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headkiss · 1 year

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give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.

word count: 17.8k

warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D

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You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.

The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.

Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”

She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.

A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.

A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.

“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”

He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.

He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.

Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.

“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.

“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. ��I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”

You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.

You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.

“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.

The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.

He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.

“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.

“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.

“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.

He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”

There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.

“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.

“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.

“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.

“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”

You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”

Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.

You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.

“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.

That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.

He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.

Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.

Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.

It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.

Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”

“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”

“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”

You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.

“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.

You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.

Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.

His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.

“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”

Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.

“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”

“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.

“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”

Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.

You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.

The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”

She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.

“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.

“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.

“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.

When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.

“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”

You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.

“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.

You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.

“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.

“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.

“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”

You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.

“This one. It’s really good.”

He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”

He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.

“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.

“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”

That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.

Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.

When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.

“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”

“It’s great. Really.”

“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”

He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.

“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”

It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.

Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.

He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.

It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.

Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”

He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”

He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.

Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.

That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.

“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”

“Please,” you nod.

He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.

You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”

He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.

“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.

“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”

“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.

You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.

“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.

Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”

You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.

It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.

It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.

You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.

You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.

Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.

The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.

It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”

Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”

“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.

“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”

He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.

“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”

He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”

“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”

Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.

His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.

“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.

“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”

“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.

“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.

You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”

“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”

You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.

“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”

Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.

You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.

“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”

You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.

“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.

As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.

He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.

Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.

“What do you want?” He sighs.

“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”

“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.

“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”

“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.

So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.

“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”

“What she said!” Robin adds.

“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”

They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.

“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.

He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.

He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”

“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.

“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.

Just in case you care.

He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.

He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.

He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.

“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.

“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”

“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.

Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.

I like being single, he’d said.

And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.

Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.

The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.

You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.

It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.

“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.

“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”

“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.

“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”

You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.

“Yep, ready.”

She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”

She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’

You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.

This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.

You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.

Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.

Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.

Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.

It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.

You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”

She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.

It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.

When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.

He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.

“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.

“Thank you.”

The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.

Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”

“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.

You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.

Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”

“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.

“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”

Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.

He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.

When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.

You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.

Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.

The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.

He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.

“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”

Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”

“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.

The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.

He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.

“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.

You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.

Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.

It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.

He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.

He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.

There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.

You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.

Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.

You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.

Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.

You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.

It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.

He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.

He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?

He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.

Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.

“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.

“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.

“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.

Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”

He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.

“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”

Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.

He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.

“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.

Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’

He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.

Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.

You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.

When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.

He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.

Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.

The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.

When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.

This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.

“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”

Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.

One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”

He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.

“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”

Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.

He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.

The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.

“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You are?”

You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.

“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”

He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”

“What?”

“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”

You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.

The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”

You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.

Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.

You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”

When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”

He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.

“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”

He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.

You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.

Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.

For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”

“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.

His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.

They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.

There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.

Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”

The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.

“Yes. Please.”

Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.

He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.

Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.

He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.

He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.

Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”

Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.

“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.

The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.

He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.

His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.

While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.

The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.

He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.

“You still want this?” He asks.

Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”

I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.

You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.

You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.

He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.

You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.

He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.

“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”

He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.

He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.

“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.

It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.

Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.

His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.

Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.

“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.

If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.

“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”

You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”

He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”

It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.

He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.

When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”

“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”

Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.

He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.

His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.

The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.

He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.

He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.

You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.

You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.

There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.

He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.

“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.

“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”

Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.

His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.

It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.

You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.

Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.

So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.

You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.

You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.

“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.

“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”

“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”

“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”

He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.

“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.

“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”

Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”

It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.

Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.

He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?

“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.

The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.

You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.

It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.

Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.

His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.

As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.

“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.

“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”

He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.

He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.

“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.

Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.

You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.

There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.

“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.

“Close the door, would you?”

“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”

Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.

That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.

He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.

“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.

Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.

He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.

Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-

The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.

“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.

He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”

It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.

“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”

He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”

He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.

When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.

After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”

You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.

Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.

He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”

“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”

You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.

He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.

He’s an absolute dream.

He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.

In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.

You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.

“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.

You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.

“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”

“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”

“At what, sweetheart?”

“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”

He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.

He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”

You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.

“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.

“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”

The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.

“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”

He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.

Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.

He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.

The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.

Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.

He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.

You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.

His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.

You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”

You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.

Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.

“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.

If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”

You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.

“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”

You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.

“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”

No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.

It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.

“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”

You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.

It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.

He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”

You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.

“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

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brainrotfm · 5 months

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the world put you in front of me and we aligned

pairing: ryomen sukuna x reader

word count: ~1.5k

short description: the king of curses has never been asked for comfort before, but that doesn't mean he won't indulge you.

notes: no beta barely edited probably ooc; no content warnings just the fluffiest lil thing you'll ever get from me, mwah! manga credit used for header image [nsfw, 18+]!

"Tell me what you need, little one, while I still feel patient."

"Well I-I... I don't know how to ask for that," you reply sheepishly, ducking your head to hide the flush that was starting to prickle across your cheeks at your own discomfort. Two fingers caught your chin, evading your retreat into yourself, tilting doe eyes back into the intense, scarlet-hot gaze of the man towering over you still, not one to back away from an uncomfortable situation so easily.

"Use your words, brat," Sukuna purrs cheekily in return, gravelly and low but warm like molasses, trying to lure you out of whatever self-conscious spiral he was watching you fall into - it wouldn't work. Not when he was willing and able to catch you.

The way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you: it would sound silly if you tried to say it out loud, but there was no other word that came to mind but reverence. Utter devotion or nothing at all, there was no in between with someone like him. Were you projecting? Did the passion between you two feel too good to be true, not because of him, but because of you?

Because you couldn't handle being seen by him, could you?

It wasn't easy, but it was familiar; you didn't, couldn't, ask for help, because you didn't have the vocabulary to explain what you needed help with, exactly. No one could snap their fingers and make all your problems go away; if they could, you wouldn't ask for that, because a charmed life had no real value. And yet... no matter what you said, there was an unflappable feeling in your gut that Sukuna would scorch the earth to give you whatever you desired, the closest thing to a god you may ever see.

"I just want you to hold me," and the words sounded silly as soon as they left your mouth. He was a CURSE for god's sake, or at least, he was one. By all accounts, he was a monster, a being of the lowest morale, and there was nothing that would make him to succumb to the petty whims of the human he just so happened to have a dalliance with. A blip on his cosmic radar, a temporary satisfaction in an endless lifetime. He didn't have the time to waste, the capacity to care, the attachment to give --

Except as soon as the words left your mouth, the smallest of smirks twitched the sides of his lips. As always, you yielded when given a command, and he was always filled with a silent pride by your willingness to succumb for him. Without a word, Sukuna scooped you from the couch bridal-style, earning him a startled yip that turned his smile wider. You felt the echo of his chuckle rumble deep in his chest as he carried you into the bedroom, a protest on your lips that this isn't what you meant, not everything was a code for sex... "Sukuna, I..."

The complaint died in your throat though, not having time to manifest as you squeaked instead; Sukuna had kneed his way onto the bed, still not dropping you as he set his back against the headboard and gingerly, with all the tenderness in the world, set you down across his lap. It would've brought tears to your eyes, if you hadn't been so bewildered by this side of your lover, one who got you both off thanks to his penchant for sadism, but this time...

This time, he used his immense reach to grab the comforter, pulling it over your bodies. This time, he used the hand still wrapped around your back, propping you up, to begin tucking in the seams of the blanket, bounding you tightly against him. This time, the heat of your combined body warmth overpowered your cyclone spin of anxiety. This time, his free hand came up to cup your cheek for a moment, looking into your watery, hazy hues before placing the most delicate kiss against your forehead. This time, you would even call him chaste, not a word you ever imagined using in reference to Sukuna. This time, he looked for nothing more, wordlessly pulling your face into his chest as the arm around your back tightened its hold. This time, he really did just... just hold you.

It was too much.

By the time your cheek had pressed against heat of his skin, you were a goner. Maybe you were just that obvious - maybe he saw how pathetic and hopeless you felt, and knew that no amount of his usual teasing would cajole you out of your reverie. You're not sure he could feel sadness; you're not really sure he ever had, but you appreciated this act of softness from him. (He could, though rarely, and he did, though oftentimes only because of you, or in this case, for you). Shaking like a leaf in the wind, you curled as far into him as you possibly could, and with a heave, an onslaught of tears began to leave your body like the damn had broken at the end of a wet summer.

Where did he learn comfort like this? A large palm rested against your lower back, splayed open and anchoring you to his lap, not letting you budge an inch, even if you wanted to. His other hand had curled around the side of your neck to its nape, pressing you against him, silently insisting you stay as near to him as possible, to ride out whatever anxiety had taken you so far from him tonight. He would wait. You had only asked to be held, so he remained silently, trying not to focus on the way your pathetic little hiccups would make his heart squeeze, or why the white-hot lick of anger curled beneath his skin at seeing you in this state.

The more you succumbed to your sadness, though, the worse it seemed to get; the riptide of emotion had grabbed you by the ankle and sought to drown you in its depths tonight. Sukuna noticed immediately when your breaths had grown panicked and short, hiccups faltering into staccato sobs, and your heart began hammering out of rhythm with his own.

No, no, that would not do. You were supposed to be soothed. You couldn't see his brow furrow sullenly, confusion flickering behind maroon eyes, a sound akin to a growl unfurling in his chest. His exasperation with your befuddling human emotions was short-lived. The growing rumble in his chest had finally moored all your senses to the same shore, grounding you in tandem with the anchor points of physical touch.

Once he realized you liked it - and he should've realized you'd like it, you often enjoyed his primal sounds in other scenarios, too - well, of course he continued, your emotional fulfillment his main concern at the moment.

You must be dreaming. That was the only thought in your head as your hiccups waned into pitiful sniffles, doe eyes sore and half-lidded in the shelter of Sukuna's chest. "R-ryo...?" you managed to bleat, softer than he'd ever heard his name on your lips before, and the use of his first name had your lover purring again with a low timbre hum, giving your entire form an encouraging squeeze to signify his attention.

"Don't go... please, don't go," you whined, barely above a whisper, and something in chest shattered at your unwillingness to be without him, now that you had let him in to that tightly locked room he'd call your heart. If he had thought dominating your physical body had been pleasurable, there was an absolute intoxication that came from you being this kind of vulnerable with him; where he had always assumed he'd feel disgust, he felt a dizzying delight in pacifying you this way, still a dance of your bodies, just with different choreography than he'd ever known before.

"Oh, little one," the king of curses assuaged in a tone of equal measure, his whisper husked as he ducked to kiss your forehead again, reveling in the enchanting sigh he earned from you at such a simple affection. With that, he began to rustle you into place for sleep, more delicately than he'd ever handled you before; though, it could be noted that he was still a selfish man, and didn't give you any room to move or curl away from him, intent to keep you tucked against his chest for the rest of time if it meant witnessing you like this, at your most docile.

Your pretty face was folded into the juncture where his chest met his neck, and he could feel your breathing settle into dreamy sighs, comforted and cared for exactly the way you'd asked, so trustful that you would dare to sleep in his presence, the sweetest of lambs curled up and comfortable in the middle of the lion's den. He could kill you, right there. He would kill for you, right then.

"There is nowhere I could go that I could not take you," Sukuna promised softly into the darkness of your room, hoping you'd hear his promise in your dreams. Now that he knew this, he never wanted to know anything again.

taglist: @hercskid @sinlillith @marusatonanhin @kentohours @tzuyuswife @yuujispinkhair @luckyracco @forresway @briannafdez10 @vadersassistant @maximumcherryblossomface

disclaimer: i do not consent to my original writing being fed to ai. please do not repost/redistribute. reblogs help original writing reach a wider audience.

#writesfm #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #don't look @ meeeeeeee this is the softest thing i will ever write #my ultimate comfort fic. this is where i go to rest <3 #i wanted to share that w the world <333333 #anyway have u ever been touch starved? me 2

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morallyinept · 5 months

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Frankie is in his early 40's, around 42/43, Jude is in her late 30's, around 37/38. Jude has mid-length hair - other than that, I've tried to keep Jude as a blank canvas in terms of ethnicity/eye & hair colour. This is so you can imagine yourself as Jude, if you'd like to. If I miss anything, please kindly let me know. Images are for aesthetic purposes only, no direct reference to Jude.

Word Count: 120K - give or take... it's novel length. 👀

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: Survival/mentions & descriptions of a plane crash/death/drowning/starvation/dehydration/malnourishment/injury/sickness & illness/depression/PTSD/drug use/drug addiction/mentions of loss/sorrow/angst/brief mention of miscarriage/bleeding/blood loss/cheating spouse - I promise it's not all doom & gloom.

EXPLICIT: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral both M & F receiving/hand job/masturbation - all the good stuff.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: This is a story I wrote a long time ago, and have re-edited for Frankie. It's a story I have poured a lot of love into, and probably one of my favourite things I've ever written. I really hope you enjoy Frankie & Jude's story. 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapters including smut - 🌶️ Trigger Warnings will be highlighted red, if any.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11 🌶️

CHAPTER 12 (Trigger Warning) 🌶️

CHAPTER 13 🌶️

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15 🌶️

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17 🌶️

CHAPTER 18 (Trigger Warning)

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

EXTRAS:

Playlist

The Island

Mood board by the amazing @sawymredfox 🖤

Frankie & Jude as SIM's characters by the wonderful @sir-thisisadndserver 🖤

Adrift Clip by the awesome @survivingandenduring 🖤

Mood board by the lovely @undercoverpena 🖤

TAGGING ISSUE <- Read if you want to be tagged.

This will probably be around 30-40 chapters or so, maybe less depending how much I bulk them out. I'll add chapters as I upload. New chapters will be added on a Sunday starting mid January 2024 - Please ensure you're following me and switch on notifications so you don't miss out on this story.

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales triple frontier #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #adrift with you series #jett's writing

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cryptidcorners · 7 months

Text

Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

#🎮 josh futturman #josh futturman #josh futturman x reader #future man #headcanons #josh hutcherson #writing #writers on tumblr #future man 2017

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 4 months

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 3,146

Warnings | +18, yandere, smut, Stockholm syndrome, body worship. pussy worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, fingering, breast/nipples worship, explicit language and descriptions, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, manipulation, obsession, this is not for minors

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Here is the eighth and final chapter of Happy Ending ❤ The idea of publishing the last chapter of this story excites me, I was really pleased to hear that you enjoyed it and there will be surprises coming for you! I have already prepared drabbles for Happy Ending and a spin-off about Jimin, I really hope this will make you happy ❤ Please write to me if you would like to be added to the taglist of the spin-off ❤

And I apologize for the errors that there will be in the chapter, it has been a difficult week 😭❤

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts, @aiiselle90210, @fewercascade , @mageprincess7, @m00njinnie, @get-that-brain-working, @whipwhoops

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

When Y/N reopened her eyes, it was now past twelve o'clock. She stood up, recognizing Jungkook's bedroom, becoming aware of what had happened a few hours ago, her cheeks blushing at the memory of how she had held him in her mouth until he had fully climaxed, had she been good? Well, she had never given a blowjob in her life, but copying those same videos and drawing from her previous hard readings, she must not have been that bad. She got out of bed, determined to take a shower as well as brush her teeth. Not that she minded the taste of cum, she had already noticed that it didn't bother her from that time on the couch, but it still wasn't a pleasant sensation after hours of good sleep. She washed herself thoroughly, feeling a strange discomfort between her legs, it was like a sense of dissatisfaction pulsing right in the center of her heat, she tried to pleasure herself under the hot water, but the image of Jungkook giving her pleasure on the couch could not drive it away, she swallowed, fully understanding what her body was communicating to her. She wanted Jungkook, only he knew exactly what points to hit and where to reach. She bit her lips undecided whether or not to ask the boy for a little help, got dressed with that doubt in her mind and went to the kitchen, but she did not find him, the boy was not present in the living room either, and she with wide eyes ran to his office.

He was there most of the time and, to her relief, she found him there that time as well, from the open chink she saw the boy hunched over drawings, the tall, powerful figure rekindled that intimate desire, which she found inexplicable. Why on earth did he have that powerful effect on her? She decided to enter at a leisurely pace, stopping just behind him. Obviously with a job like his, over the years Jungkook had learned to sense a person's presence well in advance, which was precisely why he was not surprised to see her there; he turned with a smile. "Are you hungry?" Y/N squeezed into her shoulders, approaching the desk. She looked carefully at the drawings that Jungkook was evaluating, read at the corners of each sheet the name of each of her classmates, tightened her lips and with a nimble, quick gesture tossed that useless block to the side, they were not works of art, there was no love in those lines, Y/N knew this, she always heard her classmates complaining that they could not play during drawing hours, just as she heard them praising Jungkook's beauty, yet discrediting his lessons. "Wasted," they would say, "With that body he would look great as a team coach," they continued.

They did not appreciate Jungkook's work and talent, but she was different, that's why she was his. The boy studied the girl's attitude confusedly, "Is everything okay?" Y/N felt great, she was no longer thinking about her studies or those two who called themselves parents, she was fine. She was fine with Jungkook and only that mattered, every flap of her mind was about the boy in front of her. She longed for him, she wanted him, she loved him. With those thoughts in her mind, she jumped over the desk, positioning herself right in front of Jungkook, who watched with surprise at the girl's actions. She was wearing a low-cut sweater and white shorts that day, leaving the rest of her legs uncovered, legs she swung briskly before smiling. "Yes, I'm hungry," she said, Jungkook nodded, already ready to get up to prepare something for her - he still didn't trust her to put a knife in her hands, Jimin's experience had been shocking enough not to follow suit - but Y/N leaned over to pull the chair, and consequently the boy, closer to the desk. Jungkook tilted his head, then a light bulb went off and he threw himself against the back of the chair, licking his lower lip. "What would you like to eat?" he asked her, playfully.

Y/N shook her head, "In truth I would have another kind of hunger, something that sees you eating me," she clarified bluntly, by now she understood that with Jungkook she would no longer have to mind explicitly requesting far more intimate attention. The latter's fingers closed over the cleavage of her sweater, pulling downward to expose her full, soft breasts, still enclosed in her pearl-colored bra. "And how should I eat you today, sweetheart?" he murmured, leaving a moist kiss on the portion of her breasts that protruded briskly without restraint. Y/N trembled, her intimacy already on fire from mere words. Jungkook went up the column of her neck with soft, sweet kisses, reached the earlobe, which he took between his teeth and nibbled, before pulling and whispering, "Should I be sweet and slow?" with one hand he untangled the bra hooks, immediately crept underneath, cupping one soft breast, the girl trembled, squirming when one of her peaks was teased, "Or does my little girl want something more brutal and fast?" he pressed firmly against the nipple, rubbing his mouth against the tip as it plumped.

Y/N threw back her head, holding onto her elbows, "S-Sweet... and slow, please" she sighed, Jungkook hummed, sucking the tender little button, he broke away slightly to blow hot air on it that made the girl shiver, Jungkook realized how sensitive she was and sadistically pulled the nipple lightly between his teeth, watching ravenously as the girl's fingers tightened between them. "My little girl wants to be treated like a princess," he crooned, "You're right, it's not yet time for you to find out what a whore you can become under my command," he growled and Y/N's intimacy tightened at his words. He undressed her by throwing her sweater to the floor along with her bra, leaving to his own will that divine feast, which he found himself adoring by holding her still by the hips, while with his lips he took to tormenting her other nipple, pushed it against his palate crushing it over and over again, heedless of the fingers that pulled at his silky locks, he breathed in the scent of her skin as he swallowed his own spit, trying not to drool around her sensitive flesh. With his mouth busy pleasantly torturing the young woman's breasts, covering them with kisses and signs of love, he reached down with his hands to unbutton her shorts, Y/N timidly helped him in the task, and soon that garment was slipped off her legs.

Jungkook began to knead through the fabric of her panties the tender folds of her burning pussy, pushed two fingers against her clit, aroused felt the little pearl pulsing under his fingertips, and pulled completely off her chest, biting eagerly at her hips and then lower and lower, getting to where he was really expected, Y/N lay fully on the desk, watching Jungkook's head between her legs with glazed eyes, throwing them back at the boy's first lick, she trembled so much that Jungkook had to spread her legs wider. With her panties now on the floor, Jungkook took care to lick her swollen clitoris again slowly, feeling on his taste buds the flavor of each velvety inch. He found her pussy incredibly soaked, which did not, however, prevent him from spitting between her folds, making the stretch even smoother and wetter for his tongue, which gathered its essence before sucking that throbbing pearl into his mouth, caressing it occasionally with his tongue.

Y/N felt herself lost in a whirlwind of forbidden sensations and overwhelming emotions, she spread her lips wide in search of air, thrusting her pelvis more and more against the boy's voracious mouth, who pushed his tongue deep into her tight, wet slit, touched a particularly sensitive area with the tip that made Y/N stiffen, who moaned louder, speechless. "J-Jungkook, faster, please!" she exclaimed, watching him from her obscenely spread legs, but the boy smiled, before licking her folds once more, focusing occasionally on her increasingly charged and aching clitoris.

"Oh, no... you said sweet..." he left a kiss on the folds, "... and slow..." he finished, lightly penetrating her entrance with a finger, slowly pumping between the moist walls that fluttered and tightened as he passed. Y/N felt like crying; she did not think Jungkook was so sadistic in bed. "Jungkook, don't do this to me," she cried painfully, the boy seemed to think of an answer, continuing to stuff her entrance by adding another finger, which made the stretch more difficult because of the tightness of the young woman. "Will you let me go on?" he observed the distraught figure of the girl, lying on his desk with her head turned upward, nervously biting her lips. Y/N did not understand what he meant at first, then slowly came to it and did not know what to answer. "But...I've never done that," she murmured, hissing at the hot tongue that returned to make her legs tremble, striking the swollen pearl in quick tongue strokes, she squeezed the young man's head between her legs, trying to prolong that pleasurable torture, but Jungkook pulled away.

He longed to be her first and only man, knowing he had a virgin in his hands teased his animal side, which roared with pleasure. "I could introduce you to a pleasure you don't even imagine you can achieve, Y/N," he said seriously, the girl thought about it, "So you want to come like this?" in asking, he sucked violently on her swollen clitoris, encircling it with his tongue lasciviously causing her to scream, "For me it would be no problem, love... but would you allow me to introduce you to something that will unite us inextricably?" the rough, dark voice hit the girl's belly, she felt herself ignite more. The idea of joining him in a more intimate and close way appealed to her, although she harbored much fear about it; she knew it would also be painful. "Will you make me feel good?" she chirped shyly, and Jungkook melted into a smile, nodding. "I will always make you feel good, my beautiful girl." At that point she made her decision, agreed to take that extra step forward, defeating her fear. Jungkook stood up, taking her in his arms with unprecedented ease, Y/N looked at him confused. "The bed I think is more comfortable as the first time," he justified himself, kissing her forehead. He carried her to what would effectively become the bedroom of both of them, laying her in the middle of the mattress, between the sheets that already smelled of them. Together.

Jungkook began to undress, that was the first time the girl saw him completely naked, she wordlessly admired the tattoos that crept around his arm, and then noticed the toned and smooth muscles, his swollen lips thanks to her juices stretched into a sly smile when he also shed his jeans and underwear, showing her once again the perfect shape of his legs and his already taut and swollen cock, although the boy paid no attention to it, watching attractively the girl's soft and more downsized body, which looked like a tender little thing in comparison to him. He climbed on all fours on the bed and crawled toward her before stealing a kiss from her, entwining their tongues and tasting their flavors, Y/N distinguished a spicy note on the man's tongue, which she guessed was just his essence, Jungkook tenderly encircled her by one hip, while with his other hand he went back to teasing her folds, trying to make her relax again. "Look into my eyes, Y/N," he murmured on her lips, the girl did as he told her, losing herself in the night sky of his incredibly sweet irises, "I'll try to go slow, okay? It will only hurt a bit at first," he told her and she nodded, resting her head between his neck and shoulder, focusing on the erotic sensations of the man's fingers in her pleasure center.

Jungkook encircled her clit with his thumb, squeezing it gently before caressing the delicate pearl, retrieved some liquid pleasure from her tight slit in order to spread it over the bundle of nerves, lubricating and softening the delicious rubbing, Y/N moved her hips against the hand, moaning at the pressing pleasure that expanded to the tip of her hair, moments later Jungkook penetrated her entrance, parting her walls in a slow and pleasurable stretch, adding a third finger shortly afterward that made the girl frown. It didn't hurt, but it stung slightly, Jungkook left soft kisses on her neck, trying to distract her. He succeeded, felt her relax, and his fingers gained speed as the girl's moisture increased along with her arousal. Small sounds rhythmically came out of her throat, her eyes closed to focus on the sensation as best she could, not missing the way Jungkook's thumb still rolled slowly over her stiff clitoris. Jungkook reached to touch a slightly more elastic spot, he realized there he had to stop, she was ready enough to take him without too much pain.

He brought his fingers out of her intimacy and Y/N suddenly felt empty. She saw him move away to stand between her legs already wide open for him, the boy observed the girl's slick folds licking his lips, his cock moved involuntarily at the sight and accompanied him between them, sliding easily he touched her clitoris with the moist tip, insisting over and over again on that spot to make the girl tremble once more, she felt the center of her pleasure contract obscenely.

Jungkook finished his little game by pressing himself one last time, when he pulled away a long trail of cum connected the girl's sex to his sensitive cock, hissed pressing against the soggy slit, gently and slowly penetrating it, tenderly enveloped him, and his hips contracted feverishly. Y/N immediately felt the substantial difference between the young man's fingers and his cock, and to say that the boy's fingers were also much longer and thicker than the girl's! When he pushed further, the woman's walls continued to envelop him like a glove, Jungkook had to block himself by gritting his teeth, he could have come there and then without much ado, Y/N for her part felt a strange mix of sensations. She felt pleasantly full, small waves of pleasure also joined the slightly burning stretch that Jungkook left when he resumed moving in small thrusts, he went deeper and she arched reflexively, shocked by the intimacy of the union, she tightened around him moaning, the knowledge that she had him inside her in a way that another woman could only have dreamed of excited her more than anything else and now accustomed to his presence she pushed against his hips, communicating to him that he could go further.

Jungkook took a breath before pulling out to the scarlet tip, then back in again with a vigorous thrust, the girl felt something inside her flake and split, she let out a small scream immediately stifled by the boy's lips, which resumed thrusting without giving her any more time to be able to register the pain, he furrowed the soft and warm walls in the grip of unheard of pleasure, they were so close that Y/N felt the boy's pubes touch hers, a burst of pleasure stronger than the others left her gasping, she broke away from Jungkook's lips to embrace him in despair, pain and pleasure combined to create a strange, bewitching spiral, and the more his cock sinuously penetrated the elastic entrance, cradling the walls with gentle, frenzied thrusts, the more pleasure she felt increased, releasing charged jets that shocked her body. The thrusts increased in speed, Jungkook felt drops of his own sweat slip from his body to join the girl's, he scrutinized her distraught face and found her enchanting in her fucked and desperate state, she was crying and he knew it was not from pain, she was experiencing sensations so unfamiliar that her brain was not yet able to comprehend the extent of them, she was crying because that was her only outlet and Jungkook felt himself tensing painfully at the sight, he changed angles slightly and Y/N widened her eyes.

"Oooooh ... fuck, fuck, fuck!" she exclaimed shamelessly, Jungkook realized with amusement that he had found her most sensitive spot and rotated his pelvis in order to strike that area one more time.

"Yes? Is this where you want me?" he asked not recognizing his own voice, simply repeated the action and the girl nodded vigorously. "Yes! Oh, please... yes, yes..." Y/N went so far as to claw his back to clarify the concept, "Don't stop! Oh God!" He felt her stiffen, squeezing him in a tremendously pleasurable grip that made Jungkook's hips stutter, Y/N felt him all the way to her belly, her walls throbbed violently, and Jungkook took the opportunity to pinch her clit one last time, leaving her to explode in a hard, intense orgasm that left her trembling like a pudding on the bed. The boy continued with his increasingly voracious and direct thrusts, his heavy balls pulsed hitting the girl's buttocks uninterruptedly, this triggered a devastating orgasm in him that made him moan breathlessly, he came inside her flooding her walls, the girl's pussy violently contracted once again, willingly welcoming his cum and his last sloppy thrusts, finally he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily over Y/N, she was still too out of it. "Y/N?" he asked, the girl tried to open her eyes. "Mh?" "I love you," he said with his heart in his throat, in love and kidnapped. Yes, kidnapped. She had kidnapped him and not the other way around. Y/N let go of a lazy smile, "I love you too, Jungkook," she replied, finally fulfilling Jungkook's dream, she touched the boy's face affectionately, "You kept your promise, with you I feel protected and happy," she found herself moved, continuing to caress him. Jungkook kissed her hand gently. "I will destroy anyone who tries to hurt you," he whispered with a serious look that left the girl interjected, "I will stop at no one, my love." Y/N felt a strange chill pervade her, but she mentally shook her head, telling herself there was nothing wrong, smiled at Jungkook and kissed him, dragging him with her between the soft sheets with a giggle. He thought back to the elderly neighbor, to the words of that now distant day, gosh, she was so right. Yes, that was the something new she had been waiting for, the happy ending she had been waiting for her whole miserable life. "I love you."

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts yandere #bts yandere smut #bts smut yandere #bts yandere fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere #jungkook yandere x reader #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #jeongguk x reader #yandere jeongguk x reader #bts x reader #yandere bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #yandere

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the-hydroxian-artblog · 2 months

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I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

#Umbra Beatrix

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #the collector #the collector (2009)#asa emory #asa emory x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers

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canaidliafail · 1 year

Text

stay grounded pt.3

streamer abby x streamer reader 🌿

[ part 1 ] [ part 2 ] [part 4]

MDI. Things get spicy here <3

not proof read // will check for mistakes later tonight <33

Your favorite class aside from sewing, was without a doubt art classes. First two hours you did still nature with charcoals or pencils and the other two you would draw modeling figures and practice on how you could translate the fabric type you intended on using in your sketch.

You were good at drawing. It came naturally to you and your teachers questioned how did you end up in fashion design and not art college. You were his favorite.

But it had been a week since you saw a sign from Abby and everything was going to hell. Last post she made was a photo of her with Nora in cosplay which only accelerated your spiral. To be fair you hadn’t initiated contact either but that was neither here nor there

“Did you not have time to draw these days ? Your strokes are very messy…” Your teacher said hovering behind you and studying your piece. You would have screamed actually and then cried and then you decided then you would bomb the city

You gave him a curt smile “I had a rough week at work” He sighed in understanding and patted your shoulder “Ah so young and already having to balance all this. I understand its hard. You can take it easy today then” he said and half an hour later came back to give your sketch an empathetic look that looked like constipation.

At the end of the day you rolled up the papers with your pitiful sketches and shoved them in your bag crinkling the edges. You felt stupid for letting someone on the other end of the world affect your life that much. Hell it's been barely a month that she noticed you ( you refused to account for all the other times you tried to get her attention by sending bits or commenting on her chat a year ago and the occasional like left on a post that made it her -for you page- )

You were at the cafe across from your college building sitting on the bar counter in front of the large glass doors sipping on the overpriced cappuccino and biting the rim of your reusable cup.

She got me a ridiculously overpriced statue. That has to amount to something, no?

Then again she did mention to her it wasn’t that different from getting me a cup of coffee…

Your mind went in circles. Did Onlyfans pay her so well that she could mindlessly toss her money left and right? It wouldn’t be such a bizarre concept to be fair. She was after all at the peak of her career with girls begging to see so much as a collar bone. You nibbled on your lower lip fighting the temptation to see her page.

Did she post gym pics ? Did she post more than that?

You went to her page and tapped under her point at the link leading you to another site with all her links. At the very top, sat a square with the short description of

“18+”

You looked around you and tapped the button and waited for the page to load. Your cheeks flushed. Her banner cropped nicely above her collar bones and below her chest where she showed her arms that were the sole focus of the image.

Her profile photo was a dreadfully common gym pic taken on the dirty mirror near the treadmill section. So effortless yet straight to the point of who she was. She knew what her followers wanted, you included. The illusion that she was just your next door neighbour and this your private chat that turned raunchy at night. You hesitated around the subscribe button.

Crossing that line came at the average cost of 20.99 per month. You pulled out your credit card and went to make an undercover account and subscribe to her profile. Hell there was probably no chance of this ever going anywhere so there was no harm in you indulging in a little more and having something to look forward to after class, right? Right.

You took another sip of your coffee deluding yourself that this didn't cause your heartbeat to spike an unhealthy amount and blamed the shakiness of your hands to your drink

Subscribed for 1 month

Came the message and there was an automated response from her account in the mailbox.

I knew I’d find you here ;)

This cocky motherfucker. You clenched your cup and started scrolling your eyes widening in surprise. There were some posts behind a fat paywall starting at 50 euros going up to 100. You occasionally shrugged one shoulder at the more casual posts and then stopped at one particular image of her with a towel low on her hips, topless with the foggy mirror perfectly censoring your chest. You took a screenshot and decided to go light a candle at the local church next Sunday.

The next photo that stopped you and made you forget that breathing was a necessity was one where she was at the beach with grey cargo pants and a tight white top,sleeveless with a wide cut on her front. The white top ,most importantly, hugged her figure not because of an elastic fabric but because it was wet.

You had never seen more beautiful and well shaped tits. You hated how well it all came together and you hated that the wet top did nothing to hide her pierced perky nipples. Of course there were 389 comments below that pic all thirsty and all equally delighted at this new found discovery that Abby had piercings.

You shook your head and exited her page crestfallen and horny. What a powerful combination. Why did you ever even consider having a chance? You were no different from all the other fans flocking to her page and your reaction to those pics were no different than a mans. You crossed your arms and buried your head in the small dip between your body and hands, fighting back tears and thoughts. Reasonably you knew that Abby did not mind how her followers viewed her as you found her often responding to those comments with her very own bold and flirtatious way. You knew that and yet it was hard to undo years of shame for your nature and Abbys sudden radio silence didn't help

_____________

It was ready. You had never worked with so many materials for something so big before but you were proud to say that the knight armor you crafted was stunning and it was a perfect fit on you. With the release of a new game you Wanted to for once be on time with a costume to wear and take some photos. Besides, it was the least you could’ve done with the company giving you early access to the beta of the game a year ago and now sending you the collector's edition free of charge. You snapped a few pics in your bedroom which in itself was fitting of the whole romantic knight fairytale theme. You tried to film a few videos and tried to post on every platform you had and once you were done with that you tossed your phone aside and went to prepare the house for the weekly sleepover that you and your friend group had

Cassie: Hey babe sorry I’m late,Just go in the bus <333

Rick: Do we have the stuff ? Should I bring mine?

You checked a box near your makeup station and opened to see how much you had left. Definitely enough for 2 cigarettes

No need. I got it

June: Open the door shitface I've been buzzing for 10 minutes

Stay there and freeze to death

Came your response and lowered the volume of your music to realize that Indeed June was here. You leaped to your door and buzzed her in leaving the door open to go take off the armor. You tried not to get impatient and ruin it in the process of taking off every garment. The door slid open wider and then shut closed. June was huffing in pain and rested her hand in front of your bedroom watching you change in spite and anger.

“You hate us all and that's why you live in a place without an elevator”

“Nice to see you too” you said with a smile and she hopped over to your side to give you a quick and tight hug

“How are you doing?”

“Shitty but what's new. Someone has to entertain the group chat with their misery” June laughed and walked out of your room to the living room and plopped down on the couch tossing her bag on the floor and grabbing your controller to change the music and connect to her account. She let phone music fill the halls and got up again waiting for you to finish changing.

You quickly threw on a baggy pair of sweatpants and a crop top and walked out with her “So should we order coffee or a drink?”

“Way ahead of you, Cassie got us our usual already and she told me she is almost here”

Few minutes later the buzzer went off and in came Rick “That’s it. I’m giving up on love. She hates me. She absolutely hates me” Behind her Cassie followed with a cardboard containing all of your coffees yelling at her from the staircase all the way to your apartment

“Will you stop it?! She literally told you to meet tomorrow! TOMORROW!”

“Yes but her tone-“

“Her tone was neutral” Rick huffed out upset and went to sit in the living room

“I take it you have updates for us with your infinite crush?” Rick sulked and grabbed her phone to start reading out loud her latest conversation while occasionally laughing at her own jokes.These get-togethers started by happening once every two months to now happening almost every day as your friend group grew close and it always helped you feel lighter and more chipper. Your phone went off with a notification and you nearly screamed.

Staygrounded69: hey

“SHE texted me. Wow I really thought I was about to get ghosted for good”

Everyone snapped their head at you

“What are you waiting for then ? Answer!!” Cassie urged you on with an excited smile. You shot up and went to your kitchen needing to be away from the others as not to embarrass yourself any further

Whats up

You free to hang out for a game?

You hit your head on the table and groaned out loud. Your friends expressed a mess of concerned sentences all asking you in their own way what happened.

“SHe wants to call and play a game”

“GO FOR ITTTTT GO GET SUM GIRL” June screamed and you shook your head

“No I won't cave in that easy”

In the distance you heard Cassie tease “Sure that you won’t do, but having her Onlyfans pic as your lock screen is not above you” and you would have given her a jab on the ribs but decided against it and went type a response

I’m not alone.

Oh?

I have company tonight but we can still chat or something?

Unless you only wanted to play a game then we can hangout tomorrow…

It was embarrassing how desperate for her attention you were. She used at best 3 syllables and here you were meeting the word limit in a school essay. You saw the three dots appear and disappear as Abby considered her response. You leaned back on the stool and checked your nails,pressing at the skin around them mindlessly.

Works for me, how was your week?

She asked and you felt your heart beat loud in your chest and cold sweat run over you. You could not entirely grasp why her giving you the attention that you craved so badly made you so nauseous and so anxious but you brushed it off to you simply having a crush that intense

It was something. Classes were ridiculously slow

Right. You’re still in college ?

Last year but yeah..I study fashion design.You aren’t?

Oh no I still am. Which is why I still vanish. Classes are A true pain in the ass

You smiled,warmth spreading all over your body. You were pacing in the kitchen while exchanging back and forth meaningless info about your day and your general life. You were surprised to know she was the same age as you but that was about as many similarities as the two of you had but that did nothing to falter either interest in the conversation.

Oh Alice just came.

Give her a pat from me <3

And in came a photo. You opened it without hesitation and were quick to keep your finger pressed on the image processing what was in front of you. Alice was comfortably seated between Abbys thighs and her head was snuggly pressed on her leg looking up at the camera. Now whether Alice was in the image or not it didn't matter cause your eyes were stuck on the fact that Abby was only in a black pair of boxer briefs and she did nothing to divert the camera lens away from that fact.

Her arm was starched out patting Alice’s head, her veiny hand on display. You fixated on those long calloused fingers and you almost moaned just at the thought of what they could do.You hated that you couldn’t take a screenshot and cursed igs safety feature of showing the other party when someone did that. You exited the image and tried to think of an answer.

Damn. She is almost in frame

Don't blame me for your wandering eyes babe

You smacked your head on the table with a loud thud and it rumbled in protest,

“You alive cotton?!” Rick called out and the rest chuckled. You checked the time and noticed you had been talking with her for a good two hours at this point and despite wanting to continue the conversation you had to join your friends at some point

“Yeah gimme a few”

Shit You almost made me blush

Almost? Damn. Better luck next time

She said and you let out an awkward half laugh half sigh not believing what you were reading and how well this had gone. You bounced your leg in distress. You were beyond aroused by this attitude. Be it the photos, or her attempting to make a pass at you, you could feel the inevitable burn and ache in your core. You let out a scream and heard a glass fall and rick cough

“The hell?!”

“What happened?!”

“I’m gonna kick you for that what the fuck”

Came their voices in startled unison

Well Ill have to leave you high and dry. My friends are calling me

Go have fun. Talk to you tomorrow ?

Sure :)

They ran into the kitchen expectant and you let out a mumbled

“She said talk to you tomorrow”

You were sure you had lost 89% of your hearing capabilities from their cheerful screams.

____________

At precisely 4 am you decided to give up on sleep and left the living room trying to step around the bodies sleeping on the floor amongst the pillows and blankets going to your bedroom for some privacy. The ache was persistent and you had to do something about it. You locked the door and unlocked your phone going straight to Abbys Onlyfans. There was a message there

A video behind a paywall. A paywall of 250 euros with the caption “was thinking of you” and right below the video was a separate message

You closed your eyes the minute your fingers slipped and purchased the video. A video unlike anything else on her profile where she wore a sleeveless baggy t-shirt and the same boxer briefs you saw on that photo she sent you earlier that evening. She was sitting on her gaming chair with her legs spread and the camera was placed on the bottom cropping her face out. You watched as her fingers teased the waistband and in came her voice

Were you thinking of me?

It was lower, suggestive unlike how she usually talked. You pressed your thighs and pushed your back against the bedframe falling deeper between the pillows. Your hand laid comfortably on top of your tummy an inch away from the elastic band of your sweatpants. You circled the area hesitating to delve deeper but when you saw Abby initiate the notion by slipping her hand beneath her underwear you did the same, your body having a mind of its own.

Are you touching yourself for me baby?

She asked and you almost let out a breathless quiet “yes” but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. You mirrored her circular slow movements and hated how painfully slow she went about it and as if she knew exactly what you thought she added

Are you getting impatient ?

You bit your lip trying to hold back a moan. Her voice reeked of sex and the eroticism of her moves drove you insane. Your head was spinning and when you dared to outpace her you heard a very low breathless sigh come from the video and echo in your head. The video ended there and your eyes shot wide open in disbelief. You checked the time. It was a 3 minute video.

Fuck

You thought and closed the tab leading back to the chat on onlyfans. A new message was there

-Enjoyed it cotton?-

Fucking fuck

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x you #tlou2

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bleekay · 3 months

Text

anyone who cares about the me hating my room layout saga........come along w me...... no img descriptions im so sorry..... i can only describe these images as "2d bedroom/office poorly laid out in various ways"

sorry im using inches not cm. so here is my room's current layout:

it's a small room, less than 10'x11'. that window on the side is 6'x6' and the window sill sticks out 2 inches from the wall, and it starts 1 foot up from the floor. im using my desk as a bedside table rn. why do i want to rearrange this? why does it kill me that this is what i'm stuck with?

SICK OF MY MOM DOING THIS SHIT. just silently standing in my doorway whenever she walks past my room and i have something interesting to her on my screen. she wont even announce she's there, she just stands there. one time i was watching some stupid funny video and i found out she was behind me because she LAUGHED and it scared the shit out of me. yes i have talked to her about it. yes she knows i don't like it. she says she "doesn't do it on purpose" just sometimes she'll walk past and see something on the screen and can't help but look. girl.

but like heres the thing... what if friends have drawn nice porn??? ideally let's not let my mom look at it. I want to draw porn??? lol, lmao even. imagine what i could make if i were free. no but fr even aside from that, just day to day, it'd be nice to feel like an adult and not a kid whose parent is looking over their shoulder all the time, even past the invasion of privacy issue, having my back to the door means im always on edge... so that is goal number 1.

("why dont you just close your door?" dogs ok shut up)

(also wanted to say that step 1 in preventing my mom from just Doing That was to get a door curtain, which i have now, but it does not change my desire to move my desk. it isnt enough.)

goal number 2 is giving the dogs a pathway equal in flow to the current one. the dog seat next to my chair is 26 inches high, so the dogs can only get there from the bed, not the floor. you can see right now, it's easy peasy for them, step up, bed, seat. that blue circle is where i initially put the dog seat, and it was lower at the time so the dogs could reach it from the floor. alas, katze hated it on that side even though it was easier for me to get out of my chair when it was on the left of me instead of the right.

ok, so we've got the two big goals. desk against right-side wall. easy layout for dogs.

i need you to know i've tried a lot of different layouts ok. i am showing you a FRACTION of the attempts. a fraction!!!! i tried a layout with my bed at a 45 degree angle, don't "have you tried--" me

the left side wont work bc the dresser and bed overlap by 2 inches and it simply won't fit. the right one solved that problem. but both of these have two other problems: 1, dogs falling into window gap lol -- easily solvable, i'll just fill in the window with pillows or something -- and 2, i have to choose whether to give the dogs a step over to their seat or to have a bedside table. can't have both. and i need a bedside table so the dog seat would have to go on the other side with a step up, which would block me in. also unacceptable. both of these are out.

thats what led me to this layout, which i made a post about. so the dresser would work as a bedside table for me, the dogs have decent flow up the step, to the bed, over onto the dog seat. but ah. the space between the desk and the bed is about 20 inches. maybe a little less if the window sill pushes the bed out an inch or two from the wall. am trapped. probably difficult to get in and out. i am not teeny tiny.

and now we are here:

if i just scoot the desk down i have room to move, dogs still have flow, everything's good..... except. you see it right. just a. large gap in the corner. nothing there. surrounded by things that are all 2 feet high or taller. so, a pit really. but, ah, what's this????

a free table exactly the length and width of the gap, stopping any chance of the dogs falling down there and hurting themselves or being unable to get out???

wow, i can move my printer from on top of the dresser to on that table! i can put my mini shelves there which are currently sitting on my desk! i can maybe even set some little trinkets and doodads there!! ah, table that is perfectly sized for my corner pit and that i got totally for free and is in really good shape and not falling apart, wow you're so great! :)

is what i would say if i had a table that fit there and was free and worked well

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pandorasword · 1 year

Text

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's Masterlist

❒ Requested ✓

「 A compilation of Chaeri and Jungkook caught on camera 」

Video posted on YouTube by chaekooknation

Hello everyone, this is chaekooknation speaking! I'm back with a compilation of videos and super-zoomed images of how Chaeri and Jungkook act when they think they're not in front of the cameras I'd like to remind everyone that this is a video purely for the enjoyment of fans who, like me, believe there's something more than friendship between the two of them ♡

clip one ⸻ 🎬

⠪ September 2018; Canada ⠪ At that time the members were on tour for the 'Love yourself world tour' ⠪ After the last Canadian stage in Hamilton we know that they stayed a couple of days there before leaving for New Jersey ⠪ We know this in particular because of a dinner they had one of those evenings ⠪ We all remember videos and photos posted by the staff of one of the most exclusive restaurants there ⠪ These include a video of Chaeri and Jungkook that is a bit suspicious, don't you think? ⠪ When she noticed that someone from the restaurant staff was filming her having her hand on Jk's face she made a shocked expression ⠪ Sis, why be surprised? You live constantly on camera ⠪ Unless you were about to do something that others should not know about ⠪ Anyway, she became smooth again after a second and moved her hand to the back of his neck ⠪ SUS

clip two ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 22.04.2017; After a vlive ⠪ For this picture we have to credit our Jin hyung who posted them on weverse without them knowing ⠪ I quote the description "Armys our maknae stayed with you as long as she could. Can we all agree to scold Jungkook for not letting her sleep in peace? Turn off the lights!" ⠪ Chaeri and Jungkook had spent almost an hour chatting with us armys ⠪ "I am in Jungkookie's(hotel) room now, when we say goodnight to you I will go back to mine." ⠪ SHE NEVER DID!!!! ⠪ Isn't it adorable the way he keeps his arm around her body?

clip three ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 2019; SBS Gayo Daejeon Music Festival ⠪ Photo taken by a group of fans from afar ⠪ Seems to be right after the show ended, probably they were waiting to leave ⠪ Fixing his coat is such an intimate and loving gesture ⠪ I wouldn't do it with just a friend. Would you do that? ⠪ Chaeri is always so caring, when it comes to him a little bit more ⠪ It was so cold that year, I'm sure she didn't want him to freeze ⠪ The way he looks at her!!!

clip four ⸻ 🎬

⠪ [BANGTAN BOMB] Meeting with Megan Thee Stallion pt2 | A night out

⠪ It was decided at the last minute there would be two Bangtan Bombs with the rapper: The first to meet her and the last to spend an evening together ⠪ Megan is amazing and beautiful, meeting her was a pleasure for all members, it's obvious ⠪ Chaeri might have been annoyed just for a moment perhaps ⠪ That way she tries to hold on to his coat and then retreat realizing she is being filmed makes me think (and laugh) ⠪ I don't think she felt threatened by Megan's beauty ⠪ Perhaps she was simply bored with all the attention she was giving Jungkook ⠪ Jealous Chaeri >>>>

clip five ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 2016; ISAC ⠪ We had to zoom in a lot to get a good look at them ⠪ We remember the impact Chaeri had on the show, fighting to make the competitions mixed and no longer only for men or only for women ⠪ The camera was focusing on the other members, Chaeri and Jungkook could only be seen by those paying close attention ⠪ The way she hit the bull's eye of the target every time during the competition must have made Jungkook very proud ⠪ But do you see the way he looks at her at the end? ⠪ Google search: How to find someone who looks at you the way Jungkook looks at Chaeri

clip six ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 2018; Mama in Hongkong (Backstage) ⠪ I loved how nonchalantly Chaeri spent the time before the performance eating rather than rehearsing ⠪ We know how much Chaeri hates to be bothered while she's eating, but this seems like an appreciated interference ⠪ Very low photo quality but we had to zoom in a lot too to make it clear who it was ⠪ The glasses Jungkook is wearing are seen back on her at the end of the video, during the goodbyes

clip seven ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 2016; Suwon ⠪ At that time their fame was still growing, there were not as many armys as today ⠪ BLESSED SOUL, THOUGH, THAT FOUND HERSELF IN THE SAME PLACE WHERE THE MEMBERS DECIDED TO GO ICE-SKATING ⠪ I tell you, it was hard to find this video ⠪ They are totally in a world of their own ⠪ Don't you think JK teaching Chaeri anything is the best Jk? He is always so careful with her ⠪ She clearly terrified ⠪ I bet he wanted to burst out in laughter ⠪ I wish there were more moments of that day to share together

clip eight ⸻ 🎬

⠪ BTS in the soop; Season one ⠪ Is it just me or does it seem like they were kissing at first!? ⠪ The guys' cameramen give us joy every time and I don't think they even know about it ⠪ They were filming some of the boys outside the house but if you look carefully in one of the windows you can see these two silhouettes ⠪ To me it's obvious it's the two of them ⠪ What song do you think they were dancing to? ⠪ PLEASE we need to know

clip nine ⸻ 🎬

⠪ 2021; After the episode '131' of RUN BTS

⠪ If someone asked me to show them a video about love I would show them this

⠪ The fact that Jimin accidentally caught them behind him during his vlive makes it even cuter

⠪ This is how they act when they think the cameras are off

⠪ Chaeri smile with her eyes when she's close to her Jungkook

⠪ Who would touch her hair like that if not someone deeply in love?

⠪ We have to thank our Chaekook fan n1 Jimin for the video and the producers of RUN BTS for throwing water on them for all that time

⠪ Looks to me like she's also wearing a men's shirt…did he give it to her?

Thank you all for watching my video! It seems quite evident that there is something more between the two, what are your opinions? Stay tuned for more Chaekook videos Bye!

#bts 8th member #bts female member #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts eighth member #bts au #bts au fic #bts imagines #bts female addition #kpop female member #kpop female oc #bts x reader #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #bts

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hildred-rex · 6 months

Text

LXGF Reread 2023-11-20

To make an analysis post I am currently rereading what is shaping up to be the entirety of LXGF.

This has gotten incredibly long, so I'm burying it under a readmore.

I love the bit of dramatic irony here. I think it's technically spoilers which bit is the dramatic irony, but just trust me, it's great.

The wham shot of Mina's teeth is so good. And coupled with "We have some experience with such matters."...

From this page: The supportive hand on Irene's shoulder. The supportive hand on Irene's shoulder. And Irene really looks haunted in the "An explanation would be welcome" panel. Everything from the angle she's looking to the shadows under her eyes to her interlaced hands. I just want to give her a hug.

Bam. The king. (Isn't looking quite himself, is he?) I remember I shuddered when I first read this page and came to this panel.

The king continues to look very bad on the last panel of this page. (TW scopophobia and disturbing imagery.) And the color. It's so subtle you almost don't notice it the first time, just that something about the page seems slightly off. It's very effective, even at that level. And then when you do notice it... Nothing in this comic is in color. Everything is sepia-toned. That's the way things should be. But the dead King Wilhelm von Ormstein has yellow eyes.

VAN HELSING! And it nails how he talks in the book! (Having tried to write him, it's harder than it looks.) Not to mention the joy in my heart upon continuing my left-to-right scan of the panel and seeing QUINCEY MORRIS!

I've skipped a bunch here because I'm supposed to be focusing on Griffin and haven't even gotten to him yet but Art—

JONNO EYES (not sepia. I repeat: not sepia.)

I forgot how much I loved our introduction to Dorian.

And then we actually meet him (and see Paul Lessingham, the Politician, the Statesman—thank you, alt text!). He's angelic when you focus only on him, but when you look at him in context (in the panel with Basil) he's... less so. Very well done!

Foreshadowing. (When something becomes not technically probably spoilers I have a very laudatory post about all this.) Also floppy Dorian lol

I love this page. Not only do we see Dorian purposely provoke Art (and then see Art react, showing off both of their characterss) we see—and I missed this the first time—some of the dynamic between Dorian and Basil. He jumps in to distract Art, despite being scared himself (and Dorian having earned it).

Awwh Basil looks so excited that someone's treating him kindly...

Dorian's stories from this page are all allusions to other things which have gone onto the "read soon" list.

The last panel of this page is so effective. (Its image description too!)

"boring filler headline" lol (and I enjoy the tags)

DETERMINED MINA PANEL 2! BLUSHING MINA PANEL 6! Also just Mina's outfit in general. (Also just the LXGF outfits in general. I love the little garlic flowers.)

Paranoid Kemp is done so well.

LXGF is very good at having very effective final panels. This one with the glass... It's very well composed (I think that's the word) and does a good job of displaying Irene's discomfort with the glass. (Here.)

It was introduced on the previous page, but here's the first time we get a good look at Jonnovision. My favorite cryptid solicitor.

On the next page there's more cryptidness (the speed), which I didn't notice my first time through. And his eyes are glowing in the first panel... And then the first expletive of the comic! Such a great way to properly introduce Griffin!

I love (in a sad way) how Griffin just caves in when he thinks about the murder. (Here.)

Griffin's whole first scene is incredible. I can't comment on all of it or this post would be several more miles long. Just go read it and imagine me vibrating with excitement and pointing at random bits and screaming.

Character growth for Jack! ...I'm now very sad.

The panel with Jonathan and the angelic smile and the giant knife is great.

I've been annotating over here less because we've gotten to the bit that I'm talking about in my actual post, but rest assured that I love it. Also, the yellow is brighter here. And the eye... I'll count myself lucky if that thing doesn't show up in my dreams tonight.

And the shot of the photo at the end here! The corruption happening to the king slowly coming to affect depictions of him... I love this for spoiler-related reasons.

Griffin's realization is both very well done and unaccountably hilarious to me.

Hel-lo Mr. Holmes!

He respects her change of surname! Better than a lot of adaptations... and the table lmao

He. He what. Also floomp.

Holmes's immediate concern for Mrs. Hudson warms my heart.

HOLMES AROACE COMING OUT SCENE!

Accurate VH voice is back—what the deuce are you two talking about?

his blood is yellow his blood is yellow (well really more like golden)

Also Jack looking panicked in the second panel is so well done.

Almost namedrop! And Griffin being a delight as always.

Hello Jekyll! Great to see you! I enjoy your almost alchemical-looking setup there.

The king is progressing...

Same page; I enjoy Jekyll and Hyde's designs. They have the same hairstyle, very similar noses, and the same style of eye; but they still look different enough that you probably wouldn't believe them if they said they were cousins.

"He is a horror of the un-dead." Line of dialogue, presented without comment.

The drawingsss...

The first panel of this page is absolutely stunning. So is everything else. So much that I wrote an analysis rant of it.

#analysis #league of extraordinary gentlefolk #for most of this reread I had JubyPhonic's translation cover of “YELLOW” stuck in my head #long post

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anxious-witch · 8 months

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I have this mental image in my head of Bojan meeting someone who he hates (who most likely hurt one of his friends (an ex or something)) and ends up being protective as fuck annnnddd starting a fist fight.

Or some Jance but its Bojan who's exposing their feelings to one another in a goofy cocky way (and later he's probably being chased by Kris with a newspaper, because he as getting entertained by looking at the two lovebirds being shy and awkward)

Or bottom Bojan with Kris... There's something wrong with me these days

Basically Bojan's stupid cocky shenanigans

Okay so I did the first prompt (and kind of implied the last at the very end), and I apologize, this was written on the phone and nit proofread so. Make of it what you will. I still hope you like it!

TW for fatphobia(from an OC not one of the boys) violence, slight description of blood and alcohol

Bojan was admittedly, a little tipsy. Which meant he had a little less control over his emotions than he'd usually have.

Which in turn, meant that when he saw a man invade Nace's space, despite Nace clearly being uncomfortable, he felt anger immediately shimmer under the surface.

He faintly heard a snippet of their conversation.

"Oh, Nacko, you change so much since we went to school together! Finally lost that weight, huh?"

Oh, no he did not. Bojan saw Nace flinch slightly at the comment. He grit his teeth and made sure to push through the crowd in the club until he was at Nace's side.

"Hello," he said, flashing his teeth in something resembling to a smile, "and who might you be?"

The man looked at Bojan suspiciously. He slightly towered over him, but then again, most men did. It particualrly didn't concern him. He looked skinny. And dumb.

"I am Nace's friend from high school!"

Right. Judging by Nace's face, friend was a generous title. Bojan narrowed his eyes.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Marko. Yours?"

"Bojan."

Marko. Wasn't that the guy Nace mentioned bullying him in high school? Bojan wanted to seethe.

"Right, Bojan, of course! You are the main vocalist. I remember now. Guess you guys got pretty famous, huh?"

Bojan crossed his arms over his chest and stepped forward, making sure to insert himself between Nace and the bully.

"Bojan. Don't," Nace whispered softly, quiet enough for only Bojan to hear.

Which did make him hesitate. He didn't want Nace to be more uncomfortable, after all. So he swallowed his rage and tried to put up a charming facade.

"I guess we did."

"Never thought Nace would be a part of something like that. Do you know what we called him in high school?"

He felt Nace tense behind him. Rage hit Bojan square in the chest, and he forgot about not wanting to make a scene.

"I would recommend not saying it. Ever."

Marko didn't seem to have gotten a message, or detected his tone. He laughed, making a dismissing gesture with his hand.

"Oh, com'on now. It was all in good fun. You seem like you were popular, even back in high school. You know how things work."

What kind of piece of shit would-Bojan took a deep breath. He let his hands fall from where he was crossing them over his chest to his sides. Then he clenched them into fists.

"I do," he said, very calmly, "would you like to see how I dealt with people talking shit about my friends?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He swung at him, as hard as he could, and heard as his fist collided with his nose in a satisfying crack.

Then all hell broke loose.

Nace tried to pull him back, but Marko managed to punch him in the jaw, and Bojan taste blood from a slip lip. He attempted to push against Nace to give another punch, but Nace didn't budge.

Just in time for the bouncers to arrive and very firmly escort them out. Marko swore at them, saying he didn't even start the fight. Which looked ridiculous with their heigh difference. And Bojan did ocassionly use the influence he had to get his way.

"A bit of an obsessive fan, that one. Sorry for the trouble," he whispered to the closest bouncer.

He got a nod of understanding in response and they actually let him go, while they continue escorting Marko out. Bojan made sure to flash a quick grin in his directon. Which prompted new wave of swearing, before it got drowned out by the the music.

"What did you do now?" Kris asked sharply just behind him.

Bojan turned around to face his very annoyed boyfriend.

"He was mean to Nace!"

Kris raised an eyebrow. He didn't look very impressed. Bojan did his best not to pout.

"He is telling the truth," Nace said, making Bojan jump.

When did he come around? Hmm. Maybe Bojan was a bit more tipsy than he thought.

Well. That was a thought for later. For now...Bojan threw his hands around Nace, pulling him into a hug.

"I will fight all the bullies for you!"

Nace chuckled and returned the hug. Bojan leaned his head on his chest. He really did give the best hugs.

"As much as I appreciate that, I'd prefer you in one peace. He did get you good with that punch. That's probably gonna bruise."

"Where?"

Bojan groaned at Kris' question and lightly slapped Nace's shoulder.

"Look what you did! He is going to go all mom friend on me now!"

Nace simply rolled his eyes and withdrew from the hug.

"Perhaps that would stop you from getting into fights more often."

Bojan pouted and was about to say something about how much Nace actually appreciated being defended, when Jure yelled Nace's name.

"Nace! Jan is arguing with someone over math problems again!"

Nace sighed.

"I better go, before that turns into a fist fight, too."

Then he left, leaving Bojan at Kris' mercy. Kris, who pulled him to the quieter corner, where there weren't so many people.

"Let me see that bruise."

Kris gently raised his chin so he could look at it. If he could see anything with the club's flashing lights.

"Tehnically, it's unlikely the bruise already formed-"

"Just be quiet for a minute, for the love of god."

Bojan closed his mouth with a click. He knew it was due to the alcohol that his emotions were this unstable, but he suddenly became aware of just how much Kris must be annoyed with him.

"Hey," Kris said, his voice softer, "I didn't mean-you just worried me, that's all. How about we go to my place so I can take a proper look at that?"

Not everyone understood his and Kris' relationship, saying they always bickered. What they didn't understand was that, as much as they bickered, it was never intentionally hurtful. And sure, sometimes some lines were crossed, but they always apologized for it.

Bojan looked up at him and smiled. Colorful lights reflected in Kris' blue eyes and Bojan felt as starstruck as he did everytime he gave himself time to think "Holy shit, this guy is my boyfriend".

"Did I ever tell you that you have very pretty eyes?"

Kris rolled his pretty eyes at him. Rude.

"Yes. On an almost regular basis. Now let's get you home, okay?"

Bojan pouted.

"Don't I at least get a kiss for that?"

Kris shot him a glare, but Bojan could see the softness underneath it. So he got on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Kris' neck, reaching for his lips. Kris met him halfway.

The kiss started soft and sweet, but quickly turned more passionate as Kris pressed on the cut on his lip. Bojan moaned and pulled him closer.

It was only when Bojan pulled on Kris' hair that the younger broke the kiss and stepped back.

"Let's try not to give everyone a show in the club."

Bojan grinned.

"Does that mean I get a reward for being a good friend when we do get home?"

Kris pressed his lips together and walked towards the door without an answer. Bojan laughed as he ran after him.

Perhaps tonight was a complete waste, after all.

#joker out #bokris #my writing #bojan cvjetićanin #nace jordan #kris guštin

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walkingstackofbooks · 3 days

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Julian + Loneliness + Love: an essay

BASHIR: Wait. Quark, did you really mean all that? About Dax being my one last chance for true happiness?

In Change of Heart, Season 6, Julian really latches onto these words from Quark, leading us to half-a-season of having to painfully watch him become re-obsessed with Jadzia. Here, I’m going to examine how Julian perceives love – particularly romantic love -- as being that one, impossible-to-get thing that could actually make him happy, and why he might think that way about it.

First: a couple of things I learnt about in therapy that I think are pretty relevant to how Julian does life.

(Please note I am not a professional – my therapist is wonderful and I’ve tried to re-research this too, but I might well have misunderstood or forgotten something, so please don’t just take my word on it! The descriptions of the concepts are also rather simplistic in the interests of time.)

Drive, threat, and self-soothing systems

In ideal conditions: we will be seeking out satisfaction from our lives through our drive system. There will be things we want in life that will give us purpose and make us happy, and we’ll move towards our goals because we *want* to.

At times, we’ll face things that are difficult, and when we are in danger, our threat system kicks in to warn us of it and get us away. The old fight-flight-freeze-fawn thing; our limbic system takes control, so that we don’t waste time *processing* things and thinking through everything logically -- we need to get away from that sabre-toothed tiger automatically, not stand there thinking about it!

Once the threat has gone away, our soothing system kicks in to neutralise the threat system. As we go through life, we learn from our experiences how to better self-soothe, and gradually add to that system.

However, it doesn’t always work out that way and my best guess is that Julian’s system is going to be heavily threat-based with very little soothing.

I imagine that post-enhancements as a kid, he did manage to develop his drive system, finding things he enjoyed doing and chasing after them just because he wanted to. However, his parents’ very high expectations probably meant that even then, his threat system was conditioned to think of *failure* as a threat, and so even from a young age, Julian’s threat system has been highly active in being a driving force behind his ambition - undermining his *actual* drive system.

Then, of course, he learnt about his enhancements, meaning that he becomes preoccupied with not being discovered -- and from this moment on, his threat system is pretty permanently activated. He seems to find some relief in distraction: escapism through books, in his work, in tennis -- but he doesn’t have a way to soothe this threat, only ignore it.

By the time he arrives on DS9, I believe he has a few things in his actual drive system, including wanting to help people and seeking adventure. But he is also so used to his threat system being engaged that he doesn’t even notice how driven by fear he is -- and his soothing system is an absolute wreck, with minimal coping mechanisms.

Attachment style

There are four different attachment styles, as pictured above. These influence how you form and manage the relationships in your life -- in the image it says “partner”, but it’s also involved in your friendships and families.

As warned, this is a little simplistic, but basically your attachment style is formed by having a warm, consistent and loving relationship with your primary caregiver in infancy. Julian very much didn’t have that, and we know that from when he was very young he “knew he was a great disappointment to his parents” -- so I think it’s very likely he would fall into having a fearful attachment style, with both low self-esteem, and low trust in other people.

(Having a secure attachment with your caregiver also helps you develop good soothing strategies for your threat system! Another reason why his is so depleted…)

Attachment styles can change and improve, so I think that during his time at DS9 (maybe even during the Academy) as he begins to gain experiences of friends who do consistently choose him and with whom he is safe, he probably moves more towards the preoccupied category. But I do not think this man has ever made a *really* secure attachment in his life. 💔

I also don’t think he has ever examined this too deeply? Maybe after DBIP, hopefully some of his friends might have gone “that was a super fucked-up childhood you had there”, but I figure he probably attributes the way he approaches social situations to his autism (which due to his parents’ ableism, means he thinks “I’m doing socialising wrong and everyone else is doing it right so I should listen to everyone else and do it their way regardless of how I feel about it”) and so he doesn’t realise that actually his fear of being rejected and his craving for validation through meaningful relationships -- if he even recognises those feelings for what they are -- are unhealthy coping mechanisms that he could learn to shift into something more positive if he had the time and space and help of a professional.

His relationship with Palis was almost definitely a victim of this, imo. Even if he doesn’t realise it, he’s terrified that she will inevitably reject him (having a ridiculously catastrophic secret doesn’t help with this assumption, but being fearful-preoccupied also just lends him to believe that people are inevitably going to reject him) and so he makes his excuses and leaves her first.

Amatonormativity

Even if I hope that the 24th century is less amatonormative than now, I don’t think Julian has necessarily been able to benefit from that. Given how ableist his parents are, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to think that they might be queerphobic too, or at the very least dismissive of any lifestyle that isn’t the same as theirs.

In addition, on DS9, his best friends are Miles O’Brien (who has always been very vocal about how happily married he is) and Jadzia Dax (who had been as happy as he was to be flirty and single and not tied down, until she found her One True Love, and got married), which wouldn’t exactly help discourage the notion of “romantic love = marriage = happiness”. So I think that Julian has definitely internalised all this, and – especially since he’s been taking cues from those around him how to act and what to think about social situations his entire life – he accepts this whole “you need to have a partner” thing as true for him, just because it’s been true for his friends.

I headcanon Julian as being somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, too (hovering around WTFromantic) -- but crucially, he has no idea. He genuinely struggles to tell the difference between platonic and romantic feelings and guesses how he feels a lot of the time, but since he doesn’t know that he's guessing, he really believes he's in love. And because he has never connected the dots that he’s aro, he assumes the disconnect between *his* experience of love and everyone else’s is just down to his autism, and therefore everyone else is right and he needs to follow their lead in finding happiness through romantic love.

We also know that he really likes old books like James Bond. (I headcanon that he finds pre-1990s fiction safer, because there is no chance that the villain is secretly going to be an augment all along, or any other anti-augment prejudice or micro-aggression in them.) So despite being a 24th century guy, he becomes steeped in these 20th century views -- and with him trying to figure out all the time what’s a “normal” way to act, both in a “not-an-augment” sense and a “not-autistic” sense, he’s internalised a fair amount of “what love really is” from these books which, like, isn’t always great to say the least.

Season 6

QUARK: You know what's really sad, what really keeps me awake at night? She's out of reach because we let her go. BASHIR: I suppose so. But some things just weren't meant to be. Evade. O'BRIEN: Julian, are you sure you want to-- QUARK: Chief, please. You know the rules. No coaching during a round. You're probably right. But what if that's a convenient rationalisation? What if deep down in our heart of hearts we both know she's something unique, something we may never see again. A chance at true happiness and we let her slip through our fingers.

And so we come back to this conversation. Quark is manipulating Julian to win the game of tongo, but whether or not he knows how deeply his words will cut, they leave a lasting impression upon Julian.

Quark calls Jadzia “a chance at true happiness”, but when Julian repeats those words later -- despite his perfect recall -- he describes Dax as being his “one last chance for true happiness”. And this, I think, is what really gets to him.

We’re deep into Season 6 -- Julian is not “happy”. He’s become depressed, despondent, weighted down by the war. It’s not been long since Statistical Probabilities -- is he watching the casualty count grow, the war continuing exactly as they had predicted for the time being? At this point in time, “happiness” feels like a pipe dream for him.

How long has it been since he has truly had a long stretch of contentment? Most people put it at pre-Dominion-camp, right? So he had a pretty long stretch of being happy and (incidentally) in a relationship with Leeta from the end of Season 3 until s05e07, and then a few months later, he was kidnapped – which makes me think that if he’s thinking back on the “good old days” of DS9, it’s quite likely he’s thinking of a time when he was in a relationship.

Julian comes from a background of believing that no-one would accept him for who he is. Even in Statistical Probabilities, among his friends, O’Brien and Sisko and Worf all openly discuss how augments should have restricted access to general society. And that’s just the augmentations: he also knows that his personality can be annoying and off-putting to many people. So he thinks that it would take an extraordinary person to actually like him and want him.

> Back in Season 2, when he was talking about Palis, he said “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I think to myself, will I ever find anyone that wonderful again?” Quark describes Dax as similarly unique -- and I think that strikes a chord with Julian, causing him to think “I lost Palis, I’ve lost Leeta, I’ve lost Dax -- how many more extraordinary people can there be? Dax really was my last chance.”

Julian doesn’t properly understand his feelings. He’s used to relying on other people to help him figure out what they are and how he should react.So Quark asserting that Julian does still feel attracted to Jadzia and does resent Worf and that he should have tried harder with Jadzia is something he accepts. (Just like later on, when Vic tells him he should be moving on, he accepts that very easily, too.)

> His preoccupied attachment style and fear of loneliness also means that he gravitates towards social interaction and people being friendly to him. After this, and particularly after Jadzia’s death, he starts having a bit more time for Quark: Quark’s inclusion of him in this “we both like Jadzia and resent Worf” club does provide him with some of that relationship-ness he needs, and even though he isn’t quite on the same wavelength as him, Quark is making him feel seen and understood, so if he’s lonely and there’s no-one else, he’ll probably seek Quark out that bit more.

>> And come to think of it, we’ve definitely seen Miles leaving Julian behind at the bar (with no-one to talk to but Quark) to go home to his wife and kids, just reinforcing the people-with-relationships-get-to-be-happy thing.

So yeah: Julian’s actually feeling some really big feelings about his loneliness and unhappiness and wanting to feel better, but he ends up projecting all of this onto his lack of a relationship, and more specifically, that Dax is probably the last person he’s going to come across who would accept him so completely.

Which sucks, and is a really toxic attitude. We don’t see it change the way he treats Dax on-screen, but even so, there is a sense of misplaced entitlement: he’s entitled to be happy and therefore he should have been entitled to have Dax. And I hate that for him. But he really is deeply, deeply afraid that without being in a relationship with her, he’s never going to feel genuinely happy again.

(Yes, he has friends, and he enjoyed spending time with them, like in Take Me Out To The Holosuite. But remember -- his threat system is constantly on with his fear of loneliness, and he doesn’t have the skills to actually soothe that fear and put it to rest. What he can do is use his malformed coping mechanism of distraction -- distracting himself with his friends and holosuite games and so forth. And no doubt they do give him some true satisfaction and validation -- but since he doesn’t have an internal source of validation, he’s lost when they can’t provide.

And additionally, when they can’t provide it’s often because they’re in a relationship. In the beginning of Chrysalis this is made super obvious, when Miles can’t hang out, and Kira and Odo are going to Vic’s together, alone, and he just ends up in bed working. Until 3am. I can’t help thinking he was somewhat trying to avoid being alone with his thoughts.)

And then Jadzia dies. And he has to refind his footing in a Daxless world and I can only imagine that he just accepts the depression is here to stay forever now.

Season 7

And now Chrysalis happens and firstly: I’m not here to make excuses for him. Chrysalis was pretty fucked-up, and irl I don’t think I could be friends with him after what he did. (But also irl I’d have given him a real talking to and not just accepted his bs like everyone else did in this episode and I think with that he might have realised earlier what he was doing so idk. I think if you’re gonna judge Bashir for this episode you also have to judge everyone else for standing by…)

Anyway, Sarina appears, appearing to be his dream woman, and Julian’s just lost.

It doesn’t happen immediately. When Sarina shows up on his doorstep and falls asleep on him, he is so awkward and uncertain what to do. And in the morning he’s still unsure and hesitant as to what this all means.

I’m certainly nor blaming Sarina -- she’s figuring everything out even more than Julian is! -- but when she makes breakfast for him and sends him off with it, I figure that is a massive romance-cue for Julian, who’s given up on his dreams of domesticity. If his feelings are just platonic at this point, he figures out they must actually be romantic, because people who are in love live together and make breakfast for each other. And if he has already started falling for her, it’s a confirmation that he’s allowed to fall for her, because they’re already acting romantically, and she started it. (Again, not an excuse -- he should have known that she is in no position to make a move to start a relationship.)

He’s not thinking logically and pursuing a relationship with his drive system, he’s still being driven by his threat system and fear of loneliness, and being in a relationship is the only thing that he can imagine will soothe him. (I mean tbh this has been his problem all along -- possibly even back to Palis -- and ugh, it sucks, because even though in a way he kind of can’t help it and he’s clueless to why he wants a relationship so much, it’s also kind of on him that he’s never done some serious self-reflection, and the fact that his trauma has led to him acting like this doesn’t negate the fact that he’s taking advantage of a very vulnerable woman and hurting her.)

It’s been implied by a) Quark, b) Vic, c) Bond-type books and d) most recently, Ezri, that he wasn’t quick enough to get Jadzia and should have tried harder. So of course, once he starts thinking he’s in love with her and that a romantic relationship is what they need, he’s desperate to start as soon as possible so that he doesn’t lose his chance. Because if he thought Dax had been his last chance, how much more is he going to be thinking that Sarina is his real last chance?

Sarina is pretty similar to him, and he can empathise a lot with her. And he knows how augments are treated by the world. And he knows how difficult it’s been for him, finding someone to love. And so he projects his own loneliness and fears onto her, and figures that being in a relationship is what they both need, because she’s unlikely to be given many chances either (which is kind of a contradiction to “I need to act now in case I lose her”, but hey, limbic system. Rational brain has long been taken out.)

And then as soon as he realises she’s only gone along with him because she feels like she owes him, it clicks and it’s over. It doesn’t make up for what he’s done but it genuinely never occurred to him -- and what’s more, he knows it should have occurred to him, and he still can’t figure out why he wasn’t more rational about this all.

> Which is also why none of the other characters were allowed to have a proper talk with him this episode because I think that would have made him realise what he was doing. (I know Miles kind of tried with “Julian, she’s your patient”, but when Julian came back with his excuses, Miles didn’t exactly argue against them.)

> And also, how much do you think that her telling him “I don't even understand what love is. I don't understand anything… What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to feel? Tell me. I want to make you happy” resonates with him. Does he realise that these are the things he’s been asking himself his whole life, that this is actually how he’s been living his life and doing relationships this whole time. Are these actually a direct reflection of his thoughts about her: meeting with his friends, showing her off at dabo (he was always so proud of Leeta, remember?), that whole cliche of a romantic dinner… Are these all things he felt he was meant to do to make her happy and to show her what a romantic relationship is like?

And the thing is -- he does learn from this experience, and we see that he doesn’t try to rush in with Ezri when he starts getting feelings for her. (Yes, his learning shouldn’t have come at the cost of Sarina’s wellbeing, but it did, and I’m just going to accept that because he’s a fictional character and also I love him.) I don’t know if he got to the bottom of figuring out why he went so off-the-rails with Sarina. But clearly, it’s a mistake he doesn’t want to repeat. And I do want to give him some credit for that.

So let’s go on to Ezri.

BASHIR: Funny, I was just starting to... O'BRIEN: Starting to what? BASHIR: I don't know. But there was something-- something about her, wasn't there? Something that made me happy, anyway. She was this old soul and yet so young at heart, and… and-- I don't know what I'm saying.

I read this as a sort of admission that he doesn’t know what romantic love is. He knows he felt something, but I don’t know if he found something in what Sarina said that makes him doubt and wonder if it is love that he’s been feeling, or something else. But also, he leaves before O’Brien and Quark can comment, not asking for anyone to help figure out what he’s feeling. (Particularly as Quark’s made it obvious he thinks Julian must be in love with Dax, even if he doesn’t want Julian to be in love with Dax.)

And then when she returns, they begin their whole awkward dance around each other: though interestingly, as he’s talking about his inability to talk to her about his feelings in their eventual conversation, he sounds genuinely confused, and even distressed, when he says “I mean, I'm not usually like this. If I find someone attractive, I just-- I just tell them. I don't play these ridiculous games.” It seems he’s been experiencing some subconscious barrier whenever he’s wanted to bring his feelings up -- probably not dissimilar to most people’s hesitation to ask out a crush, but like he said, that’s not usually his style at all.

Presumably, this is because he’s worried that he could lose Ezri altogether if he makes a move and his feelings are unrequited, along with the knowledge that pursuing Sarina had been the complete wrong thing to do. Although again, maybe more subconsciously than not: when Ezri suggests they’ve both been hesitating because of their friendship, it seems to click for Julian as something that he’d not properly registered before.

Additionally, at this point in the show, losing people to the war seems inevitable. There’s been a long period with very little hope that either Ezri or Worf are alive, Kira, Odo and Garak are all off on Cardassia doing goodness-knows-what, until Odo returns with the Founders’ disease and again, there’s very little hope that he’ll survive. So it’s not really surprising that Julian finds himself unable to speak to Ezri about his feelings, given that this is the time least suited to losing friends to stupid mistakes like telling them you love them.

I definitely think there’s more to say about Ezri and Julian, but I feel like I’m losing the plot of what I’m saying a bit, so I’m going to stop there.

In summary:

Julian’s driven by his threat system: his fear-of-failure, fear-of-loneliness and fear-of-discovery/fear-of-rejection-for-being-an-augment. He doesn’t realise how much this affects him.

Julian thinks that other people/pre-90s media know about romance and love more than him and he should try to emulate them rather than figure out what he wants from them.

Julian doesn’t really understand his own feelings – his upbringing never gave him the chance to, and it hasn’t occurred to him to explore them and figure out what makes him tick and what doesn’t.

He’s deeply unhappy by season 6 and relying on easy but short-lasting waves of happiness to get by (e.g.holosuite adventures)

Because of all these things, when it is presented to him that there is a way to get lasting happiness, and that one way is to be in a relationship, he buys into it completely – falling for that idea probably far more than he actually falls for any of the ladies in question.

#Looooooong post #But worth the read I hope!#Julian Bashir #Julian Bashir meta #autistic julian bashir #aromantic julian bashir #genetically enhanced julian bashir #god this man needs therapy 😅#andi writes #my trek musings #wsb

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