#the artist x reader
Note
DBD request:
The killers (The Shape, Trapper, the Wraith and your choice 😘) having an unhealthy obsession with the newest survivor (female if you don't mind?)
includes: the trapper, the wraith, the huntress, the ghost face, the doctor, the legion (just frank), the artist, the cenobite, the executioner, the shape & the knight.
warnings: stalking, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, you get the idea. no smut but still mdni.
note: first dbd request, thanks pookie <3 and bc this is my first dbd request, i'm just gonna include all the killers i write for :)
🔩﹒TRAPPER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
obsession at first sight, evan has absolutely no plans of letting you get away from him, no matter what he has to do
even if it hurts you, he'll lay traps in your path to ensnare you so he can throw you up over his shoulder, have you in his complete control
and once you're in the basement, you know that there's no escape from him whatsoever
all of his traps are laid so there's no chance of rescue, and he faces you hanging from the hook that he's mercilessly thrown you on, glad to have successfully trapped his prey
🔔﹒WRAITH ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
philip finds himself using his guise of invisibility to keep an eye on you far more often than he himself even intends, crossing paths with you when he doesn't even mean to
whenever you're alone, you catch him sweeping by in your periphery, or hear in the distance a bell chiming
he notices your anxiety mounting with every second that he's watching, and in a way he almost feels bad about it
and when he's ready to chase you down, he'll ring his bell, almost in a taunting sort of way as you run from him
but he won't stop until he's got you
🪓﹒HUNTRESS ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
almost always, her first instinct when she sees survivors is to use her strength and speed, her hunting ability, and throw hatchets, anything to down them and bring them under her mercy
but the way she feels about you is almost similar to the way she feels about the children she couldn't bring herself to kill
something throws those instincts to the side when she sees you, she can't place what exactly it is, but she can't ignore it
💀﹒GHOSTFACE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
he's always meticulously stalked people, gotten to know them without their knowledge down to the very last detail without their knowledge of his presence
but with you, his usual routine of becoming intimately familiar with victims for the purpose of killing them was interrupted, killing you was not necessarily his intent
unnaturally quickly, he knows details about you that few others pick up on, and you constantly question whether you're really alone
🩻﹒DOCTOR ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
considering the fact that he's completely sadistic, being his obsession is harrowing, beginning to end
especially because he doesn't see these feelings toward you as something he should allow to grow, he doesn't see it as any sort of love or anything romantic, which gives him only one conclusion that he needs to reach
he needs you dead, but he's going to drag it out, make it satisfying for himself, and the way to do that is to drive you mad, and make the process as torturous as possible
every scream of yours fuels him to keep going until his brutal torture is finally done, and by that point, he might even find that he'd gotten so caught up in torturing you that the rest of the survivors managed to escape the trial
🕸﹒LEGION ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
frank knew you'd be a chase, something he'd need to go after, but he's more than okay with that
every second of running after you is envigorating, with each stride that gets him closer to you he wants you more and more
both of you know that you can’t outrun him, he’s in a frenzy on your heels, completely running on the impulse that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since he saw you; he needed to get to you
the chase doesn’t necessarily end with him plunging his knife into you, but he doesn’t mind it if you think that’s the case
in fact, he takes some pride in the fear and control he knows he has over you
🪶﹒ARTIST ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
while usually she uses her birds as a weapon against her prey, for you she'd be using them much more gently
you’d find yourself being harassed by crows throughout the majority of your trial
but it’s only so carmina can keep track of you, she doesn’t use them to cause you harm
⛓﹒CENOBITE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
they're constantly using their chains to keep you in close proximity
and also just to hear you scream, no tears of yours could ever be a waste of good suffering in their eyes, they love your cries of fear and pain from whatever they're doing to you or when they're chasing you down
escaping their chains is virtually impossible, each second you manage to evade or hide to rest, you know you’re just putting off the inevitable
🔺﹒EXECUTIONER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
pyramid head is a bringer of pain and suffering, but is also shockingly subtle during the trial
for a while, he’s merely a looming presence as you work towards escaping
but that’s part of the plan, he takes his time to get you tormented by his power
all so that he can get you locked in one of his cages, where you have no choice but to be all his
🔪﹒SHAPE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
his stalking is relentless, but he takes his time before he makes a real move on you
and when he finally does strike? there's no way you could've ever been ready for it, one minute you were working on a generator, and the next, you're up over his shoulder with no way to escape
and even if you are constantly on guard, aware of his presence, he'll keep you under his mercy by keeping you injured or downed, never too far from you to keep your fellow survivors from saving you
⚔️﹒KNIGHT ꜜ﹒⟡﹒
even though he's the killer in the trial, as a knight, he feels the need to protect you, killing you isn't even something that crosses his mind
and if tarhos himself can't be keeping his eye on you at any time for one reason or another, alejandro, durkos or sander are doing so for him
he's got an uncanny ability to constantly know where you are and what you're doing, and that's because he's always keeping tabs on you, whether on his own or by means of his faithful three
#dbd x reader#dbd x you#the huntress x reader#the trapper x reader#evan macmillan x reader#the wraith x reader#philip ojomo x reader#danny johnson x reader#the doctor x reader#herman carter x reader#the legion x reader#frank morrison x reader#the artist x reader#carmina mora x reader#the cenobite x reader#pinhead x reader#the shape x reader#michael myers x reader#the knight x reader#tarhos kovács x reader#tarhos kovacs x reader#the executioner x reader#pyramid head x reader
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I’m not sure wether or not your requests are open, I couldn't find a post containing much information, but I have a good idea! Or, at least what i think is a good idea... Okay so hear me out, slashers x blind s/o, and like the slashers get upset if people dump palets or stuff on you during a chase. (Silent hill)
Taking a leap here, assuming you want pyramid head in this with the Silent Hill in parenthesis and I’m gonna assume your requesting killer reader. I’ve gotchu 😏
Contains: Pyramid Head, Danny Johnson, Micheal Myers, Amanda Young and Carmina Mora because she’s my main. Usual dbd and blood stuff.
The Artist (Carmina Mora)
-Carmina is a sweetheart to you, always has been
-She makes artwork for you with chunky paint so you can feel and imagine the patterns
-At first she was skeptical and a bit angry at the entity for bringing in a blind killer
-I mean for gods sake, you can’t see blood pools or scratch marks!
-But as she watches you, she realizes just how lethal you are
-you have incredible hearing and over senses that you don’t even need to see
-When you came out of a match one day you rubbed your head with a groan
-That new survivor Ripley slammed the hell out of you with a pallet
-Carmina walked over to you concerned as she observed your state
-You reassured her you were fine but she was furious
-How dare she! You didn’t deserve that!
-next match she made sure to mori the hell out of Ripley
-The crows needed to eat after all
The Ghostface (Danny Johnson)
-Danny at first couldn’t decide whether to make fun of you or not
-he also was angry at the entity for bringing in a blind killer but he didn’t care in the way Carmina did
-He always kept a close eye on every killer just to see if he had any competition
-he was a bit aggravated that he began watching you expecting nothing much
-oh was he surprised when he saw how you functioned
-all your senses were heightened and in tune with everything around you
-you were a great listener and that intrigued him
-one day he began listening to you and talking with you
-he actually liked you
-you listened to him ramble for hours and could recite anything he could say
-one day after a particularly rough trial you were snarling in anger
-Danny notices this and quickly came over to check on you
-Fucking David and his stupid insults all match
-he pissed you off so bad you lost sight of the gene and everything else
-but don’t worry, Danny will make sure to gut him just for you and describe every photo of his corpse in grave detail
The Executioner (Pyramid Head)
-Pyramid could sense your power so he never underestimated you
-He always watched you outside of trials
-you guys grew closer just relishing in each other comfort
-when you’d talk he’d listen and when you weren’t talking you two would just sit in silence
-When you came out of a match with shakier breathing than usual he could sense immediately what happened
-entitled survivors annoying you, he’ll take care of it, he is the executioner after all
The Pig (Amanda Young)
-Amanda’s intrigued by you
-she’s actually the first to address you
-you two hit it off immediately
-unlike Danny though your the one who talks more and she listens
-She’ll listen to you ramble while she tweaks her bear traps for each match letting out soft hums and nods to make sure you knew she was listening
-Amanda actually developed the habit of helping you out with little things
-she knew you were perfectly capable of doing everything but she wanted to just feel like she was helping
-When you came back from a trial with a lot more blood then usual she didn’t say anything
-she took your coat and outerwear and just simply cleaned it for you
-it’s the least she could do for you since you helped her with her loneliness
A/N: Sorry I’ve been gone for so long! Life’s been busy!
#dbd x reader#dead by deadlight#dead by daylight x reader#dbd#amanda young x reader#amanda young#micheal myers x reader#micheal myers#danny johnson x reader#dbd ghostface#danny johnson#carmina mora#the artist x reader#carmina mora x reader#pyramid head x reader#pyramid head
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PLS GIVE ME ARTIST X SURVIVOR!FEM!READER THAT BEFRIENDS HER CROWS ON ACCIDENT BY SAVING ONE AFTER ANOTHER SURVIVOR HURTS IT
The reader beats tf out of the other survivor because she's VERY much against animal abuse, so after she patches the crow up and gently plops it in the nest with a little forehead kiss. Then she hunts that other survivor down for sport. But around the artist, she's all shy and sweet (aka bi panic)
Essentially they meet/get close bc of this
I love this woman. I don't know how to function around her. I have also always loved birds and befriended the crows in my neighbourhood, so when she was added to the game I short-circuited.
Thank you.
HIII yes absolutely queen 🫡🫡 i made this so the reader is a newish survivor if thats ok? i just felt it fit a lil bit more for the story but lmk if not and i’ll fix it!
warnings: minor violence, almost implied nsfw but its more just specifying the reader is female, yun-jin kicks a crow, vv long read, my shitty ass english 😭
NOT PROOFREAD/BETA READ
Carmina Mora/The Artist x Crow saviour!Reader
the trial had been going as most do, repair the generators, unhook and heal teammates, try not to be hooked yourself. you were waiting to go unhook Adam, hiding in a particular corner in the realm with the stacked cars (autohaven? you hadn’t been in the entity’s world long enough to remember), when Yun-Jin Lee came sneaking over to you. just as you had decided to sprint over and heal Adam together to get it done faster, a crow appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the small mass of black feathers cawing loudly and alerting the killer of your location. you heard Yun-Jin curse softly in Korean under her breath and then ready herself to sprint away and grab Adam, but not before giving the crow a hard kick to the side.
you were never a violent person, but in this moment you saw red. had it not been for the pained caws of the poor bird, you would’ve immediately taken chase after Yun-Jin to get the crow’s payback with murderous intent. fortunately for the poor thing, you stuck around to help, not even caring if the killer does come to attack you.
you began your approach to the creature slowly, softly trying to communicate you’re not a threat. before you were taken by the entity you had befriended and helped many crows in your neighbourhood, so this shouldn’t be hard.
“hey-shhhh its ok, im here to help you”, you whispered as you took off your jacket to wrap the poor thing in. from the looks of it, the sweet creature wasnt hurt too bad yet rage still flooded your being. its not like it has a choice after all, it just had a job to do. deciding then and there you were going to get revenge for this, you hid for the rest of the trial, making sure that your new friend was safe and comfortable with you all the way back to the campfire.
due to the strange abundance of medkits back at the survivor camp, it was easy for you to get your little pal all fixed up. it was clearly scared at first, but it quickly relaxed, forming a connection with you and feeling you were someone to trust. after a good bit of throat-tearing yelling at Yun-Jin, you took some time to think about where to bring the bird. leading to where you are now.
the eyrie of crows was not a realm you had found yourself dropped into a trial in, yet you had heard the other survivors speak of a monstrous bird woman, turned and twisted by the entity until it was hard to tell where human stopped and ink began. you’re scared, but curious too. you know your friends often exaggerate the horror of the newest arrivals in the fog, so you wonder if The Artist (as she had been assigned by the ones who had faced her most so far) is really as terrifying as you expect.
turns out, you wont have to wait long to find out.
as you finish making your way to what seems to be the main building of the sandy realm, you take a moment to stare in awe at the magnitude of the tower before checking your feathered companion is still ok. climbing over a window to get inside, you find yourself in awe once again, but for a completely different reason.
from the paintings scattered around the bottom floor, to the large messy bookshelves, it is made clear that this place does not belong in the fog. its far too cozy, too welcoming. infact, so welcoming that you dont even notice the tall, nimble figure sneaking up on you.
the only warning you receive of the killer is an angry caw before inky hands wrap around your neck and slam you into the nearest wall. as you wince in pain and surprise, The Artist turns you around to face her.
this… this cannot be the same killer that your fellow survivors had talked about. she’s so gorgeous. too pretty. as her warm, angry breath fans across your face, you feel butterflies rise in your stomach. she almost seems to be carved out of marble, perfect cheekbones and jawline complementing her sharp eyebrows and sharper gaze. as she caws again, as if to ask what you’re doing in her home (or as close as someone can get to a home in the fog), you cant help but notice how soft her lips look too, a sudden desire growing for her to paint your lips black with the ink dripping from hers. her grip tightens, and you remember why youre here.
“i h-have a crow. was injured,” you barely manage to wince out against her tight grip, while softly taking your small buddy from your makeshift carrying sling, “h-here.”
you seem to have made the right decision bringing your companion here, as The Artist’s eyes immediately soften upon reaching your hands. letting go of your neck, she trails her hands down to yours in a way that immediately brings back those pesky butterflies, but you focus on your feathered friend.
cawing affectionately, The Artist softly takes the bird from your hands into hers, making her way upstairs. she doesn’t get too far though, because when your buddy realizes you aren’t following, it immediately starts cawing and flapping its wings in your direction in a panic. confused, The Artist pauses, holding the bird up the stairs and then back down towards you, then repeating as if confused. she coos to the bird quietly and it responds like they’re whispering to each other, and after a bit of back and forth, The Artist turns and gestures for you to follow her up the stairs. you walk behind her slightly, not completely able to keep up with her long, pale legs covered by her swaying dress and- “no. not the time,” you think to yourself, face reddening.
so enamoured and distracted by the presence of The Artist, you hardly notice the large crow’s nest in front of you. however, a sudden inky hand to your torso prevents you from colliding with it, almost making you jump in the best way with how dangerously close her fingertips are to your breasts. removing her hand much too quickly, The Artist beckons another crow over, as if telling it to take care of the new addition to the group. you pat your friend on the head on more time, wishing it luck and promising to see it again, and then its off with the others.
already missing your feathered buddy, you turn to find The Artist staring at you, reading you. her beautiful black eyes are so sharp, yet the anger from just before has faded, replaced with something softer. cawing once, she takes your hand in hers and leads you to the balcony on the same floor. amidst becoming a mess over the feel of her hand wrapping yours so perfectly, so fittingly, you worry for a moment that she’s taking you out here to push you over the edge (though she doesnt seem like she’d do that from what you’ve learned so far). yet, you are soon proven wrong as you round a corner and are met with a painting clearly belonging to the woman who had done all the ones downstairs, the same woman who is now weaving her ink fingers between yours and reaching for the bottom of the canvas with her other hand. she wants your opinion?
“its lovely! youre very skil-“
you’re cut off by a hard shake of her head. The Artist is pointing at something more clearly now: small letters at the bottom left of the canvas, hardly even noticeable if not pointed out. leaning in to read properly, you softly gasp when you realize. its a name. no, its her name. The Artist’s.
Carmina Mora.
“Carmina… that’s so-“ you have so many words to describe, all positive, yet you settle on “-gorgeous.”
turning away so she doesnt see the growing blush on your face (and luckily for Carmina, so you miss her red tinged cheeks at your compliment), you introduce yourself in return and offer your hand out to shake. only for Carmina to take it with both of hers, and hold it to the middle of her chest while nodding her head. a thank you.
“god,” you think to yourself, “im so gay”
the two of you then spend the next few hours or so together, getting to know each other. you get along so well, so naturally, that you wonder to yourself if you were destined to meet outside the fog as well, if you had not been taken. Carmina is so drawn to you, unexpectedly comfortable around you in a way she’s never been with anyone she’s known. you both soak up each other’s presence so much you hardly even notice the sun beginning to set.
you dont want to leave, yet you know the other survivors would endanger themselves and go looking for you if you dont get back before nighttime, and you cant risk that (though you wouldnt mind if Yun-Jin went missing). wishing Carmina goodbye, you begin to walk away slowly, needing to spend as much time with her as possible. however, you dont get very far before pale ink arms are wrapping around your waist and a warm chest is pressing into your back. Carmina coos into your ear, as if asking you to come back soon, and of course, you will. you promise.
relieved to know she’ll see you again, Carmina lets you go and watches you until the fog consumes your figure. you’re a welcome surprise to her, she had never expected to meet someone in her new home that she’d tolerate, let alone enjoy the company of. the other killers were loud and cruel, and the survivors were awful and often obnoxious. except you. you’re different, you understand.
making up her mind, Carmina decides she will send crows for you soon, make sure you visit quickly. you’ve caught her attention, and she has a strange feeling like this was meant to be 🖤
#dbd x reader#carmina mora x reader#the artist x reader#dbd imagines#dbd x you#dbd killers x reader#dead by daylight x reader#to clarify i LOVE yun-jin i just could not imagine any other survivor kicking or harming a crow 😭#laurie answers
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Okay so I've never requested something before so excuse my awkwardness and stuff-
Anyway I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something for Carmina Mora (The artist) from Dbd. Yes I understand bird mommy can't talk but like I think she'd still coo/caw at you affectionately or she just speaks to people telepathically and stuff yeah- basically somehow the crows nest it the main building gets damaged and it's stressing Carmina out because she's new and being thrown into trial after trial. So to help her reader trys fixing it and honestly I just want bird mommy fluff🥺
You don't have to accept this request at all I just thought I'd try even though I probably didn't make a whole lot of since but that's okay lol.
I hope you have an nice day and remember your work is amazing!💖
Thank you so much, sweety, you’re very lovely! <3
Like with any new Killer taken to the Entity’s realm, they are thrown into the most trials, one after the other, with barely any room for rest and the constant pressure to perform and kill as expected.
But the trials ALWAYS just kept happening in her domain, so the more people running around and ruining things, the more Carmina’s little piece of haven got ruined.
Little sculptures broken and thrown around, ripped paintings, messy painting utensils all around...
And the worst of all was that her big Crows’ Nest from the main building was getting disturbed and ripped apart by those nasty survivors and it was messing the poor woman out big time.
Why couldn’t they just die already?!
In the little time she had to spare while losing a survivor, she had to take new little branches and try to glue them back, add some crow feathers and make sure all of her dear companions were doing alright and were left alone by those jerks.
She just wanted to time to rest and some peace and quiet away from any living being that wasn’t her crows.
Poor Carmina hated absolutely anyone and was in such an awful mood... Until she met you.
She was going back to the nest to attempt to repair it, and she saw you, struggling to put back together a rather large chunk of it that fell - Lots of glue, branches, hay and feathers went into the creation of that piece of wall.
She was so moved that she slowly went by your side and started helping you, showing you how it was done, so the work went by much faster and more efficient.
When it was all done, she looked down at you, debating how she should thank you for being the only being that was actually sympathetic to her, so she let her neck down and nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, letting out a soft caw-ing sound.
It was absolutely the cutest thing you’ve ever heard, you thought, so you gave her a few headpats, telling her it was no problem and that you hope her and the crows will be okay.
From then on, Carmina’s trials became much better whenever you were there for her, ‘cause it was the only time she could rest and feel at ease, knowing there was someone who understood her with her.
At the same time, she was a bit weary, knowing very well that everything she ever loved was brutally taken away from her, and was very afraid of allowing you to approach her, as she was catching feelings for you.
But at least, if anything were to happen, she would allow you to hide inside her nest and would cuddle with you protectively, making sure nobody could ever touch you or bring you harm.
In the end, even the crows were getting comfortable around you, and they would caw and seek your attention whenever they found you.
#dbd headcanons#dbd imagine#dbd x reader#dbd#dead by daylight imagine#dead by daylight x reader#dead by daylight headcanons#dead by daylight#the artist#the artist x reader#the artist imagine#the artist headcanons#carmina mora#carmina mora x reader#carmina mora imagine#carmina mora headcanons
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Hi, I'm still a bit unfamiliar with how tumblr works, and I hope this is the right way to contact you for headcanons?
How would the dbd killers react to a new survivor who sketches/draws a lot and once during a trial they loose the sketchbook, and the killer finds it and sees the survivor has been drawing them alot. For some of the masked killers maybe the survivor even attempted to draw what their face would look like etc. (I guess like making up headcanons for them haha)
You don't have to do all killers, just which ever you feel like! But could you include Danny >\\\<
Oh you fucked up by having me include Danny- but sure thing- /hj
Warnings: none <3
Ghostface: Danny was allowed to walk out of the trial once it had ended and in doing so stumbled upon a book in the grass. Some survivor probably dropped it while running for their life. It filled the killer with pride knowing he could cause such a reaction, but that pride was replaced with surprise as he opened the book. Pages fell out and he gathered them feverishly. Each one was covered in sketches of him. Most were poses and things like running, his garbs or his weapon. But there was one or two with his face- or what the artist had imagined it to be.
Were they… dreaming of him? Danny felt giddy, giggling to himself as he explored more. Delving deeper into these pages as he saw that this person was so intrigued by him. Every moment his curiosity and burning obsession to know who this artist was grew. Danny snatched the book and took it with him. He was going to pay this survivor a pleasant visit…
Artist: Carmina opened the pages of the book assuming it was one of hers, but how wrong she was proven to be. She first felt her heart flutter, then shatter into infinite pieces. How could someone see beauty in her? How could one artist see grace in the suffering of another? But she could, she knew she would have done the same had the script been reversed.
That night she took the sketchbook home with her, fully intending on giving it back to the survivor who lost it. However Carmina left a few notes here and there for them. Maybe even tidbits of her life story. She draws a crow on the last page of your book, writing underneath. “The messengers will look out for you, cariño.” This holds true, as the crows alert you sooner when another killer is nearby. She is looking out for what she believes is someone like her.
#I definitely wanna continue the artist x ghostface thing#Danny is so vain and obsessive#it would just make sense#dbd#dead by daylight#the ghostface#slasher x reader#the artist x reader#Carmina mora#ghostface x reader#artist!reader#my writing
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vampire choso comm <3
#my art#owwllly#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#artists on tumblr#jjk fanart#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#kamo choso#vampire choso
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Follow me on Twitter link in bio!
Reblogs are appreciated!!
#jujutsu kaisen#nanami#nanami kento#kento nanami#jjkedit#gojo satoru#geto suguru#jjkdaily#fanart#art#artists on tumblr#anime#anime fanart#jujutsu kaisen 2#yuji itadori#mahito#fan art#jjk official art#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk art#jjk fanart#my art
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zombie König
#art#artists on tumblr#call of duty#cod mw2#konig#konig x reader#könig#könig x reader#cod#cod mwii#cod x reader#cod warzone
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Tattooartist!Sukuna who is so used to being ogled by girls that he’s on the verge of putting his 2 weeks’ notice in. He knows he’s hot, muscular, breathtaking even (like some girl said while sitting on the studio chair and trying to get in his pants), but people piss him off, both men and women. He wishes he could just ink them up and never see them again.
And when he sees you staring at him from across the room he’s sure you’re about to say the same shit every other girl has said in the past three years he worked at the studio. But he’s utterly surprised when, instead, you turn around and close the door behind you.
He waits for you to come back, because you do have a tattoo appointment, but you don’t. That’s why he presses his ear against his door to listen to you trying to reschedule your appointment when there’s another tattoo artist instead.
He gets out and leans on the door, making himself visible, and when the girl at the reception asks you why you want to reschedule you look at him while saying “I just don’t think he’s professional enough to make what I’m looking for.”
And now you’re pissing him off, because he’s good at what he does and he knows it. So he comes closer to you, trying to intimidate you with his height, and slowly challenges you saying how he will get your stencil done for free. If you don’t like it he will personally pay for your tattoo, no matter the price. You accept the challenge, tattoos are super expensive these days, what do you really have to lose?
And that’s how you find yourself in his bedroom getting pounded from the back, your fresh tattoo on your spinal column.
“Thought you said I wasn’t professional enough, mh baby?” He whispers in your ear. “Looks like you enjoyed the tattoo, yeah?”
Between moans you manage to slightly turn around and kiss him on the lips. While you’re still close to his face you smirk.
“Looks like you’re enjoying it more than me.”
You feel his dick jump at your provocative tone, and he picks up his pace while standing back up. He slaps your ass, hard, earning himself a squeal before feeling your pussy cream on his dick.
“Fuck yes I do.”
#sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen smut#sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna jjk#tattoo artist au#sukuna x you
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“ have we met before ? “
Goodness i dont know what to call this au 😭 Maybe it’s hundreds of years in to the future? Maybe Astarion meets Tav again after so much time has passed
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#artists on tumblr#digital art#digital illustration#digital painting#aesthetic#character illustration#bg3 oc#bg3 tav#tav x astarion#astarion x reader#baldur's gate oc#baldur's gate iii#oc#original characters#astarion romance#museum aesthetic#reincarnated lovers#reincarnation au#dnd#character art#light academia#fantasy#nik's art
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List of Astarion's Terms of Endearment
This is for the fanfic writers haha. Tell me if I'm missing any so can add it in!
Darling (his most used)
My love, love
My sweet
“You sweet, generous thing”, “you sweet little thing”
Lover
My dear, a dear, dear
Beautiful
Cheeky little pup
My little treat ("-with their cheeks all flushed")
Sweetie
Pet
You wicked little thing (affectionate)
"You're a sweetheart", "you sweetheart"
Delectable little pet (not directed towards Tav but it easily could be)
My friend (yay, we're his friend)
My favorite traveling companion (not a pet name but it's nice to be his favorite)
My leaking blood-bag (technically you refer to yourself as that first and he calls you his one after, but it counts)
You little scoundrel
Edit: Thank you everyone in the comments for adding the Dark Urge ones!
Bhaal-babe (I'm dead, this silly pun I swear)
My sweet, bloodthirsty friend
My precious little Bhaal-babe
My conflicted villain
My dagger-happy friend
Bonus: Ascended Yandere Astarion
My pet, pet
Little love
Precious thing
My treasure
My consort, My Dark Consort
My favorite spawn
Insolent little- (the Dev's notes say that the full line is "you insolent little brat" which, um...)
Insolent little pup (the line was in EA, although I’m not entirely sure if it’s Ascended Astarion. Full line: “you are an insolent little pup, aren’t you?”)
"You ingrate" (When you try to break up with him. It's not really a pet name, but-)
"Property I cherish, but still my property" (his thoughts)
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion romance#astarion bg3#baldurs gate astarion#baldur's gate iii#astarion ancunin#bg3 spoilers#astarion x tav#astarion x mc#astarion x reader#astarion x you#dnd#I am so fucking Normal about this man#Props to Neil Newbon and the writers and artists for bg3 making me fall for a character from a game I never played
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Cuddling after a rough trial (DBD killers x reader pt.1)
hi!! only got a suggestion for Carmina for this one so i decided to break it up into a mini series, with each post being for a different killer 🩵
warnings: painstakingly oblivious crushing, made up a completely nonexistent room in the Eyrie of Crows (just imagine where the basement spawns in main building but if it were more of a bedroom/living area down there)
more of a short drabble type of post 🩵 gender neutral reader + reader not specified as either a killer or survivor
NOT PROOFREAD (lol)
Carmina Mora/The Artist
the crows alert Carmina of your entrance to her realm before you even noticed them flying so close overhead. unknown to you, they also alert her of your melancholy mood.
deciding the stairs take too long, Carmina drops from her painting spot on the towers balcony to meet you in the desert below. softly cooing to you in concern, she takes her ink hands and begins searching you for injuries. though her care makes you smile, you inform your examiner that you’re not injured, just had a tough time in your trial.
Carmina’s face tightens immediately. of course, she understands. oftentimes survivors go out of their way to mess with her, being meant to kill them and all. yet, she can’t grasp why anyone would ever give you a hard time. in fact, how dare they? outstretching her arms, the killer offers you a hug, one you gratefully accept. feeling Carmina wrap around you with a gentle force that’s so unique to her, you already begin to relax, fully melted into the embrace.
if not for the small nagging ache from standing for so long, you could stay like this forever, yet you pull back eventually. too afraid to ask for more, you thank Carmina, asking if you could come watch her paint.
to which the answer is absolutely no.
The Artist is focused on you now, and she’ll try whatever she can to cheer you up. you don’t deserve to be upset. and she knows just the way to help (hopefully).
guiding you with an arm around your waist, Carmina takes you to the room downstairs: not the basement, more a bedroom. somewhat nervously hesitantly, The Artist sits down on a large couch in the room and pats her lap. hoping she doesn’t take note of your reddening face (she did, but her equally flushed expression gives her no right to complain. not that she would though,) you sit where Carmina asks, back facing her.
for the second time that day, inky arms wrap around your waist but this time it’s different. before you know what’s happening, your back collides with Carmina’s chest and you’re falling. when your brain starts working again, you realize you’re laying down on top of Carmina, being held so close you can feel every breath she takes. she caws into your ear, as if to ask if this is ok, and god you wish you had the words to tell her how better than ok this is. in response, you lean back just close enough to see her face and whisper “yes, this is ok,” pausing for a second, your gaze flickers between Carmina’s lips and her cheek. a thought comes to mind, but is quickly dismissed in fear of being rejected, “thank you. cawing sweetly in return, Carmina tries her best to shove down the rising butterflies that moment gave her. no, you need her comfort right now, she can let herself daydream about you later. for now, she drags one hand to rest between your ribcage and starts drawing soothing patterns just below your sternum.
before long, you’re asleep in each other’s embrace, the softness and comfort too delicate not to. both of you dreaming about the other, in longing of what happens next.
#dbd x reader#dbd killers x reader#dbd x you#carmina mora x reader#the artist x reader#dbd the artist x reader#im so sorry this took so long for an actual crumb of a post 😭 we ballin
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Part 1 then the after math lololol
you bamboozled him YOU FOOLED HIM!! THIS WASNT ON THE CONTRACT!!
He’s going to throw a fit after this and the twins will be laughing their asses off
Also I planned to draw grim as the flower girl and Floyd as the Bridesmaid but I got lazy😭
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst imagines#twst fanart#disney twst#twisted wonderland azul#twst wonderland#twst x reader#twst scenarios#twisted wonderland azul ashengrotto#drawing#artists on tumblr#twst disney
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The Ink Shop
Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson.
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering.
A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me.
8k words
Masterlist Part 2
Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’.
The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’.
Weird. This does not look like a printers.
You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly.
Oh.
This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop.
The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors.
Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it.
“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look.
“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’.
“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare.
“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.”
The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…
“No, no, I'm here about the job?”
He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare.
“Really? You?”
“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance.
“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?”
Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over.
“You can let go now princess.”
Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing.
“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume.
A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up.
“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.”
As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac.
“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!”
Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips.
“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?”
Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again.
“Are you immediate start?”
“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-”
“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.”
Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.
“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.”
Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you.
********************
So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it.
It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this.
A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations.
“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.”
Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.
“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.”
Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time.
Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.
Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad.
“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.
“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.
At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place.
Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that?
“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand.
Oh I'm not falling for that again.
You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed.
“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.”
“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.”
He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here.
“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms.
He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him.
“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.”
Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away.
“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.”
He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing.
You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie.
********************
Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie.
“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?”
“Any appointments with Eddie?”
“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?”
It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back.
“Any walk-ins?”
The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm.
“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?”
Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?”
You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”
“Do you have any, princess?”
“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.”
The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement.
“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!”
The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back.
“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!”
It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind.
Chloe walks over, coat in her hand.
“Hey, how you getting on?”
“I'm good, just bored.”
She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?”
You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers.
“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.”
She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe.
“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown.
“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.”
A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.”
“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.”
Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe.
Right, let's just play nice.
Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing.
“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light.
“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.
“You know, that's a waste of a needle.”
Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you.
“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?”
“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to-”
Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo.
“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing.
“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.”
Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step.
********************
Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people.
It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots.
You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were.
“Morning Eddie.”
“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words.
He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him.
“I'll be nice if you will.”
Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee.
“I'm sorry Eddie.”
Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth.
“What about you?” you ask.
“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Are you sorry…?”
“What for?”
Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away.
“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop.
“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client.
It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again.
He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move.
Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first.
“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?”
Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?”
He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.”
“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.”
Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.
“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.”
He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement.
“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?”
“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.”
Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.
“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?”
“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.”
He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process.
“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”
Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word.
“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you.
“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson.
“So, questions. Can I go first?”
“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin.
“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?”
“23.”
He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.”
“How old are you?”
“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.”
Act younger is more like it.
“I'm gonna start, you still alright?”
“Uh huh.”
“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.”
He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.
The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling.
“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?”
The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow.
“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.”
He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink.
“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.”
Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask.
“How did you start working here?”
Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.”
“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look.
“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.”
You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen.
“What band is that?”
It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt.
“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.”
“Oh, what do you play?”
His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.”
After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.
“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?”
It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away.
“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red.
There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply.
“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.”
Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing.
“Your turn princess.”
“I don't want to play anymore.”
“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.”
“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?”
To your dismay, he smiles yet again.
“You, sweetheart.”
Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.”
He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.”
“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused.
“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”
It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you.
“All done.”
“Huh?”
He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.”
It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip.
“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.”
The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.”
Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second.
“Eddie what do I owe-”
“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”
********************
The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him.
Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line.
Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap.
“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it Miss?”
“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?”
“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee.
“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him.
He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.”
“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer.
Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear.
“What you up to, princess?”
“Fuck!”
You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look.
Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass.
“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!”
Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal.
“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.”
Pouting, you hit him on the arm.
“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-”
Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands.
“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home.
It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you.
Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing.
It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.
There's a gentle knock on the door.
“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it.
“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there.
“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.”
He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest.
As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away.
After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself.
Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away.
“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?”
“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.”
Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist.
“For your modesty. Come with me.”
Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried.
“What's going-”
Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?”
Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods.
“Not a problem.”
“Thanks, man.”
Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth.
“I'll be right back.”
If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin.
“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar.
John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face.
“What the fuck are you doing here.”
“Oh come on, you know you missed me.”
John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.”
A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal.
“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.”
You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you.
“Eddie, we're still working I-”
“It's one beer. It's alright.”
You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?”
Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug.
“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.”
Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier.
“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.”
Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?”
“Come on, don't make me say it.”
Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you.
“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.”
Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty.
‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull.
“And I'm the Easter bunny.”
Giggling, you take another sip of beer.
“Come on, friends? Talk to me.”
Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?”
“I promise.”
You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough.
“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.
“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?”
“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar.
“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles.
“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.”
Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes.
“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.”
He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face.
“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings.
“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.”
There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it.
“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.”
Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice.
“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.”
You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.”
“We can keep it professional.”
You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord.
“Professional? You?”
“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.”
A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words.
“You're really confident.”
“You haven't seen what I can do.”
Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.”
“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.”
Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need.
“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?”
“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?”
“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind.
“Final rule. No kissing.”
He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?”
“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.”
Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out.
“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness.
You shake it.
********************
For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it.
Those theories are put to bed on day three.
After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.
Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?”
“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes.
“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely.
“Maybe.”
Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.
“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.”
Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands.
“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.”
By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards.
In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision.
The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?”
“Hey princess.”
“Come on up.”
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…
A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy.
“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles.
“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?”
You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table.
“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.”
He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.”
He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin.
“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt.
“Yeah, you know who they are?”
“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.”
You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.”
He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.”
Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve.
“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own.
“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms.
“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him.
“Come on then, sit down.”
Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed.
“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?”
Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?”
He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?”
Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes.
“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him.
“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more.
“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Porn, sweetheart.”
It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.”
“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.”
“Huh?”
“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him.
“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-”
He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.
“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.”
“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.”
His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?”
“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.”
“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Just relax.”
You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm.
You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop.
“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?”
“Alright.” You whisper.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah it's just- well-”
“Tell me.”
“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine.
“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed.
“Now just chill sweetheart.”
His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck.
“Fuck, that's really nice.”
He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed.
“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.
“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word.
“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.
“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.
“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.
“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe.
“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!”
Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment.
“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.”
“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.
“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck.
“I- I haven't decided yet.”
“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core.
“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him.
“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?”
Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words.
“N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.”
He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.”
“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast.
“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point.
“Really?”
There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back.
“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand.
“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more.
He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass.
His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you.
Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples.
“Holy hell!”
He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach.
“Eddie, please.”
Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.
“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit.
The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest.
“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?”
Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs.
“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”
Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel.
When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more.
“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?”
You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.
“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple.
The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess.
He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison.
“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control.
“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-”
You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him.
“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”
The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent.
You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.
“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair.
“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-”
You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up.
“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light.
“What do you mean sweetheart?”
“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...”
He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.”
“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief.
“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again.
“You seem better already. Right, I better go.”
Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.”
“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.”
And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting.
As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.
Taglist
@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes
#ms gexy writes#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie x you#tattoo artist eddie munson#tattoo artist!eddie#teach me/show me Eddie#eddie my beloved#eddie x fem reader
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saw this on x, i tell myself i have to draw this.. our old man sure is playing level 15892 candy crush on his hello kitty phone case iphone..
#jjk art#artists on tumblr#jjk fanart#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x y/n#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna ryomen#digital art#sukuna#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x you#sukuna x oc#sukuna x reader#sukuna jjk
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[Pt2ish]
— Yan!Artist who purposely only asks you in his college to be his nude model for his art assignments (which may or may not have been faked, but that's beside the point).
And you didn't want to turn down the offer because he was paying $500 per hour, which for a college student like you whose living dime to dime whilst paying for loans that were dumped onto by your sperm doner and that leech of a woman who you have to put down as your mother on documents, was a sweet deal.
In those sessions, they would get lewder over time, such as him from asking you to spread your legs some more to asking you to put whipped cream on your nipples with cherries on top for an extra $1000.
You never really questioned it. I mean, rich artist kid who may or may not like to see others (its only you) with whipped cream on their chest and their lower half with cherries on top, who are you to judge. Never question the rich unless it's with kids and Dubai.
Along with his lewd requests, he'd asked about little tidbits of your life, rather than stalking, he'd rather hear it from you so you both can develop a happy little relationship which turns into dating then marriage then have 15 billion kids <3 who would refuse this lifestyle???
After staying in one pose for more than an hour, it was draining on you, so you asked for a break. You decided to use the restroom, but the penthouse layout was a little too confusing and ended up opening the wrong door.
Your mouth was slightly open from the shock. The portraits of you over the last couple of months all had some dried up crust that looked like it was splattered all over the paintings. The floor wasn't better, either with tissues haphazardly strewn across the floor scrunched up and it smelt bad.
Too bad you couldn't open your mouth to complain because you got knocked out by an easel stand.
Fuck the rich.
Also, I've hit 60 followers! yayyyyy!!! I'm not sure if i should do a special or not cus I might make a special with bunny yan y omega yan with a male reader becos omega yan likes males more than females sooo why not and bunny yan doesn't care. Not proofread.
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