#posting this for her masterlist :)

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[rimunagenius]

I Could Die For you

ʚ pairing: Kate Martin x reader

ʚ word count: 1.2k

ʚ warnings: RPF!! , fluff, fluff, literal fluff, so much love that it’s sickening

ʚ rimunagenius speaks: to make up for that last post about emily because what the flip!! also the first Kate fic i’ve released that hasn’t been in a series!! yay! also ofc i had to write Kate to one of my favorite love songs!!💕 if you guys do not listen to this song and love it, i’m quitting writing and reporting everyone’s blog…

| Women’s Basketball Masterlist |

Something inside the cards I know is right

Don't wanna live somebody else's life

Kate was so happy. She knew her life was exactly where she wanted it to be. Cold mornings like this, wrapped in the bed sheets, both your bodies wrapped together to create the most perfect fit to a puzzle.

With your head resting on her body, your nose nuzzling perfectly into her neck, your soft snores and exhales ticking her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The way your hand rested on her chest, and the way Kate's hand rested on your waist from the way she was holding you into her body. She knew she didn't want to be anywhere else but here. Lying here, wide awake admiring you and thanking god or whoever was out there, that she was able to do this, and do it with you.

This is what I want to be

And this is what I give to you because I get it free

"Oh my god, Kate." You stood in shock in your guys' kitchen. You had a rough day at work, letting Kate know that while you sat in your office, counting down the minutes until you could come home. So when you walked through the door and wandered into the living room where Kate was watching the NBA finals, she got up to greet you and took you to the kitchen, giving you the flowers and chocolate she picked up on her way home from practice today. 

You had a new adjustments to make since leaving Iowa. Picking up your life and moving to Las Vegas with Kate when she found out she made the roster officially, after living in a hotel room during training camp. You loved her so much, and you had so much faith in the person she was and the skills she had, you knew moving across states wasn't going to be a regret you had years down the line. 

Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming feeling of love and appreciation radiating from the blonde who stood a few feet away. "Aw, don't cry. Why are you crying, baby?" Kate walked up to you, wrapping her arms around your neck so you buried your face into her chest. 

"Because. You do this for me just for having a bad day. Your days are full of stress with basketball, still proving yourself, and tired from your work. I don't deserve you, Kate." You were a mess. You missed a lot of things. You missed your old friends, how close your guys' family used to be, and you missed Kate while she was gone. You missed a lot of things—you've longed for those things, but you loved your life here with Kate. You two away from what you knew and grew accustomed to, to independently make what you want and need. 

You loved it but you couldn't help but long for what used to be your life sometimes. "You deserve everything. You deserve the world and more because you packed your life up just because you believed in me. This is the very least I could do for you. I will continue to show you how important you are to me and who I am. You make me better so I'm going to show you every day til I can't anymore. I love you. You work hard and you deserve to be appreciated and seen." 

That made the tears fall harder, but you looked up at Kate, and couldn't believe this was your girl. The woman you got to spend and do life with. You kissed her lips chastely, hugging her close again. You two stood there, looking at the pretty flowers and sharing some of your chocolate. 

She smiles while I do my time

It was so early in the morning. Kate waking you up for a travel day for the Aces. It was an away game to Los Angeles and you wanted to make this game so you took the days off. 

You hated getting up early, and the stress that came with traveling was truly not a great time. Kate knew it, but she loved that you were willing to do it for her.  You didn't like most things, but the look on your girlfriend's face when you watched her do the thing she loves most, play the game that gave her many of the amazing opportunities she's had, it was all worth it. 

Kate walked onto to the court, looking at you behind the Aces bench, and smiled. You already smiling right back at her. She knew that no matter how early she woke you up, or how many times she did it, you'd be there, lift her up, and cheer her on. You knew this was where you wanted to be. 

I could die for you

It was the day after Kate had won the WNBA Finals, and you two had been lying in bed since last night. You couldn't believe that she had come so far from the little girl who idolized the Iowa Hawkeyes Women's Basketball team, to a woman who's grown into the most tremendously courageous and strong woman who won her first WNBA Championship. It was so surreal. 

"You know I love you so much, right?" Kate whispered. One arm wrapped around you, pulling you close to her body, while her other hand held your thigh that lay across her hip. 

"I would hope so." You giggled softly, looking up at the blonde above you, your hand went from her chest to the side of her face, resting against her cheek. You looked into her eyes, the blue of them convincing you more by the second that they were better looking than the sky outside. 

"No, I'm serious. You are the love of my life. I would be so lost without you. I don't think I could live without you—let alone do what I've done this past year without you." Her voice wavered, you could tell her emotions still running high after the night she had last night. 

"Kate, my love." You chuckled nervously, the confession making you giddy, but also overwhelmingly more in love with Kate, if that was even possible. It brought tears to your eyes.

"You make me so happy. Just being right here, with you, is more important to me than winning another ring." 

"Oh my god Kate, stop it. You're going to make me cry. I'm so in love with you." You wiped a small tear that fell down your cheek. Kate smiled down at you, willing herself to not close her eyes and just die happy right here with you. 

"I'm so in love with you, I could die." Kate giggled softly, wiping her eyes before leaning down and kissing your lips softly. You smiled into the kiss. You smiled so hard you couldn't even kiss properly. A fit of giggles came from the both of you. 

"Ah! Kate, stop it! Oh my god, Kate!" You screamed and giggled as she left kisses and tickles everywhere she could reach, especially in your most ticklish spots. You two couldn't be anymore happier. Kate wouldn't want to be anywhere else unless you were there, under her arms or wrapped in them. 

Oh, this life I choose.

You two were just simply two girls in love and wouldn't have it any other way. 

[ennabear]

જ⁀➴ MEAN!ABBY ˎˊ˗

01. kitten rescue | 02. headcanons | 03. certified cat mom | 04. moodboard ft. the cats | 05. period comfort | 06. more headcanons | 07. texts | 08. when you’re overstimulated | 09. falling asleep on top of you | 10. when the cats are sick | 11. more texts

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ decided to make a separate collection for mean!abby since i’ve been writing her more often!!! THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE AND REQUESTS!!!! i actually love you guys so much it makes my cheeks hurt from smiling…. i’ll update this as i post more mean!abby!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

[solarisfortuneia]

his fingers have always been nimble. gentle. graceful, even. it is precisely this trait that assists him in his mastery of multiple instruments.

and his hands have always been steady, never twitching nor wavering. this aids every stroke of his pen, every swing of his sword and every tune he plays.

he’s perfectly aware of this, too. he is no stranger to intricate work; delicate actions come naturally to him.

so why on earth is something like applying your makeup so difficult? perhaps it’s the pressure of putting things on someone else’s face, or perhaps it’s the fact that it’s your face he’s working on? either way, he’s hoping with all his heart he doesn’t mess up.

kazuha’s always grateful for his blessings, but at this particular moment in time, he thanks every force of nature for granting him his stable hands, for he couldn’t possibly imagine taking up this task without it.

he picks up a brush and swirls it in a pot of pressed pigment, then delicately taps the apples of your cheeks. light floods into the room, birds chirp somewhere beyond, but he pays them no mind, the entirety of his focus occupied by the tint of rouge on your face. it makes your skin glow beautifully, reminiscent of a bright, cheerful blossom in summer, and for a moment, he’s so in awe that he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing.

“kazuha?” you call out to him, shaking him out of his captivated trance. “are you alright?”

he hums, acknowledging you. “just admiring.” he sets down the brush in his hands on the dark surface of the table and picks up another, a much smaller one with a sharper tip. he dips it into dark, inky liquid and brings it up to your eyes, the side of his palm resting on your cheekbones.

“stop blinking so much, dearest,” he taps your cheek softly with his other hand. “i’ll mess up the eyeliner otherwise.”

“i’m trying, i promise.” you say, attempting to keep your eyes still.

he grips your jaw firmly, tilting it upward for a better angle. his face scrunches in concentration as he carefully glides the brush on your eyelids, taking great care to not poke your eye out in the process. he steps back every so often, checking to see if the lines are even.

he sets the brush down, breathing a sigh of relief. “i think we’re done.” he holds up a mirror. “what do you think? have i done a decent job?”

you look at yourself for a few beats, examining every plane, every bloom of color, every painstakingly drawn line. “this is perfect,” you take the mirror from his hands and turn your face from side to side. “you’re really good at this. thanks, love.” you give him a bright grin.

“it’s nothing, really.” he smiles back at you, in his usual, serene way. “you look divine,” he means it.

“oh?” you bat your eyelashes at him playfully. “so you think i’m pretty?”

“i do,” he leans in, tenderly bringing your wrist up to his lips for a fleeting kiss. “i think you’re absolutely stunning, my dear.”

he falls silent, attentive crimson roaming your face. he takes his time and looks over each and every feature with pure adoration in his gaze. one can see it in his expression alone; it clearly betrays how much he wants to trail the tips of his fingers across the bridge of your nose, under your eyes, over the expanse of your cheek, and how badly they itch to bury themselves in your neatly done hair. though, he knows he shouldn’t— lest he ruin his hard work— and his hands anchor themselves on your shoulders.

looking through pale strands, he notices a shift in your demeanor, as soon as he does, he knows you’re aware of how deep his desire to touch you extends.

“y’know,” you take his face into your hands, gazing back with the same intensity. “i’d say you’re pretty too, but i can’t see a damn thing with all this hair over your face.”

“my…hair?” your statement comes as a surprise. he sees you take full advantage of his momentary confusion, gently batting away his hand from pushing back his hair.

“yes, your hair.” you make a show of twirling the hair, then slip it quickly behind his ear, never breaking eye contact. “there, much better.”

his eyes widen fractionally, as if in a daze, and his train of thought grinds to nearly a halt. then, he blinks. once, twice, thrice. “thank you, dear.” he recovers soon enough though, eyes closing to give you a bashful smile. “i wasn’t aware that my hair was obstructing your view,”

you smile back at him. “now that that’s out of the way,” you trace your thumbs over the tip of his nose, “goodness me, kazuha, you are gorgeous,” you murmur, moving your fingers to his lips. they part involuntarily, and he looks away, unable to meet your amused eyes. “someone’s flustered, cat got your tongue?” the teasing lilt in your voice is hard to miss. you hold his face in your hands and scarlet begins to dust his cheeks.

he clears his throat, composing himself. “thank you for the compliment, starlight.” his voice is affectionate when he finally speaks, and a fond smile returns to his face.

“you’re very welcome, love.”

kazuha’s always grateful for his blessings. and right now, when he looks at the adoration in your gaze, he thanks every force of nature for giving him the best one of all.

[silkjade]

♡

[ai-the-broccoli]

death note is responsible for making me listen to over 5 more times the taylor swift music than I would have been doing previously at this time. like what do you mean she genuinely seems to have at least 20 lawlight or light -coded songs, all of which were presumably not intentionally written about death note in any capacity

[junkissed]

some quick updates !

first, i just turned in my last final so i'm officially on winter break woo!!!!! :D i have been DYING to start writing again and now that my responsibilities are out of the way i finally can :)) i can't make any promises how often i'll post because life is still busy in other ways, but i have more down time rn and i'm so excited to get back into writing <3

secondly!! if you've been following me for a while you'll know that i'm in a collab with my dear friend mars @onlymingyus called the king's gambit, and after a long break we've finally started working on it again!! it's by far my longest fic and i am so so excited to finish this collab that's been almost 2 years in the making. we are planning on making a new masterlist and taglist soon so please keep an eye out for that, and feel free to send asks if there's more you want to know! there is no release date yet as we're not finished writing but we appreciate your patience so much and i promise we are going to get it out soon!!

my wips (including tkg) are updated here :)

[hsslilly-blog]

claire's award list, but now in nice wiki tables. this is for the main ones only and it's reflective of how it looked after 2020's award season. the original post is here if you want to check some more details on the films (and the full list so far, which i plan on making an edit like this one too. but her filmography is still in construction)

because i think she's exceptional and perfect, claire is the first actress to be nominated twice in a year in the same category for the 2020 golden globes (best drama actress for 2019's wild flowers and the last duchess). and since the golden globes tend to be a termometer for the academy awards, she got noms twice in a row (except for 2017's faustine). i think maybe she got some other festival awards but i'd have to research more about those before making any decisions. sag awards too. the final season of fast forward probably gets some noms in the 2021 emmy awards, but so far her lore only extends up to 2020. sort of!

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

not me working on the masterlist and writing with a "1 hour of deadly Victorian era fashion trends" video in the background

those bitches were out there putting fucking nightshade in their eyes to give themselves big pupils and dyeing their dresses with arsenic to make them vibrant green (along with eating it in 'complexion wafers') and deliberately trying to catch tuberculosis to be pale and thin HOW DID ANY OF THEM MAKE IT OUT ALIVE HOW DID THE HUMAN RACE ADVANCE PAST THAT POINT

[gyustarzzi2]

▦ ﹒ ☆ 🔌 At the world's end, forever together 🛒 ⸒ 별 ꜝ ﹫

my wifey: @mxlly143 😖💍🧎

reqests are open dm me or ask me in my inbox!! 😋😚

[vid-writes]

Writing Blog

This is my introduction for my writing side blog

I am not new to Tumblr or Writblr by any means despite both my main and this account being relatively new.

I am 27 years old and I'm mostly writing my own novels but I also dabble in fan fiction. You can find all of my sites where I post my works outside of Tumblr right here

I would rather Minors not interact with this blog or my main blog but for the love of God please do NOT follow this blog or my main blog if you are under the age of 18!!

Master list of all my original works!

Frost and Petals

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8 (has been corrected grammatically on Wattpad)

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

Ch. 11

Ch. 12

Ch. 13

Ch. 14

Ch. 15 (today)

Ch. 16 (12/26/24)

Ch. 17 (12/27/24)

Ch. 18 (12/28/24)

Ch. 19 (12/29/24)

Fan Fics

Gojo cheers up his S/O

Gojo x Nanami x Fem Y/N (throuple)

Gojo's S/O is a Simp

Nanami Aladdin Type AU

Late Night Coffee Shop

Gojo's new tailor

Takuna Ino x Fem Reader

Cult Leader Suguru x Fem Reader

Choso x Fem Reader

Nephilim Chronicles

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Godslayer Chronicles

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Owning Her

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3 (12/30/24)

Ch. 4 (12/31/24)

Ch. 5 (01/01/25)

Ch. 6 (01/02/25)

Ch. 7 (01/03/25)

Ch. 8 (01/04/25)

Ch. 9 (01/05/25)

Ch. 10 (01/06/25)

Ch. 11 (01/07/25)

Her Throne to Take

Prologue

[asirensrage]

Current Anime Fandoms Masterlist

just because I want to see them all in one place... most are ocs, some are "x reader".

Tokyo Revengers

Hanma Shuji

Cursed (Explicit): Kanae hates clubs but a chance meeting on the patio might change her mind…or at least make up for the disaster the night is turning into.

Sano "Mikey" Manjiro

The Fall (Mature) - Dark!Fic. She was drowning before she even realized he had dragged her into waters she couldn’t survive in on her own. Based on the prompt: “Step away from the window. Come back to sleep. Don’t make me have to come get you.”

Unrepentant (Explicit) - Dark!Fic. The reason Mikey collared you and kept you chained tonight at his feet was a lesson in humiliation and obedience. (Mikey x Reader, Bonten x Reader)

Haitani Ran

Hindsight (Mature): Dark!Fic. You were always going to end up here. She was never going to be allowed to leave and you were just lucky that he saw you as more than just collateral. Based on the prompt: “It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re mine. You always have been.”

Hindsight 2.0 (Explicit): Dark!Fic. Smut rewrite of Hindsight (shown above)

Mitsuya Takashi

Profane (Mature) - You meet Mitsuya by accident. Mitsuya x reader.

Sanzu Haruchiyo

The Road to Hell (Explicit) - It’s pure luck that she stumbles across him alone in the middle of an overdose. He thinks it’s fate.

My Hero Academia

Dabi

Dark!Prompt: (M) “If they touch you, I’ll kill them. It’s that simple.”

Dark!Prompts (Explicit): “Do you know how long I’ve watched you? You’re perfect.” and “Are you really surprised to find out I’m the bad guy?”

Jujutsu Kaisen

Nanami Kento

Prompt: character A making it their absolute goal for character B to admit that the best sex they’ve ever had is w/ A, and they both are kinda surprised when it actually happens. (Mature)

Random sad/comfort scene between OC and Nanami…

waking up in bed (unnamed characters)

Gojo Satoru

Wanting More (PG) - Satoru doesn’t want her. He just doesn’t want anyone else to have her either…

Demanding It All (Explicit) - They’ve both finally had enough. Satoru does something about it. Sequel to Wanting More

Just a Dream (PG) - A request for fluff and kisses after the JJK 236 leaks. SPOILER WARNING

Prompt: “YOU SLEPT WITH [Your Choice]??? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING????” (PG) - sequel to Wanting More and Demanding It All.

Naruto

Hatake Kakashi

the weight of all my sins (snippets) - Kakashi x OC - AU. Kei has always held anyone outside of her team at a distance but Kakashi has a way of slipping in between the cracks. An exploration of grief, loss, sacrifice, murder, protection, acceptance and letting people in.

Uchiha Sasuke

Prompt: “Look what you do to me” (rating M)

Demon Slayer

Rengoku Kyojuro

An Offering (PG) - He didn’t expect what came after.

Song Prompt (M): Unholy by Hey Violet

Prompt (T): “When he touches you, is it his face you see or mine?” - sequel to Unholy.

Promises Unspoken (Explicit) - Kyojuro x OC - She survived. That’s enough. If only he would stop avoiding her.

Treating You Right (Explicit) - Tengen x you x Kyojuro - Modern!AU. “Come out with us, princess. It’ll be the flashiest night of your life.“

A Bet’s a Bet (Explicit) - Tengen x Kyojuro x you - Modern!AU. A night at Laser Tag goes from potential disaster to something incredible.

A kiss on the cheek

How the Hashira Help You Deal With Unwanted Attention

Until We Have More. - prompt: “can I touch you?” “you know we can’t.”

How the Hashira React to Your Blood Turning Demons Back to Human

How the Hashira React to Getting Caught Making Out With You

Uzui Tengen (and wives)

Catalyst (M) - You meet Makio first…

Treating You Right (Explicit) - Tengen x you x Kyojuro - Modern!AU. “Come out with us, princess. It’ll be the flashiest night of your life.“

A Bet’s a Bet (Explicit) - Tengen x Kyojuro x you - Modern!AU. A night at Laser Tag goes from potential disaster to something incredible.

"I wish I could touch you.” prompt. (Tengen x OC)

The Hashira

How the Hashira Help You Deal with Unwanted Attention

How the Hashira React to Your Blood Turning Demons Back to Human

How the Hashira React to Getting Caught Making Out With You

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

came back to tumblr just to find that @worldsnotsaid is gone? girl whyyy☹️

Hi anon!

It was kind of abrupt, and I do apologize for that -- truly. It's why I am tackling this ask! But, it was very freeing to delete that blog, and it felt as if a weight had truly been lifted from my chest to see it go. Bittersweet, yes! But absolutely needed. Constantly seeing asks box jump from 300 to 400+, the constant hate messages, the inboxes -- it was all too much for me to tackle, and honestly, it felt as if my blog was just no longer productive at that point.

I am always 100% behind the points made on that blog, and the problems in SJM's writing. My passion for those points will never fade or change for that matter. But I think the book community and publishing are just not ready for an actual change -- and it's tough to have the conversation about racial and abusive themes in books when people pick and choose when to chastise and ignore. It's literally like having a conversation with a wall. I can't honestly have a conversation about tackling racism in the book industry when people can't even let go of a book series that isn't even well written. We aren't being militant about the problems in the book industry, and its exactly why it looks the way it does. I don't know, I think I've grown apathetic to it. The urge for docility among reviewers disguised as 'allyship,' the flip-flop about abuse and abusive themes in books. None of it makes sense. And it's like the legwork to make it happen just doesn't seem worth having someone constantly throw vitriol in your face. It just seemed like it becomes a tit-for-tat straw-man debate in the end, and that -- again -- isn't productive. 'Tamlin stans this' and 'Nesta stans that, and it was like ?? Can we just think outside of that? We can't complain about the way PoC are always treated in the story and then turn around and defend an author who would 100% kill them off and let her white character wear their trauma like a second skin. Like how serious are these conversations when the ones having them are unwilling to stop supporting the author propagating these harmful tropes to other authors. FBAA ran because ACOTAR walked; ACOTAR ran because Twilight walked. These harmful stereotypes in these books melded and made the environment we have today. And it is what is.

As another blog asked, I will not be returning to that blog as it was deleted. But there are so many beautiful and articulate antis in the tag that adeptly explain the problems in this series and in much clearer and more concise ways! My blog was a rambling mess anyways!

Funny addition: And do you know the sheer frustration of typing up an entire post that's 2000+ with links and citations talking seriously about abuse and racism and how its portrayed in the media just for someone to skim the post and make a follow-up, sub-post that starts with: 'Tamlin stans always think.' -- yeah never again.

[seths-rogens]

gonna change my pinned at some point i swear to fuckin god

[xoteajays]

...... morgan nix (& nita/nt200)

who can say a machine has no soul?

@nolanhollogay qocc day two (aug 21): the least popular oc make something for an oc you've neglected lately

[xviruserrorx]

Merlin Tags

#bbc merlin

Seasons:

#merlin s1 : 1x01 - 1x02 - 1x03 - 1x04 - 1x05 - 1x06 - 1x07 - 1x08 - 1x09 - 1x10 - 1x11 - 1x12 - 1x13

#merlin s2 : 2x01 - 2x02 - 2x03 - 2x04 - 2x05 - 2x06 - 2x07 - 2x08 - 2x09 - 2x10 - 2x11 - 2x12 - 2x13

#merlin s3 : 3x01 - 3x02 - 3x03 - 3x04 - 3x05 - 3x06 - 3x07 - 3x08 - 3x09 - 3x10 - 3x11 - 3x12 - 3x13

#merlin s4 : 4x01 - 4x02 - 4x03 - 4x04 - 4x05 - 4x06 - 4x07 - 4x08 - 4x09 - 4x10 - 4x11 - 4x12 - 4x13

#merlin s5 : 5x01 - 5x02 - 5x03 - 5x04 - 5x05 - 5x06 - 5x07 - 5x08 - 5x09 - 5x10 - 5x11 - 5x12 - 5x13

Characters:

Main: arthur pendragon | morgana pendragon | guinevere pendragon | merlin emrys | sir gwaine | sir elyan | sir lancelot | sir percival | sir leon | sir mordred | gaius the court physician | uther pendragon | agravain de bois

Side: mithian of nemeth | ygraine de bois | bbcm sefa | bbcm freya | bbcm morgause | bbcm nimueh | bbcm iseldir | king cenred | geoffrey of monmouth | alator of the catha |

One Off: bbcm daegal | bbcm kara | eoghan the map makers apprentice | bbcm gilli | edwin muirden | tyr seward | will of ealdor | elena of gawant | princess vivian | anhora keeper of the unicorns | tristan de bois | bbcm alvarr | bbcm enmyria | julius borden | bbcm aglain | lady catrina | aredian the witchfinder | knight valiant | king alined | the cailleach | bbcm tauren

Extra: knight!merlin | shade!lancelot | enchanted!arthur | enchanted!gwen |

Ships: (that I know of)

Arthur: #arlance | #arlyan | # armor | #arwen

Elyan:

Gwaine: #gwaincelot | #gwainevere

Gwen:

Leon:

Lancelot:

Merlin: #merthur | #mergwen | #mergana | #merwaine | #merlance | #merleon | #merwill | #merthian |

Mordred:

Morgana: #morgwen |

Percival: #perwaine | #perlyan |

| #geon | #morgal | #morra

Poly ships:

#merwaincelot | #mergwenthur | #mergwainthur | #merlyanthur |

Group Tags:

pendragon house

pendragon siblings

smith siblings

knights of camelot

people of the old religion

awotc