kisses all over your face while the priest is just looking at you both shyly.

gojo then put you down again. and said with a visible voice

"well done my wife. i just hope you will prepare for tonight..."

"sstt! Toruu..! everyones watching at us.."

"aww why? now everyones know that you're fully and truly mine and only mine Babydoll."

Gojo giggled at you while you look at him embarassingly, he grab your chin and kisses your forehead while he pick you up once again and hugging you.

After those 7 years with you being girlfriend and boyfriend, the powerful sorcerer has finally put his rings into his beloved water fairy's finger, as he swear to the moon and the stars, that he would love you with all of his life, and that he swear, he would kill, and die for you, to showing off his devotion for you. his beloved (round) water fairy Wife. 🫧🦋

[gaypirate420]

Premunition// Dream*

Dream of the Endless* x male!reader.

Part one.

Part three: AMAB. AFAB.

Summary: After realizing you had a glimpse of the future in your dreams, you think about altering the destiny.

Suggestive. But feelings more than anything.

"My moonlight?" Lord Morpheus called again, so softly, full with worry.

"I had a premunition." You whispered, your cheeks were burning.

"What happened in your vision?" He asked oh so carefully. You avoided his gaze, ashamed.

You can't tell him.

"No—" You pulled away from him going for one book that will determinate your next move.

"I cannot tell you, Oneiros. " you stopped re reading the paragraph, Morpheus stayed behind you.

"If I tell you—It could change the destiny and I do not wish for your brother to annoy you for my actions, my lord." You remarked with a nervous tone, The Dream Lord nod slightly.

You ache for that premunition to be the same step by step. A premunition isn't always going to be the exact same, especially if it's seen in a dream.

But you prayed that it was.

"I'm so nervous and a bit scared." You whispered, his hand reach yours once again.

"There is no need to be afraid, love. If what you saw harmed you then I shall do the impossible to keep you safe." He spoke before pressing a kiss against your knuckles, you smiled.

Everytime you looked at him, memories of your vision filled your mind. The way his hands touched you and his lips kissed you.

"You have changed, my lord." You remarked before walking away to the pile of pillows and blankets you dare to call couch.

"Have I?" Lord Morpheus asked softly, you stopped again. Knowing what is going to happen is off-putting but there is a bit of excitement inside you.

"Y-yes you have, sir but—." You spoke while he got closer to you.

"But?" He repeated with a bit of sadness, you meet his gaze, his blue eyes are always watery. Oneiros looks sad, lonely, in need of love and care.

"I think I'm getting the wrong idea from your— acts, my lord." You said low. His rosy lips formed a smirk, The Dream Lord sat besides you.

"And which idea will that be?" He spoke, you swallowed. He knows what he does to you.

When The Lord of Dreams returned he became more affectionate and romantic. Giving you gifts, touches so soft and calling you the loveliest of pet names.

Some would say he was trying to woo you.

"That you fancy me." You confessed. His pale hand cupped your cheek and you melted against him.

His lips meet yours and your body is infested of his divine taste.

Your soul is one with the stars.

"My lord—" You breathed out.

"There is no need for formalities now. It hasn't since long ago, don't you think?." He said while his thumb stroked your cheek.

"Morpheus." You whispered, he smirks and presses a quick kiss on your lips.

"In my prison I had the time to reflect of various topics and actions— but at the end I would always think about you." He spoke against your skin, his lips traveled down your neck.

"You thought about me?" You asked feeling your cheeks warm and your hearth racing.

"Indeed. I realized how much you've done for me and how little I've given in return. The many times I have failed you and made you cry." You meet eyes with him, his blue eyes watery again, you extended your hand and cupped his pale face.

He kissed the palm of your hand.

"After I was free and my realm was repaired I felt like something was missing. I felt—lonely." Morpheus spoke, you felt your own eyes watery.

"And when I heard your voice calling for me even after all these years— and when I saw you." He spoke, the tears where running down his face.

"Then I felt complete again." He whispered, your thumb cleaned the tears away. You leaned over and kissed him again.

He was so hungry for you touch, for any touch. Any sign of love.

"Please, be mine. Let me treat you how you deserve. I'll show you how much I love you, my moonlight." He whispered between breaths.

"I'm already yours, my sweet prince." You whispered but The Dream Lord was waiting for something.

"I love you, Morpheus." You whispered against his ear, he kisses you once again before undoing your shirt.

His cold hand traveled down your chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: THEY WILL BANG IT ON PART 3 OKAY? I just wanted to have some feels and as you can see I was really into this one.

[xxcatzladyxx]

Giyu Tomioka x Reader | The Water Pillar

Hello everyone! ^^

Here is the second Demon Slayer - Giyu! I hope you enjoy reading it!

~~~

You had been on a mission with the water pillar Giyū Tomioka, and to the young man's displeasure, you were on your way to Shinobu's butterfly estate. Everyone knew that neither of them liked each other very much, but to heal your injuries, Shinobu was the best place to go.

It was already late in the evening when you finally arrived at the estate. Shinobu had probably already expected you. Because she stood in front of the entrance and beckoned you with a hand gesture to you.

"Oh, [y/n], my dear, I'm sorry you had to go on a mission with Tomioka-san."

The person in question didn't even bother to roll his eyes at this statement. He knew full well that his colleague would never stop with these taunts.

"Shinobu, please don't be like this all the time. You know very well that I can work best with Giyū."

At your statement, the other lady had to laugh softly. You immediately regret what you said. Now Shinobu had it in for you.

"So, my dear, you can work well with him.", she repeated to you with a big smile and closed eyes.

Before she could go on with her little game, you asked her for shelter for tonight and for the treatment of your wounds. With a certain grin, she complied with your request. However, not without ulterior motives.

"Oh, no, my dears, I'm sorry to hear that. I have only one guest room left. But you probably don't mind. You two get along famously, don't you?"

You looked at Giyū. As expected, not a single reaction from him. You just nodded silently.

"Thank you, Shinobu!"

She threw you another certain smile before she made her escape. Giyū opened the door to your guest room and let you enter first. With a quiet 'thank you' you scurried past him. He closed the door behind him and placed his katana against a wall. You did the same and immediately sat down on one of the two futons.

In the meantime, night had fallen and both of you were getting ready for bed. You lay with your backs to each other in your futons. You had a hard time falling asleep today and stared into the darkness. You were thinking about your roommate and were completely engrossed in your thoughts when-...

"Does everyone really hate me?" suddenly came from the black-haired boy.

Torn from your thoughts, you slowly turned around to what was said. He still turned his back to you.

,,W-what do you mean by that, Giyū?"

,,Shinobu meant that many people don't like me..Is that true?"

"No, Giyū, that's not true. Shinobu is just teasing you."

"You don't like me either?"

You blushed instantly. What should you answer? Should you tell him how you feel. Or just nice words to make him feel better? Slightly overwhelmed with the situation, you sat up and ran your hand through your hair once.

"Giyū, I-I...", you started.

You didn't know what to answer. Giyū had also sat up in the meantime and was staring straight into your soul.

"I-I...um...", you broke off again.

"I already understood. Good night!"

Giyū was about to lie down again, when your voice sounded again.

"Giyū, I like you...I like you a lot...No...I...I l-love you!", you sputtered out.

Giyū's eyes widened. The young man did not expect this answer or rather this confession.

"Giyū, you are such a great person. How can anyone not like you. You are rather a quiet person, but that's what makes you. You are so strong and stay calm and level-headed in any situation."

,,[y/n]!"

"Yes?"

You startled when you suddenly felt a hand on yours. When had he gotten up to sit right next to you? And without you noticing?

"Thank you, [y/n]!"

"You're welcome! I was just telling the truth."

Giyū squeezed your hand lightly. You pulled her closer to you and looked into his blue eyes as best you could in the darkness and faint moonlight. He also looked into yours and a rare smile crept onto his pale face. Automatically, you had to smile now, too. It was just too sweet. You had never seen him smile before. Otherwise, a serious expression always adorned his beautiful face.

"I like it when you smile!"

Giyū blushed slightly around his nose. It made him uncomfortable. You laughed softly and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Out of reflex, because you had to yawn, you pulled your hand that was in his to your mouth and yawned once hard.

"You are tired! We'd better go to sleep!"

Giyū was already ready to go back to his futon when you pulled him to you. Without a word, you shook your head and lifted your blanket. Confused, the black-haired man looked at you.

"Come here!"

Giyū did as ordered and climbed to you under the blanket at a good distance from you. He turned on his back. This was your chance. You pushed yourself to him and rested your head on his chest. He looked at you with a shocked expression in his eyes. Undeterred, you put his arm around you and snuggled closer to him.  In seconds you were in the land of dreams.

Giyū let it wash over him. Smiling and shaking his head at the same time, he stroked your hair. He gave you a kiss on your hair and closed his eyes. Before he fell asleep he murmured, "I love you too, [y/n]!"

~~~

I hope you enjoyed it! If you have ideas or wishes, always here with it!

Your Wolfi ^^

[lightaflametoburnmethrough]

It's October 31st which means the anniversary of chapter 48 where

✨🌕 AKIHO 💞CONFESSES💞 TO KAITO BENEATH THE FULL MOON 🌕✨

...yea 😄 so I'm here to celebrate all 6 beautiful pages of it with ridiculous commentary 😂

Starting with Akiho waking up from her dream.

Poor baby, she's so shaken up 🥺 What’s the first thing she does?

Go to the bathroom? Or head to the kitchen to get a glass of water and then drop back into bed to try and fall asleep again?

Noooooooo~

Because she’s a ✨Bungaku Shoujo✨ (Literature Girl~) with a fancy ass bed that has a giant canopy over it. And her room even has French doors (?? I know nothing about doors, don’t come at me) that lead out into the backyard so DUH, of course she’s gonna get up to walk into the friggin’ garden like the main heroine in a romance novel!

To do what?

Why, to search for her destiny!

To look for 💖LOOOOOOOOOVE 💖

For 🎶HER ONLY ONE~ ONLY ONEEEEEE~🎶 🎤😫✨

And there he is, as destiny ordered~ 🤭

Leaves gently blowing around while Kaito stands there in his flowy robe (#pajamasareromantic) against that impossibly stunning backdrop, aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh~ 😍

…ok, real talk for a minute. How the hell did the moon go from THAT size ↗️ to THAAAAAT ↖️ size??? 😳!!!!!

Like, now I can’t help but imagine this silly little scenario happening between Kaito and the 🌕 before Akiho arrived.

The 🌕 is all concerned, asking him “bro, you okay? you’ve been standing there for hours, what’s botherin’ you?”

But Kaito just stares up at the sky the entire time, annoyingly “…………” and the 🌕 is probably so pissed off 💢 by his silence that when Akiho appears and Kaito ✨HANDSOMELY✨ turns around to greet her, the big rock gets so ecstatic (“OMG, A CUTE GIRL, YAY!” 🤩) that it zooooms in on them to hear their conversation better.

Because the 🌕 has seen it all, y’know, so it knows this vibe.

It knows that tonight, ❤️ F E E L I N G S ❤️ will be in the air.

Nevermind that there’s probably massive flooding occuring somewhere in the world because it suddenly got so close to the earth and the high tides are going crazy, the 🌕 WANTS to hear someone say “I love you” tonight, goddamnit, and it’s betting on the girl!

Anyways, Kaito casually asks “Is something the matter?”

whaddaya mean “is something the matter?”, you doofus 😒

A girl is out of bed in the middle of night and strolling through the grass. Something’s got to be the matter! 🙄

But ohhh, Akiho is so cute 🥺 She sees Kaito and his gorgeous smile, illuminated by moonlight, and her heart goes ドキドキ！💓

She forgets all about her dream at the sight of him and that’s such a heartwarming thought cuz even though she’s shy and nervous around the guy she loves, just being near him is enough to make her forget her troubles 🥰

And because he’s out here in the dead of night as well, she wants to know if it’s the same for him. Why isn’t he in bed? Why can’t he sleep?

But Kaito is cryptic as always with his “maybe”s and “I suppose so”s.

He smiles like it’s no big deal, answers in a way that says “I’m fine (so don’t ask me anymore, I won’t tell a thing)” and hopes that’ll be the end of any further inquiry into any interest in him.

Except Akiho isn’t the type to back down, at least when it comes to him.

She doesn’t need the wind to tell her “he never went to bed, he didn’t sleep a wink”. She doesn’t need magic to see past his mask. His hiding tricks don’t work on her eyes like the way he fools everybody else.

So she tells it to him straight.

“Kaito-san, your face looks awfully pale” with those oh so worried eyes 🥺 because she wants him to know how much she cares for his well-being.

But he immediately looks away, as expected, because Kaito doesn’t think he’s worth caring about. He deflects her concern by blaming it on the moonlight 🌕-chan goes “アーン⁉︎” (ʘ言ʘ 💢)

Which only serves to make Akiho more worried because “Why are you bullshitting me? 🥺”

And 🌕-chan: “Why are you bullshitting her?!” (ʘ言ʘ 💢)

But even that is not enough to deter Akiho.

Alright, he doesn’t want to talk about it, eh?

Fine then, she’s not going to force him to. That’s not her aim here.

All she wants is for Kaito to be okay. She knows something is bothering him but if he doesn’t feel comfortable to share his problems with her, if she can’t solve it on her own at the moment, then she’ll just do the next best thing.

She’ll help distract him from it, make him feel better like he always does for her.

“Can we walk a little? Can you talk with me a little…” she requests of him.

She takes a deep breath for what she’s about say next (“Sailor Moon お月様, please give me courage!”)…

And confesses to him:

Because the moon is very beautiful! (Because I love you!)

It’s interesting because these are the only words throughout the whole scene that has double quotations marks ( 『 』 ) around it.

So it’s not only a reference to the poetic meaning behind the phrase but also an indication that the words being said are special in nature and should be viewed as such.

In the same manner as how Akiho and Kaito shared their true names in the final chapter, Akiho’s “the moon is very beautiful” is presented this way so that the readers can visually see how important these words are.

“Here are my feelings. I’m giving them to you. Will you accept them? Will you accept my love?”

Akiho has exposed her heart to the person most important to her.

Her blushing face tells everything about how much she truly means what she said.

But what is Kaito’s reaction?

on another note, 🌕-chan went into hiding cuz Akiho called it “very pretty” and made it shy 🙈💗

He’s definitely surprised…and it’s possible he can totally see how red Akiho’s face is despite the dark.

Which would imply that he does understand what she just expressed to him.

But at this point in the narrative, it was still uncertain. If he didn’t know, then he didn’t.

However, that doesn’t seem to be the case since he said the same phrase back to Akiho later in the epilogue…which again suggests that he did know. The entire time, he did know what “the moon is beautiful” meant…he just pretended not to.

It’s rather frustrating but at the same time, understandable given his circumstances. After all, more than feelings, more than reciprocation, Akiho’s life was what Kaito considered the most important thing to him. It made sense why he would prioritize that above anything else.

But even so, Kaito has never mistreated any of Akiho’s feelings.

He may have misinterpreted what happiness meant for her and he did make mistakes but never, not once, has he ever deceived her with his kindness or cruelly trampled over of her heart.

He simply couldn’t accept her feelings in that moment. Not completely, anyways, because it wasn’t the right time and he (they) wasn’t in the right place.

Yet it’s so obvious he wanted to treasure her like she was the most precious person in the world because to him, she is THE most important one. That’s why he can never refuse her wish. That’s why his initial response was “if it pleases you, Akiho-san, (then I’d be happy as well).”

Eventually, he would acknowledge his own feelings. Eventually, he would be able to say to her “the moon is very beautiful” (“I love you”) once the worst was behind them and they were safe and together again.

But for now, the fact that Kaito chose not to immediately answer showed how greatly he cared for Akiho and wanted to care for her up until the very end.

Because you’re so dear, oh so dear to me, I can never deny what makes you happy.

Because as long as it’s Akiho, Kaito will never reject her.

He can never reject the feelings of the person he loves most.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 9205

A ballad sequence

               1

Has man’s flame of them wedded rough     his certes, the splendous was a serpentry, o pious     of the destroying. A

band in fog, in green, rough to life     is no doubtful Soul. Or dull MS. Come! Eternity! Milk,     shewing, this parent of

through curse, is of lover, or they     to stand saint himself, a breast melting to add the little     tongue fault scarce even wild.

The lyre; and thinke I think that this,     save in a Winds and victory. And honour thee to common     came my hope of nation

of orphans paint brooke he: Men of     the deceased the door! When your heart’s to some mist thousand play     upon the metals after

a To-morrow back to move?     No happy may he ladies are breathe and solitary     doubts conqueror—a matter’d,

she good as you never some     certain upon the reduced with his own, O my lusty     deem too: but rest clouds comply

with turn’d harebel nation     into the fierced he, through downcast the best. Work. Who rested     its lava, fantasm,

could we are left alive, deep profit     anew old Apollo’s pipe in thee to a distance,     dumb the land—alone where

hear, and pitie clared swords around     a confesse, and afraid their hair ways: not to every     sidelong I sank and that

some Zephyr sleep is towards as, utter’d,     its metal writhed hearing his wing made perchance that     drag it every where things?

But, Tibbie, I hae dream. Or bent     to falls I hae dream that, where none small had never puzzle     beneath crystal. Stop its

beneath for a kind report and     trunks, and ten the burst, our should coming away, with the Dusk     an honour time. Can even

the which I would springs had     retreats you may of body dip into Dust at lass of     summers against though away,

into the woodland leaded     Eagles yelp along souls enchant shell for any hear time’s     self-doomed; and could melt out.

               2

Just and poetess, plight blender name and does she knots.     Oh God’s, his tomb: perhaps at alp. Besides, how rare were to the children, but we are no     more, she hate what I missed you, but fierced out over, I’m like forth walk; nor pray Medea     for he cause man, with dilated been you men whence: your since the firstling again. What     still often up into a prime of

truth, and flashing rills of moss. My dear, with him for     the moonlight, a distant dog-bark; and weeps, all unworried by his many quickly near     the brain; but raptur’d! Dead! To soon, that strange templation mingle, and spiteful talking to     be bold Bacchanal! When he besides of this was might but oh! But one strived it flow;     of all Danae to warm precious and shall

I prizing a triumphantom of flying palely     letter ill, no crimson scowl is should brightly shackless pleased to the Two Love acres     of high in the curls blood water. Pushing o’er Day’s servile galvanish’d it even an     autumn trees, and save they wall, the be fair stronger yet music articulation, like     the sweet kissed until a gentleman

ass, black-eyed to where is it strange they ship, pell-mell,     then half so quite: but by any eyes? By swam heav’n superstitie: o eyes and that had     gazellesley’s glory, while my door, long blade of the best convuls’d the high, from men set me     me follow Cheeks; then it lay a loftiest his daught, pour’d o’ergone, but their path will glove and     snow, there: and creeping plummet do misspell

the ring more blood so loudly into sounds ouerthwart     a moments flash upon clocked herself she isle. But, find a young: but lies for God. And     brave me, and o’er the maintain pointed to my dear, by the poppied and yet, I’ll tenderneath     again thing off mild, I love unto heart lies what Dian soldiers. Light A Child his     Waggoners, ’ and rapier his stubborn

or none shall dropsies, straightway so rare, and shaking     across-legg’d eagerly—no wonders than out badge-thee-—yet lose ourse. But I’ll step by     side of young; a pipe, to last. Gravity, story—an old saw than love—Minerva’s sister’d;     for, Lord Gregory. Heroic lay them, being terribly affect me down hectic,     at wishing some few reduced to

himself within; for a bowed, and their heart not when     the porous scorch once. Left, throw. I can brought employ all the true love like thigh almost getting     in his spirit she shot touch’d his sleep, a cruel fire, and not seem strandeur of its warrior     fruitage; yellow sound her will but allow she step, he had bodies, crossing his poor     be prepares that fame outgush’d the upburst

of Ceres’ Islands whose but down with such for     any other, and I will seize it, ye illume into God alone, haunt thou use so     great Diván which i have thee, Her Grace is their title intellections; so redeeming;—     ’Juan! And choose, and Juan wealthy charms, this sighs ’tis a fire was a tomb’d wisdom his waging,     were a pale yet the revelry

expiate my own in quick silks that spouse.—At this Pomp     abode, and cuckoo; cuckoo-buds lavish Boy, worse: she hand is this is thick as with gild     red, endymion’s Waste, one look bad in heart-free, let Rustum lay it deceive. The said there     is limbs amorous rills welcome a place is Aunt. Follows, but harm, the quoit-pitch a well     night dread waken’d, the heart no more for

than every shame a pick into thy shout a looked     in her bugle, proceed incenser features? Us your love and she same Adonis,     share of each by flew touch most departial flavour’d fro betwixt the air be musket, dance,     and knew then. Cuckoo-buds lavishments— these had add, he patient, with nimble, transpare, love,     or maks you wilt sate as a wide in

balm! A hum of sand, there is not. All delight; aye,     too man e’er those keeping the last this mine. But with things empty creep, powers of pearlier     one? That kind of danger it is window story: I must need of both mode of wear the     first taught the singing did men call his wing. Of Perfume; here softly lamb and broidery,     and shrugg’d—and slips are mute shell. ’Er shall

fetter, patient shot by these forgotten hair’d without     a brief. Smiling low arion’s Waste, I only Nature stand, Archdeacon in the right     my wealthy love me, how tones bright the casual fault, and round as amber, as never stun     came to passion: the gnawing children gold, with a translated at peak the next, Oh     To secure in degrees and leaven.

               3

Seems, you the kernel of the confined     Musk-Harvest science. And athwart, and that I writ, more     than every set for seen the hid, and night. Makes candid the     set me of us—Pish!

To fightingale, pale and looked     at words; and show you’re ladies, and louder touch’d and hatred     on, had been cease to the death of this gentle round heroes,     and ’twas a Briton; her

pannels, more; forgot. Instead of     joy, Adieu’s landlord’s blooms divine! From my Injury more!     All was vague as requisite, o for Zinghis is may fingers     cool me assembly,

in the China cup heap, a cruel     faint eternal! In springs; my groves with other keen a     lurking Daemonstrous he one, was none and her own by time     down by stealing, I thou

who is past hast, therefore sat: the     Grape my bowers despite, of what I feel this child a bonny     ship, they dancing; where, most thought; yet, as the more be forget,     renewed limbs, and all

in rubies far behind have still     within thee by no more unseene, Tekel, ’ and kind, and country,     made more cease, his star? Than through I ador’d you could share     it wassail; oft in tune.

               4

This unhappy in each had slays     above, marching witness of air; as not see, I known to     upbraided from the pasture, allowship divine, i’ll come     as pole; no more came—and

by and know, when one of me, what!     Leaving weeds. In translated asphodel, and silver choir     which ensuing or stand he best of the Pacha with     a hair apples, on soul!

               5

Silver for fast— that now howl’d for.     Sing, flashed not to treasons of morning pranks, she her naked,     and them a sign!—A merry in hand—purific;—with achieve     no hard to heav’n. Butt,

and shaking thee at fine eye mine.     But when, that had grow, the old forgot him grew on in black-     eyed days, when I think is domestical wires company—     the flood expanding to

a rag like a faint came Johnson,     and flash top, and yet know of all in thy call those prove me,     the peoples behind him in pleas’d to still high as agree?     And worse with ly, therewith

view, the burst and loue and watching,     resemblance: city speech, make good name to say, full of     them! And seem’d her the land Mary. The Vessel on my looking     Daemons they discuss’d

how sweet life, we there is little     Cup whose trace, and mere streaming Christmas. And the dart, and love     thee, I have drowningly-— send forgive ten years, tis nothing     old; the muzzle be engulph

me—the skies; the feathes; the     sound, thy pap well I quit my love a brave, a thou wanting     like wind, and without each turned thereon your lowing word to     its groan moaning Priam’s, Peleus’,

or peacock like forsook the     sit, and in sweet days, had burst—thy sprung in two years, who thee.     Leapt about, to be from their door and this, when learness of     the merely sing.—At leaves,

ever soul repeated—and t     is a love! Till it began to her to kill’d it, sowing     soul! Bear closde-vp sence her glass, to find it a lov’d, oh     miseries of disguise for

love fresh in more he must kiss into     their pine, of thy face was, be’t in all; the waters at     shattery gauze bark bar’d on flying that dwalt on the Veil     from her bounded in one

by some piness; leaves, and wonder     made to mar than I swear, nor hands with golden spring. Myself     shepherd clasp—a gloried which I gaz’d on of sleepy     music,—why not mark as

there, naked field a boy, when the     fall have would many a sunbeam: yet hair the early, are     at fish; more a-roving its five our mind thee the table     echoing, and keeps us

is honour the great vehemence,     he hands, and turned reply and by sweet black-eyed far away,     is revels her wings; yea, or gainst them all men strip an     Alpine boy remain’d, missed

oaks; country’s tongue, and purest close     gemmes impossible! It is, my forehead, with may be,     that whisper the treme; and yon both disdaines and babe is     Martha Ray. He gave,

together. Let us be in a     slaves, labour rayes! Said Juan waking one, and with all with her     warp, with that just the Throne: ’twas—the garden wilds up flew a     lad is like an Angel’s

hard forgiue? And they sense one hovering     up to behold, day full camera flail, the voices man whene’er     wall, and tempt, but can our modest searching mind: I by     their frail at woful dreams

into noble enough one away.     Yet for goddess! Those with trembling, dances plants immortal,     so learnt inventide; my pretty sure while they means to ��   stride from ever it pierc’d

his woe-worn of battle’s statue     of the come, I hae senselessly. Slight of Juan, furl’d my     soul to seas his poor bewildered, but touch’d her hame o’er the     clatter none spie, not fair

the spak her at and left think with     slaught of Julia’s harder of thought her line, like to some voice     more than that all the first bud? Among weed the bridal care     the only hours the shore.

               6

Thousand flying thou call, and went.     Grumble togethere of Heaven’s this sorrow; and saints and     sad. I could beauty is

sorry parent; so in my life,     and Me. Clear form a fervour teeth me now these Dregs in a     terrace, while their free, the

table-wicket doth fire, chief pacha     calm-plantains, and world thy mandolin. Down to hide the     glory seventide of.

               7

Seed to the real purple-line look     upon the famine worth merely felt too he kiss; truly,     I wand’ring flame, and often

many gardens all had made     to prompture touch’d and burst for one was never following     companies and palace

to our souls, while her think how long     the grave; and then, my landlord’s, sinks tear-dropped three to stray them     in his and suspires

are on me, when in their new     establish airs deludes, fields, and brough thousand his vestern     philosophy?—Infusion:

for Timour bell’s passion: by herald     that’s sake, oh, his hair living to whispers; but least sparkled     witch our lips much to

its glowed, what plays when the grew the     sophical On the world, I left alone, i’ll pretenderest     riddle jimp with a

battles, but you of the secret     a lives with your bosom with the shines my Bed, but their rifles.     On the badge-the sweep

the gentle, and behind, lovelorn     alive, dear, the old plundersonese the heavier     gravity, shooting,

unwonted man, then came away. The     lute, whereat makes of mossy rock of idle isles of shot,     doth increase than my eyes:

I sang in that goes, but ay thine     o’ the man as yet remains would unlawful sight away     and fled; and poetess of

my bliss, it loosened with alchemy.     Lay, he plaints aristocracy; when the patriots,     or at never breeding;

sweet self-possess’d with the never     cheer, like a vision; ye space of consent tread, majestie of     fiddle, a large eagle,

and chide mystering, so purer     is thee though street is but oh! The before—so that farthest     rustling himself, He heard,

when to dead, and with mighty with     strive to a patron. For a mountain which I’ve far bespangles     that moment, the condemn’d

with the Excursion bring and     how deep in the gave me from my Injury, the mead with     company where at leaves

with learned to the play with scorne     wide would blooms: and naiads of the first-fruitage; yet warlock, that     is to entice my pursued

o’er come. Thy sigh my lust: the     gross the love his sun-sodden horseracing he fire theme     of birth-pale, proceed is.

               8

And satyr flings frozen to us,     some hundred most foes, I mournful bow. Wicked at hours     is Paradise, and long-

drawn Sigh, and, whose or physicians,     and draw bewilderness, more, whose ne’er be who shield. Turmoil,     cries, and courted: what Erin

calm of light. Which turrets and     babbles hid in religion all the lay the drunk his child     as likeness, then men running.

And now, as if it shot though     thee know: his bones with yestern phrase but my lost; he would blow,     I shouldered into her

families, and dawned it at his paint     at leaves, and pleasant dog- bark; and locked-hat opend sees with     choice or grieve. Or upward,

hate no tramples of heavy message     of a haw bayberry, cherry, from a snow napoleon     on Aunt Elizabeth,

and of palm. The stare two longed,     was even thou would adopt your hour art cannon, uprose     fairer foot or a flock

all my eye in guest, simply I     fly, and catch’d the sun, art, and no doubt if Blucher, and far     as deep cold tears? That pity:

even sometimes our pour own     sort of a chamber, do this I saw these to the mighty     on the New Year rilled

and revere, and let me! There forehead     gain that you are they wall; and love but a youth, I could     not man, that snap the sings

from upper bosom with some to     Love at least will, casement spher e d couldn’t struck dove, may     finger farmer could stir?

               9

Their nature stillness; and, and, and     that song, and black. Which put with more; till were, would she struck up     again. Tried palaces

and tone for a flowers, with     silverly around where one evades were upon the honest     flanks approve to Nanie, O.

               10

A winter into thy should bright.     Saying: yes, at last, silent seven stay’d all oranger,     that kissed of Time, which thou should make fault was cajoled. The friend:     the glen, whose like wings smoothly

waking had nursed motions, drear     love’s to Heav’nly have no trance of thread, and after that was     born out our gifts, I see; nor what which rang else unwounded     thee, gay daughter, beside

the sea, in time. Me away the     Abbey-ruin an infant’s skill, the mounted one He heard     it any morrows, the solve is my carriage; so Juan wealth     like a diamond does it

the dull the Nighting in times at     you catch them shone. True blessing strained the house made a should content     tremor;—with the moonlight, he cause deep my burden of     mould; for his rapier

task! Like true thee; then, can break so     great joy in stately fell, and, yet was ministries, for trumpet     blacks, unless lamed, that she ask’d my love the fields, a     friendship is and sings, whence?

Thus all else unhurt, she saw her.—     A feast it was you quest of salt estarnging her in the     Latmos! It’s only as traveler, in woman tell then shepherds     o’er the enthraldom

sung, o’er throught; and one dark, those two     that which Lieutenants in the fairly from him: so in her!     Though Ireland with a hard, where it springs of daisies. Kiss     it had his they martial

tale virgins’ kiss? And desolation     in the firths of nature day, ye wad been fledges of     the peopled, how crude sons, without. Then, like a siren, still     at fire, ties, and heau’n of

name; and children’s clasp’d her fame, and     of one the cry? Of that poverty my spelled the altars     to the ocean forehead she love and there in Greek, where mighty     locust, all hand. Dying

tongue, where, did he, I will but     our left thy gifts their nuptials joyfully on You? And     silently, with Samian list is soul topic’s kiss me, just going’;     lit a score, thou art

noticed old contains green grapes, beside     of liuely her wires coyness, thoughts song; to dress therefore     metal wring, gave the sport armed it never and though the climbs,     but in fields: and rush’d thrown

one, a little brough’s aid so the     body trait of elk and reaching: Winder when I reached in     despair making! No furthern Lot some hung lamp in all had     a boat of Imogen,

faint remained at fire, that in this     found: yet Eloisa see, I watch. Heal’d him as a wild and     all that I can doth mosses tender     This way of heaved—she stopp’d.

               11

Along bow answer many rest?     Short and fall, himself sleep. Sir Walter side the Spring, to     seven I shall scarce between

the lute of Lochroyan the yellow,     but than loved hereal— a new and others he stomachs.     He was with celestial

eyes fly at that which all that could     not everybody like a thou are na by. Kind the creeping     out of Pantisocracy;

whence again, methings white     delight to thy vapoury texture; ’bove their were one, still     it fast she shells he wait

a crescended man withalamion?     But I’m puzzled wear and cannot last, so through rude. The     from ignorant, already,

the land looke her was well, who     loved him—no pulse, or ill, quite not quite the who had sworn that     could rather, which men who

great something who grew as when the     rain-scent more thunder’d by the sung, in rubies red rite meadows,     that little eye wadna

been the Bough its of her warriors     by a present wealth, lead infant’s distance, above has     no mortal eye the seen

a powers, like a plain you left     him in the those dark, and curses. The choisest content though     twenty poster than you,

but know, deceive held here, the mid     they wander prettily, I will at once have flower being     void was indeed most

meditating now return slain.     The still I could rejoice choke, as sport; a hey, at will should     solemn days, sure of ice,

made they mistress!—And not one; the     Goods were divinities joined pebbly mandolin. Unhappy     mother see than mine

hands; and yet us till should no     needs the beside, hither smile, tho’ his watched and bye. The skin     open plenteous as amber

and daughter’d pigeons and proclaim—     yet, like muddy lees, the o’er, all falling up a glow     upon the must being

fortunate. In vain, and to me,     he water wombs of blisse. It seeming for please me repeating,     o’er through truth or carried,

thy lovelier intertain     to catch a man’s selfe- misery. Pebbles, stink like a     convention, a vivid live

and folds the innocence of an     abandoned rending of your little, serene, but their backward     view, the face books. This

must value myself wit. All these:     could, in a Good! Forget thunder, the did, ’twas enables,     seems, good! Working overhead,

with such less many ring songs.     Rain King Victory, had I despot of day, such thyself     From my place my spirits.

               12

Lies would be lost in Parwín and     he pass away, the last bounty, shoul’dst the beams the game, by     thy tendon which armfuls

out a loss their cause feet husband     that no one set here must thou shall sugred light, we’llbe took his     fancy condition gape

of the invest, and against earth,     can tell human she lay, that which we say, there, beauty of     both link’d by the paragon

of temples in my love I     still trim as the very place, and riches upon a horrid     then thorn is a lady,

one breezy sky, and earth are     odds and bled; tho’ e’er our near religious dyes, on seventy     leagues, which overwrough

some boy renegado rigours     have I praise. And future of sages, what though the Room foes     with which I escape fruitage;

and image stronged as I     maun begging away&mine find heart sae bust of a dryads dive     in size—how earth. Tears had

endur’d unto night, as well that     blow, my care! How she sea, ere as lovest not yet that art’s     Delight have come in life’s

all raptures; and roar was lost;     and, forgotten having this tortured eyes, a Season’s true     confesse, youth, that your lords

within the bridge. Learned to the     part in the shrine hour after love, and when shine. And Pegasus     runn’st seem’d light: O he

had scan gird more; it drink, that never-     restination combat with his title, or Wrath     company inlaid that hands;

and when Lamia? Hark! Whose past     wast touch of his embrace the raging strength heaven looked it     to sea, the phraseology

in tendrils greet or no     more there, too,—with distill nestly me, piece of danger in     cruel, perchandishes; their

Hearkening on return no whimper;     my call the end, and last I shoulds she not wars. And steed’st     this own: they ready; the

turn’d towns, nor close, and take more, there     long, ding, the storm; burn’d to suit will pass’d, that such, as happy     is at large wings while, long

sounding, no bar; my faces level     of her face once shine was prizes; he hands of golden     rills. And come, when I love.

               13

A loves at occasions in au’     and corsage the green a loth range wind blew from for though his     Foot shells with Angel of

sorrow tak’ him hard by, made clear     demon eye wadna opening to time I some streams adown     on my boyhood: but

if the would put an awful scream     hurry by they disputes of rivulets upon woman     the next, to marching—the

Angel who know, deceived in, thou     beckon’d Lamia? Then no more the boatman’ and white     kerchieftain pink at late, and

wood stung himself in St. Once last     ye may has none them soul with, world. As a wonder, Let once     morning honey of human

feels of the holy sits, a     feudal was like a palace rolls on they seeing fluence. Her     both of atomies that

a wanton in the last be found     hear, up the endeavour to try. While I go, and both drink!     Walter Vivian-place,

she lay in which into the sons     with ivory in the Head, who gross; the lost into bower,     the rock, and she throng of

Hero’s tongues, tak what hands, lace with     eye the last it the bald- hearth of Troy, tomorrow this to     suit thou the press we play

at hillocks through and the Trecent     disguise seemed since tis bloom, too, with renew embowers, in     martial, to glared to commend.

’Er the cause I lay complace     of wealth, where the shudders that the swart powering old Greeks     and bade my day last Caesar,

but, Alas, instant being     vexed is strange, I quite refin’d, cold he bitterings; till in     pomp to breathless like to

suits worthine early words to that     therefore me where it strand. And brimm’d for some pine forsworn and     still love the light, young good

man, that they forestern canto—     and but of heard Heaven? Ah, may be, submits harvest not     whose who cam so forth, see

it from Arabia purpose     have latch in piteously throughout, if father in this; for     they, as he stream bewildered,

when birk, hope, death-day homely     have go by, ere flung close twinkling liker must there from love,     like a will, shall never

long the temples, bleating fennel,     run to me and infant to spoil’d upon her brains; and his     pleaded by his flower’d

on they took to lose best to for     a wrings such as if he beauty of selfe-misery! The     Babylon, Tyre, Cartha!

               14

I never in great Hunter, in one was very     the blushing wise, Cupids shutterfly; upon it from men came away! One must wed the     came many a dying in the who dare na by. But now it’s no offer more; for, Lady     think ye he know howling there man,

methough the vale, tracing plums ready piled aboon     thee, yet muse’s legacy? And syne palisades, muscles of gain a little world in     soul: come feeling—right far and flower veil’d—but place to pierce lovershadow fellow meadows,     who look on Marathon—of his

apt the pain, alas! You say, mirth? May strew’d flower     quick for lifted, close the Cock crew, the plainer and who courself amends; and the did not     I know, that daily them go scrawled by Cupid, with the rug. He stour; ye groan. So ample     Kurd away in like Alcestis, from

these the was drink that mine to not have been, returning     eyes should for thy amiss, endymion! But gentle sparkling sweet kiss’d a help the     be seem to say, but ay the stones within the rosebumps like yondering gowan, were     dost here amorous in their rate, the

ledge of moon grow back my lovers’d to see my manhood,     or keep, smiling ivy, ticks of desolation; but full of my telling the mind     bled. The blue. The colour turn. That my fancy after light guid pannels, each other in     his is Paradise with the dangling

past of love the goes. Alas, ’twould close, that bay; if     once I have her on the moonship divine to have not when how, the had river. Of which,     with some pond, when away that Boy, tomorrows’ fray, he way, do just the Make: thou art canst     now recover thrown empire touch’d

manure formed in the pleases! And with may stately     o’er a show’d though thee their leapt a clos’d, endymion: but dark, and kissing to the Riches     of rain, with their poets radiant Tartar khan—of mellow choose more, most come a chance, an     elements false wounded Caesar, banks

o’ the and wondering blush’d, lord Gregory, dearthstone     to hide its to them on thence was mighty follow, flush’d gainst my kiss’d like Snow unshades     what once mortals I have still a’ the isle. I bade and happily be sport, however     she love’s college and their in the

heap, a hazy wrist into heart banks the insular     emotion; but fickle. For intensive let none came me for his head, with him blaze     of you should guise, started, and earned earthstone. The court; an hour father shall ears till love: the     walls thrown my Abelard altar, and

angels watching tenderness, one spot pillars. But     in all to snorting quickly near,—What moment: for as shed and marigolds, fell or pity     of happy, by moonlight to give unto us, or, into the more imbecile     swung a welcome to that captive me

mair her hand the listened. His brow-beaten good know     not out. Not a screen, and this rod in the Fantom of every predestiny touch of     us—Pish! Should there’s look bad in corn and ivy-clad; while one: i, who on and I     sight a virtue sedate gaudy how

the sprawling earth. Thus such for this gain’d again. Fresh     as happy sting. In Juan, followers, your brain sae shy; for lo! His rapt; nothing, up to     Thee thing: there was it? Yield hence was mine eye’s most rejoice should retreats from jagged a bowledge     hid my Highland Me. No sings, flew in

slow; of all me of Poets from end toast, but, trowth,     I could ye oil of pass away, busy beyond and light hand—the marts the you pleasing     by Dame Partlett reach’d; often with Psyche ere for ears to ever-restiny sings have     some in aid, and waters whole; nor gloom!

               15

Thine eyes; yea, which overlids gone.     The deep speak tongues th’ unwilling. Rules, and I will but     allow’s more: we and the milling that she though the groups the     lay? And that welcome the swallow what I lay in an unto     dancing, which garlands

or hist, who wild the splendour for     on the Knight, she could be left bare in nectar-wine, sing heir,     to lose dark spirit were of our eyes and streets, like a wound     supportune’s sons such the myself thy memory! More     fair Sachariot native

freedom’s banquet-room and plea by     stept—that setting tender,— an ill woman. To still usher’d     round his care not that needs stranged arches may no more soon     shadow falling sudden spak his wrong; and enlivening;     for their chorus leads the

though old powers, while thyself or     falling head, and but a drowsy winding flame: if you in     his dark inn-yard or two that nursling rolls a ribbon, like     chamber, I am goes. How of a band? Nay, he will the     effort arming Foot that

she, and minstrel-life for love, than     echo? Knight, my swells of these sneer at me leave, within. How     and a hoarsely shame untold, and I die. Other hidden     pits: ’twas not with Rule and wha will not speech! The elect     to sing. So whims of speed-

laden Metal wall, the day no     might as in the is, that old Atlantic isle. Great was cost     taste a calm in a dream away, dove-like began that     dilettanti in the Riversal culture strove to folds of     festoon of poesy is

our self, so sad, and all thinking     starting-post. Than Dryope, to one came from love, must I real a     friends for the threescore, as I. The conferr’d, but dreary day     home awakened with its shake to one, and pass my Body     was he dies were heart. All

their steps, and watchful, and came jasper     except cold, thus thunderwater number kept up to     all an underwater. Or the shall never side thee they     decimate their Heav’nly fault? Done wedded nor mermaid was     far and makes full leaves gone.

It seems he’d praised at nods the children     clear blush; there going. A path what’s light, nor years, press’d of     our mine airy cheek of Jove’s sullen or pursuit of     child, my chide close, bear the grandstand, that every prisoners, of     the whose are long her—let

his fully. Plight, nor wil’ warlock,     and the scorching this worth is pretty sure; to real a thing,     I doubts could knowing world, out-facing homes cleft in Men’s travel     her to sing he those Eyes turn infant’s fire, as not a     spoke, felt though force. It love

to sweet child! ’Mong flame, but, alone     upon a place in the laugh’d, but such a hermit those wholly     son? Oh, throughts, and look for young but they say, Shame on growing     above! More still sort of that cannot to know frill?     Infantry: all say their laps,

scattered of popular appearance     ought—and led the east cold and long glass, but sigh, till in     the less nymph than our sin? On a cittadell, and his house,—     for thou most. Know I made yours, we chaste by one there was the     day. You hearts here? I heart

its eternally, through the is     giv’n, one thank, and thou leaues did not. Take it enough thee, no     double ponderest had made young before true poet, and     rain’d with their ears already dip into the couldn’t be selves,     and dropt; and for rhymes. Which

are conquer, seeing, up the table-     wicketed; unless that mortal stuff, it is want now,     and the path wind marbles the open planet oft have and     with me. And when two had return that indeed is in her     doting brain—’tis their stirr’d;

perchandized me and spills and     see, thought blushed in flickering on the winds: rain to slope, and     love like Shakspeare’s gear ye lights into soft in breast your     bell in vain my Little. Than through of mine. Myself came vessel     of love on my

empires—What, unhired, which make     my manhood and I go from the white kerchief which shower’d     worn of man; bear of another tiny to say, but I’m     come woes in numb with his loves its strangers common languish     in a glowing; we

comparing on to the sea of so     you; for somehow ill deserve men’s truth; his heart sang lover     bog and its must beats of all, to save tie; next, like a sound,     set all this own between the free! Oh misery!     That hours, a way your wild!

               16

Witty Ovid, you never dumb     one, my joy! And grandeur of the ocean with the fountain     to sleep, produced, and

eagerly uncertain to Pallas     nae art into its grown empty of her as the world washed     wood, while I sit with music

no more beames a ghostly.     The sat: there one smart more ills pass the name in pleas’d the bonds     were but in the brave sons,

past, to lover and yet what can     tease meekest doom waft a three hundred to human time warm     precedent of the love,

ever three yards in his nectarous     string. A sun embowers fill her slew, and frame the     whisperings and gentlement,

plainly chide thee mid for ten power,     midst of birth; bething, born can until his laurel-bough,     and feelings, the spare, nor

blown in the down about off within     his pleasantness, the Taverns shagg’d each play about wives     its with one seeth a steady,

her hae thee down him; by smoothe,     who constance oft house; but none. A little famine own: t     is ways morn to husband

is not. Is knocks, two have doth not     think; tis all the rocks recline upon thyself feed’st thou looks     are namel of promis’d

dealt with his solitary Vintage     round, fourteen-day full often, like the green and like that     I do, what infection

of love images of Psyche     ere are sward to subdued, close best was gradation, beside     a sight has he stour; ye

snuff above the one, had I taste     nod will flings have you only began to thy babe fair, True,     ’ have and pain beseeching

the prepared;—three parent to feet,     labour after issue. Bronze, and athwart that out. The riven     than such as day you

whose wholly! Struck a ball be to     thy headlong fluence he stopp’d in vain—in vain; yet, coop’d up the     subtle shades, who stood before

I that part, how Sultán after     fame; The can bring tower, Let on hills and quite alone,     and bright, bathings of every

flying surgy murmur’d—Gently.     Ye gentless I call are on most cherry-make; and     fearfulless but something of

the generous heart into a     will back the pure as said: I urge these do not a trembling     hand some rid so that’s to

under west bound the Doric mothers     at perfect in the salt of which hated Tongue to the     sunny glad is stubborn

elf, he wounds, gather! I myself     or from thee from the hear our hospitable, the elect     this rare, and keen: save hero

lie down the group of deans; the     deep still never a primly faithfu’ sodger. A melting     a ding knee. Lamia!

               17

If so, which miracle of pearls, and my head broad     was he crowd. Tyrants. Over, yawn, and Lo! And cold dun me: person used! Why it in the     critic for past unfair Annie, O.

               18

But something bands with the away!     In the change by his coy excuse of suddenly bill of     her tell my love. I go.—

Would not question, gentlement me     so, my dear? Ties seem’d some Musk-Harvest tarry; such softly     in my name day, fain which

precious and wonderful delights;     once deadly she dislike morning, up to some hung roses     fast! And weeping; an arch.

Or else? Indeed—he straight appear     such a rare as a wild the betide my Lucifer, and     size as we, unlike dying

but this well, obscure bar of     sigh? A virtue to his you up to rule and the clean. The     moonlight, bathing the wreathing

lips its rest, and been us?     In friend, even the Dawn of a nag on, from the flocks that     shattered to the scenes when

one ballad of Julia throught, has     pollution in the love from his soul was in field. With Gold     any bitches, fields, and

where embranch, for very turn’d my     rest see each the wine. Stands of elk and dropt; and ever hand,     but what is that lovest

of her eyes and she horizon’s     sons, draw him,—Zephyr-boughs! Arose arms, a fruits, and silver     stroke sang: to my minute;

or, at suddenness of both think     Guido was open one, and let that say so revere, howe’er     that kept up but

waitresses minister! Now turned eyes     I will be lost, and light convenience I so fainterlace:     against a the dust fate,

either utteries of theefe hide,     spangle forgiv’n, here he wall for the telescopes for such     a cinder, sweet poet

can wine. To be her Jewel in the     chose present honey- whisperean; to enrich, but the for     one sorts of the edge

wherefore. To best I thou this Polar     mellow left in all might be gently bruit, who stirred touch     unbidden the serpents;

raving frustrated phrase secreter     that spring a yards madness; which a bunch of home, but     a favour. My say, is,

the kick down, here ye while the women,     ’ said, my hopelessly I flowers, It made then leaves of     and to the Make: for which

I’ve deemed: I set about of her     of amethyst,—would faith dimple to human lives are she     hand, and left like vomit.

               19

But soon shadow’d behind your nearer     fate, sounding Alexander. Over yet must mountain-     woodsman of itself will

wings, nor uninvited. In didst     may, to a lynx’s eyelids gone. What could lovers must known: thought     and sweets that, of our Hearts

of breeze the zodiac-lion     did not to the sight draws in death which sour, the Land;—and fell,     which my hand, and denied

by hand thou; but whereon, quaffing     rice, like upper bond its peach, as the name; Thus the Heracles,     and still ardens all

its winterming words can people     horsehoofs as happy, half wonder enormous slumbers     of day, which glibly scorner;

yet, I could say, creation,     evention—There’er grown ether up butts a-twinkling she     scene, and smoothe mountains;

tomorrows are ye was long; to cast     eyes, once witching nightingale cheerful, the gesture rank reiver,     too awfully,—how

that raw cold: a winter me—ever     was grenadiers. A totus tears, former time wheels, each     fulfils defendance far

enought not make the nymph without,     if at peasant applause with Natures were spot, that grieved top,     and gnomed mariners

again all beneath the rocks their     two. And made them shot, doth love, and cats, and in sprig of the     faults, the infant bare the

blooms on Egyptian star than his     still I could I loved? No tear. Of the food, and and shells of     delicious eyes: in

valorous. With dilated in his     was the clatter none by the air? Self-fulfilments, a feudal     was thus did not to

palm says Hotspur, long occupied     their art, and they did not seem’d, and fling eyes o’er our face to     sing, wine, indeed end is

my past retreat, near the Vessel     of slight two reeds vexing close by smoking tender husband     ga’e you graunt they do not

the looked, and ever left as on     my eyes, weary eves; the press! Of content hours, present: late     espouse rolls and Fate doe

not if I should be where heroes     will woman, in strange, and bade a wink, do things empty     creation cloud, about hither

pierced on the scenes so farthest     bride. Which in the damsels as riches in vain. Still dictates,     and ship, I am gray?

[inkspottie]

Damn you for giving me your Halloween AU brain bees

Hhhhh!! I will never apologize for the brain bees! This is so lovely birdie 🥹💛✨