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hbyrde36 · 15 days

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Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link

Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that.

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.

But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse.

Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever.

And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.

Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.

It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content.

The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life.

Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal.

Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.

It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.

“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.”

“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”

“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.

“Mine had to cancel.”

Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”

“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.

“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”

“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.

“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting.

Not that he was one to pout.

“I’m not!”

“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”

“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh.

He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him.

“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.

She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”

“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.

“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged.

About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day.

Except, it couldn't be.

It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go.

It was unthinkable.

“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy.

Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go.

Get it together, Munson!

The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.

Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–

“Eddie?”

Fuck.

Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?

“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.”

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”

Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job!

“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”

Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.

Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

That was… interesting.

Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?

Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.

“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.

He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry.

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was…

It was…

Jesus Christ.

It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory.

The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley.

Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force.

He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.

He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was.

It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love.

Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.

“It’s great.” Steve said.

“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”

Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right.

It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed.

While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.

“Ready to get started?”

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”

His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry.

With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work.

They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm.

Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.

He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him.

He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant.

Fuck.

Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower.

He shouldn’t.

It wasn’t right.

The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely.

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked.

Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat.

Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes.

“For?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”

Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.

Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.

“Do you need to take a break?”

“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”

He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things.

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.

“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”

“Oh?”

“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”

“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”

Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.

“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke.

“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.

“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me. Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.”

“And?”

Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”

Steve hummed in understanding.

“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”

“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.

“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”

“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”

Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter.

Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.

As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.

“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”

“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.

Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on.

“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s mouth went dry.

Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?

“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.

“Why not?”

“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.

The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.

For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end.

He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.

It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal.

Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times.

“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.

Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps.

“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”

Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation.

“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?”

Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call.

“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”

Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.

“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?”

Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?

“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”

“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”

“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”

“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”

With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for.

“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”

“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.”

“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”

“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?”

Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”

“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”

“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”

It explained a lot, and the perks—pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long.

“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.

“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”

“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”

“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”

Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”

The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.

“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”

“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”

Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.

“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Eddie froze.

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid!

Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one.

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat.

“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.

That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him?

Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on.

Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.

He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.

Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.

After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.

“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”

Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”

Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.

Chapter 2

All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜

#steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #steddie #tattoo artist eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #tattoo artist chrissy cunningham

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daisynik7 · 5 months

Note

“Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga for Toji Fushiguro- Angst + Smut

(i had to request another for my stinky man 😭🩷 ily)

Bad Romance

I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.7k

cw: wild west au, violence, implied assault, mentions of sex work, weapons (gun, knife), explicit language, a bit of angst, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degrading language (whore, slut), pet names (sweetheart, baby), cream pie, unprotected sex, a whisper of a breeding kink

Summary: You’re the Vixen Viper, an outlaw on the run with an outstanding bounty. You find a temporary safe-haven at the Star Saloon, protecting the women who work there while they protect you from the authorities. One night, a bounty hunter by the name of Toji Fushiguro shows up, threatening to cause some trouble.

Author’s Note: Thanks for the y2k karaoke party request my beautiful friend @batafuraikisu! I have lots of inspiration behind this. I love the Red Dead Redemption video games and have been fascinated with the wild west since. There’s also an exclusive Patreon audio from AugustInTheWinter that rewired my brain chemistry where he plays an outlaw; he has an accent and everything, SO GOOD. Another special shoutout to my lovely moot @/neesieiumz who is currently writing this incredible aot wild west au anthology called Gold Rush – READ IT NOW if you haven’t already, it’s fantastic! Anyways, I hope you like this, thank you for reading! I had an absolute blast with this one!

Midnight at the Star Saloon is always lively with rambunctious activity. It’s the perfect time for stragglers moseying through town or the miscreant locals to stop by for a break, meaning booze, gambling, or sex. Usually all three in one night. You’ve been a regular here for almost three months now, befriending the women and men who work hard to keep the patrons satisfied. Whether it’s serving alcohol until they fall out of their seats, enabling poker addictions, or riding their cocks in one of the private rooms upstairs at a special rate, they do it all to make an honest living. Though on occasion, customers will cross the line.

And that’s where you come in.

It started two months ago, after you had frequented the saloon enough times to be considered a regular. It was around three in the morning when one of the barmaids approached you, asking you to follow her upstairs. She led you into the private room all the way down the hall, and inside was another worker, sitting at the foot of the bed, cheek swollen and a black eye all on the left side of her face. That’s all you needed to see to set you off. The perp had already left, but you knew who he was as soon as she described him. And, of course, like all assholes do, thinking they got away with it, he came back. When he did, it was you this time who took him upstairs to that same bedroom, dressed in one of the barmaid’s outfits. You, who flirted with him and stripped him naked on the bed, promising to give him exactly what he deserved. And finally, it was you who robbed him and held a sharp blade to his pathetic penis, threatening to slice it right off if he ever showed his ugly fucking face in this town again. You haven’t seen him since.

At that time, your friends at the Star Saloon already knew you were someone who could handle things. Maybe it was the way you dressed at first, often showing up in cowboy attire, ready to book it if the situation called for it. Or maybe it was because they recognized you from the wanted posters plastered in the next town over, your silly nickname the Vixen Viper in big bold print below an unflattering photo of you from the last time you landed in jail, right before you escaped. They never mentioned it; never reported you to the authorities. Instead, they welcomed you in with open arms. There’s a bounty on your head for the crimes you committed against sleazy men like that, but you hold no guilt for your actions. To you, and to all the women in the saloons you’ve frequented, it’s justice. They need someone like you to protect people like them. Because lord knows that no one else in this godforsaken world will.

You’ve lasted three months in this town without the authorities catching on to you yet. You look quite different from your poster when you’re done up in makeup and a frilly dress, dagger concealed in the garter wrapped around your thigh. And with the help of your friends, you’ve managed to hide in plain sight, posing as one of the barmaids while you patrol the late-night crowd for any possible threats. Violence against these women has significantly lessened since you’ve been around. The rumor amongst the patrons is that men who misbehave get their money taken and their dicks chopped off, which is pretty spot-on to the actual truth. So fortunately, for both the workers and the customers, there isn’t any trouble.

Tonight is a little different.

You lean against the bar doing your usual inspection, checking for people who are causing a ruckus or getting rough with any of the ladies. You’re dressed similarly to them, though you never get requested to entertain in one of the private rooms above, considering you don’t go out of your way to flirt with any of the men. You lack the illustrious charm the others do; you’re only here for when things get ugly. It surprises you when a mysterious stranger on the other side of the room points to you directly, wiggling his finger to beckon you over. He smirks, the prominent scar on his lips curving with it. You grab your drink and walk over to him, curious to see what this is about, sensing that it can’t be anything good.

When you reach his table, you give him your most cordial smile. “Good evening, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”

He grins, waving to the seat across from him. “I was hoping you can join me for a little chat.” His tone is even, though there’s a hint of something sinister in there. Maybe it’s your imagination or better yet, your intuition. You’ll soon find out.

You drag the chair out, plopping into it, laying your hands flat on your lap, palm pressed to the knife hidden beneath your skirt. He scans you up and down before asking, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him, you answer, giving him a fake one, of course. He nods, accepting it. “Toji Fushiguro. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out, which you take reluctantly, shaking it. His grip is firm, callouses rough against your own. “I saw you and knew I had to meet you.”

Your raise a brow at him. “Oh? What about me caught your eye?”

“Thought I recognized you from somewhere.” His gaze lingers on yours, expression unwavering.

Your heart stops momentarily, a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. Not here, not now. You swallow thickly, feigning ignorance. “Really? From where?”

He slides you a rolled-up paper, nodding his head for you to open it. “Take a look.”

Trembling now, you obey, unraveling it slowly until you see the words WANTED: ALIVE and your face staring back at you. There’s no need to go any further. You fold it up immediately, heart racing, glancing at your surroundings hoping no one else is listening in on your conversation. As calmly as you can, you lean forward towards him, muttering, “So what, are you going to arrest me? Hog-tie me in front of all these people?”

He inches even closer, noses nearly touching now, his breath tickling you. “Now, I’m a gentleman. I like to know a woman first before I tie her up.”

You scoff. “So what, am I supposed to come quietly then?”

He glances at your mouth, then back to your eyes. “I’m willing to negotiate if you have something to offer.”

You clear your throat, intrigued by his response. “Let’s discuss this somewhere more private,” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up the stairs with you.

“Lead the way, Vixen.”

You lead him to the very end of the hallway, the furthest room away from the bar downstairs. There’s a fire escape just outside the window, your best chance to evade arrest. First, you’ll have to subdue him.

Inside, you lock the door shut, turning to face him. “Are you a police officer?”

He shakes his head. “Guess again,” he answers, opening his coat to display the gun and knife hanging on his belt.

“Bounty hunter,” you state, glaring at him.

“Yup. And you, my dear, have a very hefty bounty on your pretty little head.” He steps towards you, caging you between his arms, your back flat against the door. Although you remain untouched, his presence is suffocating.

“What do want?” you ask him, breathing in deeply through your nose.

“All the loot you robbed from those scumbags. Enough to exceed the bounty I’d get if I brought you back with me.”

You smirk. “Is that it?”

“And a deal,” he adds. “A partnership.”

You stare at him, confused. “What?”

He laughs, amused by your reaction. “I’ll admit, I’m a fan of your work. Drifting through town-to-town, robbing sleazy assholes. And you haven’t been caught until now. It’s impressive.”

You’re caught off guard by the praise, relaxing just the slightest bit. “So, what do you propose?”

He lets his arms down, placing his hands in his pockets while he explains himself. “There are several bounties for men exactly like the ones you hate. If you promise to help me get them, I won’t take you in tonight. I’ll even give you some of the money. If you’re good.”

“And why can’t you do this yourself?”

“It’s easier to get a guy when his guard’s down. If there’s a pretty little thing like you seducing him, catching him will be easy as pie.”

You stare at him, contemplating his proposition. It’s an easy decision for you to make. It’s either this, or jail. “Fine. You have a deal.”

He offers his hand to you. “Put it there, partner.” His tone is soft, almost sincere. You can’t help thinking that if this were any other scenario, you’d find him attractive. Hell, even in this one, you’re drawn to him. You take his hand, shaking it. He tugs you in closer, voice low and seductive. “I think we should celebrate this new friendship. What do you say?”

You smile at him, what feels like the first genuine one of the night. Maybe this isn’t as bad as you initially thought. When you close the distance, his mouth is on yours quickly, lips smacking, wet and sloppy. He slides out of his jacket, letting it thud loudly on the hardwood with his weapons weighing it down. The shirt he wears is tight on his body, clinging to him, emphasizing his muscular physique. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with a man without the intention to backstab him. In fact, it’s been a while since you were intimate at all. With him guiding you, however, you match his movements naturally, sliding your hands up his torso, pawing at his chest as his hands squeeze your hips, pulling you towards the bed.

He moans, slipping his wide tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss and exerting his dominance. “Can’t wait to see what the Vixen Viper can really do,” he huffs, hoisting the hem of your dress, bunching it in his fist. His fingers trail the inside of your thighs, stopping at the garter, feeling the handle of the knife strapped to you. He clicks his tongue, mouth hovering your ear, hooking his finger to snap the elastic against your skin. “You really are dangerous.”

You let out a whimper, your pussy throbbing with arousal. He grabs the blade by the handle, whipping it out from its holster, tossing it to the other side of the room away from you. You chuckle, lifting your arms up so he can strip you properly. “Are you scared of me?”

He removes your corset swiftly, squeezing your bare breasts in his hands, thumbs flicking at your nipples. “I don’t want to get stabbed in case you change your mind.”

You shove him onto the bed, where he lies flat on his back, watching you straddle his lap, naked. “If I do that, then I wouldn’t get to fuck you.”

He laughs loudly, biting his lip. “Oh? You’re the one who’s gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah, I reckon ,” you reply, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. He continues to watch you intently, groaning when you shimmy his pants off to release his cock. It flops against his abdomen, even bigger than you imagined, all veiny and girthy. You salivate at the sight of it, opening your mouth for a taste.

“Fuck,” he curses, head relaxing into mattress, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as you sink down on him, swallowing him up until the tip hits the back of your throat. You bob up and down on his shaft, gripping the base of his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. “You suck cock like a fucking whore. Did your friends out there teach you that?”

You grasp his balls in your hand, squeezing them tight, causing him to shudder. Shaking your head, you say, “I learned this from experience.”

He smirks. “Yeah? Come here. Put this pussy on my face. Bet I can teach you something you haven’t learned yet.”

You release him, crawling up his body until your wet cunt is pressed to his lips. His tongue laps at your arousal, swirling around your aching clit. You grip the top of the headboard, grinding on him. “Oh fuck!”

His hands surround your ass, squeezing at your soft cheeks, fingers digging into your flesh. He hums into your skin, the vibrations adding to the sensation. He nods beneath you, encouraging you. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Take it like a good slut.”

He takes you into his mouth, slurping at your clit until your gushing all over his face, your orgasm shiny on his lips and chin. His eyes are wild with excitement, peering up at you between your legs. Kissing the plush of your thighs, he says, “Well, go on then, Vixen. Fuck me.”

Soon, you’re sinking down onto his fat cock, pussy already soaking wet with slick and spit. He fills you up to the brim, taking a few seconds to adjust to size comfortable. When you’re ready, you start to bounce on his lap, his cock thrusting in and out of you smoothly. He hits your sweet spot over and over, stimulating you into another messy orgasm after just a few solid strokes. Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, drool leaking down your chin, throat dry from the incessant moaning.

“Look at you. So fucked out for me,” he growls, planting his feet on the bed, taking control. He grabs onto your hips firmly, pounding up into you, watching your entire body convulse with each delicious thrust. “You talk a big game, but you like being manhandled like this. You’re just a slutty little hole waiting to be ruined. Waiting for the right man to use you.” He presses his thumb to your clit, massaging it with deep strokes. “Seems like you finally met the perfect partner.”

“Fuck, Toji!” you cry out, unraveling once again.

He increases his pace, the bed creaking noisily below you. “That’s it, baby. Come with me. Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Gonna fill you up so fucking good.” He pulls you down towards him, wrapping you in his arms, kissing you fiercely as he pumps his load inside you.

You both lay still for a moment, catching your breaths, Toji peppering delicate smooches along your neck. You’re surprised at how gentle he’s being, considering his brutish behavior from earlier. When enough silence passes, you look at him, grinning. “What a way to celebrate, am I right? Partner?”

He laces his fingers with yours. “The beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

After you clean yourselves up as best as possible, you snuggle together under the covers, him spooning you from behind. “’Night, Toji Fushiguro.”

He nuzzles his nose to the nape of your neck, whispering, “What’s your real name?”

You smile, grazing your lips on his knuckles, actually giving it to him.

~~~

Toji Fushiguro, the most sought-after bounty hunter in all the west, wakes up the morning feeling fantastic.

He glances to his side, hoping to see his lovely new partner still peacefully asleep beside him. To his surprise, no one is there. He inspects the room, searching for clues on where she ran off to and notices nothing.

And that’s when it hits him. There’s nothing in the room.

All his clothes are gone, his weapons, the wallet full of cash buried in his pockets, even the very blanket they fell asleep under. He’s as naked as the day he was born, confused and beguiled until he finally realizes it. He’s been robbed. And it was the Vixen Viper who robbed him.

The only thing he finds is her wanted poster, folded up on the bedside table, a small note scribbled to the back of it:

Toji - Thanks for the fun night, but I don’t do partners. Maybe the next time you catch me, I’ll reconsider.

He laughs, unable to contain his smile as he reads her real name signed at the end of it.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro toji x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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esmedelacroix · 6 months

Text

Coffee Shop Love Pt.1

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluff, fluff, and more fluff

author's note: Hi lovies, this is the very first part of my first series. I hope you enjoy it! I suggest you listen to "Bittersweet Faith" by Bitter:Sweet on loop while reading this. It does a nice job setting the vibe I'm going for. Enjoy...

word count: 1.1k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

Yet another slow night at the Mug & Muffin Coffee House, to no one's surprise, not a single soul drinks coffee at night. You always keep the shop open in case someone wants to swing by and get some baked goods for the night. The rest usually goes to the homeless shelter five blocks away. You sit by the counter chin propped up on your hand, as fatigue droops your head down, and Peter Pan sprinkles fairy dust on your eyelids dragging them down.

The lethargic vibe of the shop with slow jazz playing in the background is suddenly disrupted by the frantic ring of the doorbells. Your head shoots up immediately with the sudden burst of noise. The cool winter air bites at your skin until the door is closed and you are back in the embrace of the blasting heater. Your eyes readjust to the warm lights bringing you back into your shop surrounded by the endless coffee beans, leafy green plants, books, and the myriad of photos framed in rusting gold Victorian frames. The shop is completely empty, snapping yourself back into reality, you direct your focus to the customer who had just walked in.

Your lips parted slightly as a little gasp left your mouth. He was a middle-aged man, with golden skin the color of black coffee with a bit of creamer, his mahogany hair was slicked back in a perfect disaster, with wisps of stray gelled hair strands framing his face perfectly. He had the sharpest and highest cheekbones, a cleanly shaved face, and pearly white teeth. He stood at almost seven feet and struggled with getting the mistletoe above the door out of his hair.

Holy smokes he's hot. Where did this man come from? you asked yourself.

He huffed as he finally freed himself from the clutches of the mistletoe. "What a low doorframe," he mumbled to himself in annoyance.

"Or maybe you're just wicked tall," you answered offering him a bright smile.

He quirked a brow at your playful comment. His face gave no gateway to his thoughts.

"Welcome to Mug & Muffin, what can I make you tonight?" you asked looking up at him to meet his gaze.

"I'll have a hot black coffee please," he replied as he took his wallet out.

Your facial naturally contorted at this odd request. You checked your watch to make sure you weren't going crazy. Yep, 9 pm, why is this psycho getting coffee? You looked back up at his unbothered face.

That perfectly chiseled unbothered face. Fuck you for being so perfect mystery man. You thought to yourself as you started to type the order into the machine.

"Would you like any cream or sugar with that sir?" she inquired as their eyes met briefly.

"Nope just black coffee," he responded in a passive-aggressive tone.

"Okay, and can I get a name with this order?" you chirped, to which he replied, "Miguel O'Hara,"

You hummed as you printed his receipt out and handed it to him after he had paid. He chose to get a seat facing the counter. Lucky me, you thought to yourself. You were quite content that you had some eye candy to feast on tonight.

You quickly made his black coffee while sneaking little peeks at him. A pair of reading glasses adorned the bridge of his nose as he taped away at his laptop. You brought his piping hot black coffee to him, and he thanked you with a little head nod, eyes still glued to his computer screen before he looked up at you.

"Would you like coffee cake or some kind of muffin with your coffee? I have a bunch of extras, it'd be on the house," you suggested.

"No thank you, I don't like sweets," he answered. You exaggeratedly gasped at his sudden revelation.

"You don't like sweets," you demanded as you placed your hands on your hips, trying your hardest to give him an angry face. He found your efforts to look angry cute rather than intimidating. He stifled laughter as he answered, "No, I do not," cooly.

"Are you even real?" you grumbled to yourself as you shook your head and ticked your tongue. You sashayed back behind the counter to pack up the sweets to drop off at the Nueva Hope Homeless Shelter. You watched Miguel sip his coffee from the corner of your eye, surprisingly he didn't burn his tongue. His head shot up and surprise marked his eyes as he looked down at his drink and then back at you, before letting out a satisfied hum of approval. He quickly finished his mug while doing his work.

Truthfully the shop closed 15 minutes ago but Miguel sat there too lost in his emails, documents, and reports to realize that you had shut the light off at the counter and put up every chair but the one he was sitting in. He only came back to earth after you had 'accidentally' dropped your keys on the ground next to him. As cliche as the night already was, you both went to pick them up, both your hands grazing each other. He quickly retreated his hand and looked around realizing that it was beyond time for him to go.

He packed his work bag as you loaded the back of your car with boxes upon boxes of extra baked goods. Closing the trunk of the car, you peeped back into the shop to see Miguel placing money in the tip jar. You chuckled to yourself as he stepped out walking up to you. "That was the best coffee I have ever tasted," he started. You crossed your arms and smiled warmly looking up at him.

"I never got your name though," he trailed off.

"And you'll never get it," you teased

"Everyone in the area calls me Baby though," you explained.

"Yeah I'm not calling you that," Miguel said flatly. You laughed at his response as you locked up.

"You have a good night Miguel!" you called out as you opened your car door.

He gave you a lazy wave and you drove away. Night fell on Nueva York along with the snow. When you finished your delivery, you entered your apartment right above the shop with the tip jar in hand. You had emptied it before but Miguel had put something in it. When you opened it your eyes widened at the several twenty dollar bills. There was a small sticky note folded in the jar. You pick it up and unfold it. The sticky note read, "You are way too energetic at nine o'clock at night, but that was the best coffee I've ever had, will be coming again,"

Next... Pt.2

a/n: should i make a tag list?

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missmists · 24 days

Text

First bookbinding project a success. I think that my cat approves because he would not stay out of my photos. Five months in the making, but I couldn't be more pleased with the results.

I started with @armoredsuperheavy's amazing fanbinding tutorial to create a typeset of each work in @erisenyo's Burning Bright AU published on Ao3. Then had to reread the works in the new format and edit as I went to make sure everything was formatted correctly, (combined word count somewhere around 1.3 million) that took over a month all by itself.

I picked up a copy of Introduction to Bookbinding & Custom Cases by Tom and Cindy Hollander from my local library, to look at some detailed how to images and get multiple perspectives on construction methods. Excellent book, I do recommend.

My hunt for materials included a trip to Detroit with a side stop at Blick to look at decorative papers in person. Blick and the fine people at Hollander’s ended up having everything I needed to make covers. So between my brother kindly 3d printing me a punch cradle, making a DIY sewing frame of my own invention (courtesy of scrap lumber and a trip to the Lowe's hardware department), and three reams of late night printing, I managed to amass all my supplies.

Folding three reams of paper into signatures (the little bundles you sew together) takes about five days if you don't want to lose your mind or your place, and longer if you discover you need to fix things because that definitely happened. Then you get to unfold them to stab holes in them which is as terrifying at first and therapeutic by the end as it sounds.

Next came weeks of sewing books together, a magical process. I learned three new knots, repeatedly stabbed myself (because all forms of creation forcibly demand blood sacrifice) , and felt like I was roleplaying a monastic librarian from the time of Gutenburg. That's 600 years ago, 24ish generations, over 8million ancestors since then (by geometric progression, which excludes the possibility that any of my peasant ancestry is from small towns which is you know likely but I digress) and here I sat sewing pages together in a basement because story is the most sacred of human arts as it binds communities together and shapes perceptions of the self and our brethren, of outsiders allies and enemies, of the world as we know it and as it may come to be. Did I mention sewing books felt magical.

Then came the glue. So much glue. Multiple types of glue. All sticky. all stuck to me. I smeared glue with my fingers like a child.

At last it was time for the covers. Choosing combinations of the decorative papers and bookcloth and making sure I could get enough out of each material for what I needed. Precise cutting so many thanks to the architecture school professors who showed me how to properly cut chipboard. Then measuring and gluing, and more measuring, and more gluing. At last press a little groove by the spine and repeat eleven times.

Then I get to impress all my people with my latest and possibly coolest maker skill unlock, I am a book binder.

Bottom to top in the stack or left to right at the bottom are: These Things Written These Things Unsaid with Without Consent These Things Known with A Third Chance (or a First) Oh, The Way Your Makeup Stains My Pillowcase That Love You've Been Looking For All I Need Is To Be Struck (By Your Electric Love) To Open Every Door to Night, To Meet Each Rising Sun (my favorite) Love Is In the Hair (fanart of this one originally lead me to read the series, thanks @ash-and-starlight) Lessons in Proper Asset Management Tangled Up With You To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved)

#fandom #fanbinding #book binding #book making #zukka #zukka nation #zukka fanfic #avatar #atla #atla azula #atla sokka #atla zuko #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #erisenyo

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gwndolnfrankln · 2 years

Text

your beauty never ever scared me - eddie munson x reader

part ii of i'm not in love

🎧.˳⁺⁎ summary: unfortunately, you and eddie haven't been talking for months since the incident, but lately fate has other plans when he went missing the morning after you saw him.

⋆ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

⋆ warning: 18+ mdni, exes to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, angst, slight swearing, slow burn, a lot of yearning, make-up sex, p in v, grinding, half-assed dialogue, miss author loves to describe her surroundings a little too much

⋆ wc: 7005

⋆ a/n: thank you sm for reading my first eddie fic! i truly appreciate the support from the previous one, and as promised, here's part 2 ♡ my writing may got a little rusty since i got busy, but i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i had fun writing it :> (taglist still a work in progress)

“We’re in the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County. We don’t have a lot of details as of now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name although we are told they’re currently in the process of notifying the family.”

With a mustard-yellow envelope in hand, your local school’s name blared from the compact tv, which surprises you from the latest. The flickering lights of the old printing shop made the place seem like a sullen hospital hallway, other than the presence of sunlight creeping in through the screen entrance doors. The news was always on from the small television set, stationed far high up against the gray striped walls. You've become a frequent visitor to the shop—befriending other photographers and travelers who needed physical prints from their out-of-the-country expeditions. It’s a welcoming shop despite other unpleasant aspects, but once the news is on, everyone gathers to listen in.

“We also don’t know yet if foul play was involved. But whatever has occurred here is sure to touch a nerve across Hawkins.”

“Must’ve been Munson's kid for sure." You snap your head back at the owner, who's busy stamping piles of business papers behind the counter. You plop your coin purse down on the wooden surface, separating silver coins from the bronzes. “How much?” The disgruntled tone in your voice receives a snark, which slows him down from important paperwork to check the number of coins you brought out so far.

“Hey, aren’t you a senior from that school? Then you might've seen Eddie from Forest Hills. Y’know, the one on the news.” Your ears flare up in heat at the careless assumption. Warmth boils into the hearth of your stomach when you slam your camera bag on the counter, making other customers perk up at the sudden aggression. “How much of your bickering do I have to take before you let me pay for my photos, Mr. Owens? If you need my opinion about Munson’s kid, then so be it. I’ll tell you one thing.”

Oh, where to start? At the top of your head, you could only remember the little things. The small intricate details of his chaotic, yet wildly interesting canvas; all splashed in his favorable paints of red and black. Eddie used to draw on you under oak trees. Instead of carving his initials onto the barks of a tree, he would rather write his name messily on your forearm.

The tingling sensation was vividly unforgettable from the marker’s tips, to his gentle fingers guiding your skin to mark you his special spot. You have the keys to his sacred collection of metal-rock records, which he doesn't mind; sometimes, he'd stick pink post-it notes onto your favorite Ozzy albums to play the tunes extensively before you bother to knock on his bedroom door.

The same Munson kid who'd read you lore books in his bed, all cuddled up beside you with his curls tangled up around your shoulders. His showcased dimples, his hoarse morning voice, and the soft kisses between your laughs. You applied for the first four shifts on Scoops to secretly buy him a camera for his new club poster, which you've quit after you saved up enough money to purchase a standard model at Starcourt. You kept the package stashed inside your closet, waiting for the day to witness the gleeness on Eddie’s face when it’s finally his.

From the ground up, the soles of your feet weigh heavier on your legs as the shop’s customers wait for an outburst, yet guilt turns down the anguish too quickly.

Before Mr. Owens opens his mouth, you set down a random assortment of coins then storm out past the door’s angelic chimes, getting lighter on your feet as you lead yourself far away from the shop. As you unclasp the parking chains of your bike, the photographs fall out of the half-open envelope, letting most of the photos scatter clumsily on the rough gravel. You curse under your breath when you tie the stack around an elastic band, but paused when Eddie’s photograph faced you on top of the others; the monochromes perfectly forming a certain clarity to his Hellfire shirt and the curls on top of his hair. As much as you want to study his face, you instinctively press the picture down the side pockets of your jeans, then carefully place the envelope inside the bike basket before you take off on the long winding road.

The pedals of your metallic bike screech on the rocky pavements, the pitch hurting your ears as you set your foot down on the road to halt the tires. The quietness of the streets doesn’t feel right to you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you want to stop by the movie store to listen to Steve bicker for hours rather than the news at home. Before Starcourt mall was destroyed out-of-the-blue, you used to work shifts with them at Scoops, fondly reminiscing the times when you ate left-over ice cream with Erica between breaks, witnessing Steve’s flirtatious customer services with Robin, and the ridiculous navy blue sailor uniforms you have to wear for work. You stop in your tracks when you catch sight of the familiar colored bikes parked in front of the family video store. You perk your head up towards the glass-paneled windows to see your previous co-workers, alongside Dustin and Max busily typing on a computer.

“I never said that!”

“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day. Oh hey, Y/N.” The bells of the entrance door jingle behind you as you lean on the counter, helping Robin arrange a variety of sci-fi VHS tapes. “Robin, I empathize but this cannot wait.” Max nods towards you while Dustin mindlessly scribbles on his cork board. “Aren't you supposed to be at school right now?” A teasing smirk forms at the corners of your lips as Steve frowns disappointedly at the intrusion.

From the counter's bottom shelves, Robin places a laminated sign on the registrar beside you, muttering a small thank you when you finish setting up the tapes. “Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?”

Unease seeps into the air you breathe, taking whatever little strength you have from the printing shop into nothing. Every fragment of the case reminds you of the life you used to know—the shot of his trailer park on the tv, the association of the Munson name, and now what seems like an Eddie investigation case instigated by Dustin. Was it all just a coincidence? A really, really bad one?

“Can you fill them in while I do this?” Now it was Dustin’s turn to peak frustration, facing Max as she shifted her gaze to the three of you, waiting for a thorough explanation. “Fill us in on what?” Out of instinct, the knuckles of your fist pop with your clenches; your heart palpitates aggressively inside your chest. “Please, Max.” You whisper worryingly, completely frozen in your spot.

Keyboards clackle through the overbearing silence as Max recounted yellow police tapes, Chrissy Cunningham, and Eddie Munson himself, who fled from the scene this morning. Dustin asks the four of you to look into his close contacts and call every name on the list. A few minutes later, you manage to write their names on the back of crumpled receipt scraps, then dial their numbers on one of their work telephones—most of them unavailable.

Hesitancy hinders you from saying his name on the first phone call. Hearing yourself say it for the first time curls the tiny hairs on your skin. But one phone call after another, your internal fears creep away from your genuine words; the callers asked in some instances if you’re a close friend of his rather than a sick prank call, which is a definite plus. “Hey, guys, I might have a lead.” Everyone turns back on their seats, lending their ears to hear what Max has to say. “Apparently, Eddie gets drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick, and sometimes Eddie crashes there.”

After an interesting argument between the two friendly gentlemen, Robin was able to find Reefer's account when she checked the computer systems to track down the infamous drug dealer. “That’s out by Lover’s Lake.” The satisfaction on everyone’s faces was a feat in itself; a drizzle of hope. The tightness inside your chest eases momentously, yet bits of dread pinch you still as a board. “It’s a perfect place to hide.” Robin stood from her seat and went to look for her keys, while Dustin and Max walked around the counter to grab their bags. When the last customer exited the store, Steve and Robin made some last-minute shelving checks before each and every one of you took off to Reefer Rick’s house accompanied in Steve’s car.

The mast of darkness enveloped your line of sight except for their flashlights, slashing the dusty particles in the air. Frayed leaves crunch under the soles of your sneakers, while you tower behind Robin, who was busy checking behind the foggy windows of the house. You left them to examine the rustling sounds behind the bushes, until your eyes caught sight of the shack near the lake, seemingly abandoned in its rusty state.

“Hey, guys?” Max’s light blinded your eyes as you turned around, the other three walking towards you. The shy winds cradled your skin, seeping through the thin fabrics of your flannel when your figures neared the shack.

Everything about this place felt like it was pulled out of a camp horror movie, or maybe you were just too scared of the dark. “Hello? Is anyone home?” Her voice permeated the large empty space as she walked in, mostly filled with boat equipment and carpentry tools. You observed with great caution, careful not to touch anything in the oily containers. “What are you doing?” Dustin reprimanded when Steve stabbed a random tarp with his oar, the sound of scratched plastic almost caught you off-guard. “He might be in here.” Steve kept on jostling the rowing stick onto the blue tarp, and you swear you could've taken that thing from his hands right now.

“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson. But considering almost everyone has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slightest–” In a flash, metal chains clanged the ceiling’s grasp as you stood back, accidentally tripping on a bucket of half-lidded paints, staining your clothes in the process. Quick, heavy footsteps thumped loudly on the wood while Robin wrapped her arms around you, helping you get up from the red puddle beneath you.

You sway unsteadily in her arms; utter shock loomed over your bare features as familiar patches caught your line of sight. A terrible sound reverberated through the steels of the shack when Steve's back was slammed hard against the wall, his chin cornered with a shard. “Woah, woah, woah, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin’s shouts hindered the attack. Steve was squirming under his hold, ready to defend himself at any given moment. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?” Eddie casted Steve a murderous look while he nodded. “Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” Steve groaned when Eddie clenched his fists on the shirt material, the oar clattering loudly to the ground.

“What are you doing here?” The tremble on his final word heightened your drawing sadness, the firmness in his voice faltering slowly. “We’re here to help.” Robin spoke up beside you, which made Eddie turn around. Despite the growing panic that crossed the room, his brown eyes managed to find yours in a magnetic instant, his gaze troubled and confused. “Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin from band.” Robin awkwardly imitated her trumpet-playing just to get the picture of what she does on the bench. “This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D.” Max quickly waved with her flashlight in hand; worrying looks streaked her face as she watched Steve struggle under Eddie’s grasp. The short introductions seemed to fly past him, his unreadable stares lingered on your skin like a cord. “And Y/N, our school’s photographer. She was with us the other night."

"Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother! Right, guys?” All heads nodded in unison, including Steve’s, who was still held at a critical point. The suspenseful seconds washed away when Eddie finally let go of Steve, then slowly walked towards the other side of the room to lean against the wall, shaken and terrified. The messy tangles of his hair, the unkemptness of his clothes, and traces of his fear weakened you to the bone. Such grief binded you to him, an unspoken mutuality that you cannot explain for the simplest of causes. The same laid-out causes you’re afraid to face; the same old half-spoken truths that wreaked havoc on your miserable fates. Unfortunately, the deepest cuts are still there, distantly shared in all its glory, bleeding for all the times you’ve spent apart.

“We just want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie’s sniffles broke down while everyone gathered around him, careful not to get inside his personal bubble. Your shoes screeched on the pattern of paints you left behind as you stood closely, sharing this newfound silence.

“Try us.”

The winds howled at the heavy curtains flinging past the white edges of the shack’s small windows. Everything you knew about the town, the world, changed at a shocking note. The horrors of the recounted scene paralyzed him; Chrissy’s death now a daunting reminder of his cowardice. All you could do was nod and listen, clinging onto every word.

You both shared a look while he described the grotesque encounter, hoping that he’d get the comforting message through the lenses of your eyes. “I…I didn’t know what to do, so I…I ran away. I left her there.” You shifted your gaze, not knowing what to make of this. There was a certain willingness in you, a plea to switch places with him, take his pain as your own. The sight of his aching guilt unfurled your inner clenches, fist deep into the ugly remainders of the past. You kept to yourself for the whole evening while Dustin explained the ultimatum of their situation, which surprisingly wasn’t the first time it has ever happened to them. You and Eddie were the only ones who didn’t know much of it, unaware of the interdimensional beings that roamed somewhere in their world.

“Someone should stay with Eddie. Guard the place till morning.” Robin groaned at the suggestion, who abruptly stopped before the exit way. Arms crossed and a few meters away, Steve sent you a knowing look, a signal you've familiarized yourself with since you knew him.

You and Steve have very similar childhoods: neglected, half-spoilt, parents on business trips and a home mostly occupied for rowdy parties and formal gatherings. That’s a look of a guy who wanted you to stay; a friend who used to be so jealous of your precious freedom, now taking it as his perfect advantage. “I have plans for tonight, Henderson. And Robin has curfew, which leaves…” This was not the first time you wanted to punch him. Steve is an achiever with his wrong timings. But they didn’t know. Still, it’s a bad idea. You couldn’t imagine yourself staying the night with Eddie in Reefer Rick’s house, after everything he’s been through. He loathes you, and he definitely should. You want him to hate you, so you could stop—

“Fine, I’ll stay. You guys better be careful, okay?” All your personal deflections sinked down miraculously, reminding yourself that not everything revolves around your own thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, this could be a decent step forward. To what, you don’t know yet. After a few pats on the back and a couple of goodnights’, you walked back to the quiet shack with your head hung low, so low that someone could mistake you for a Christmas candy cane. The door creaked scarily as you pushed it open, your careful eyes darting to Eddie’s figure, who was tucked under the uncomfortable tarp, lying down sideways on the boat. His eyes were puffy red, his cheeks clearly dried up from the tears. You cautiously placed your duffel bag on the nearest makeshift table, putting aside the crumpled-up cans and sneaker bars on its tethering edges.

“Did you forget something?” You turned around to see Eddie sitting on the edge of the boat, slurping his new can of beer. His fixated stare had a clutch on you, your guarded front crumbling to cements. “No. I’m staying over.” You swear you could hear him gulp loudly, then to make matters worse, choked and coughed on his drink. The colors of his face turned beet-red when he placed his can on another indescribable pile. He clapped his knees when he stood up from the edge, and slowly made his way towards you, eyeing the red stains on your shirt. “It gets really cold past windy hours. We should head back to the house.”

You’ve never been inside Reefer Rick’s home before, but it seems like Eddie knew the place so well as much as his own. As soon as you walked inside, the constriction of your arms mellowed with the homely warmth, despite the history of the house. A loud thumping sound from the other room pulled you out of your thoughts, making you run towards the source. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie hopped on one foot while he placed the right amount of pressure on the other one to numb the pain, whispering more curses under his breath once he felt your presence kneeling close to him.

"This is a nightmare." Eddie winced at the searing pain from his foot, closing his eyes as you untangled his shoelaces to loosen the tightness of their rubber straps. He's terribly overwhelmed—intoxicated from the number of beers he had drank; adding to that Dustin's greatest revelation ever known to mankind. Your fingers slightly brushed his freezing knuckles once you took his shoe off, wiggling it easily off to the side.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice sighed through his curtain of dark curls, the air from his direct lips punctuating all your senses at once. You glanced up at him with your mouth slightly apart, taking in his daring brown eyes, the faded rashes from his cheeks and every delicate crease lining his rough features.

"Because you're hurt." You bit your tongue before you could say any more. Eddie slouched in his position; his shoulders stooped smaller than an inch as he reached for his toes. “I’m fine now. Thanks.” It took him a few seconds to stand, struggling to bend his heel. “Wait, let me just.” Your hand managed to wrap itself around his leather sleeves to firmly guide his balance. With no other choice, he accepted your offer and was finally able to hold his ground. In a fleeting moment, you noticed Eddie glancing at your fingers for a bit longer than usual, until he willfully pulled it back to his side.

“I…you should…there are clothes upstairs. You better change.” Before you could answer him, he swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the house, leaving with multiple questions running through your mind all at once. You don’t know how to feel. In some parts, you feel angry for deceiving him with your cut-off reasons. Other times, his closeness has washed you anew, despite how miniscule or scarce it's been shown.

The stairs creaked under your feet as you stomped on the steps, tiptoeing around unlaundered socks clinging on the corners of the stairwell. You made sure to close the windows and shut the drapes before you change in one of the unsettled rooms. The chilly air tickled your skin, the coolness rubbing onto you like smooth fragrant soap.

You took off your shirt and noticed that the paint solidified itself onto the fabric; the dampness no longer felt. As you rubbed off the flakes with your thumb, your bare arms tingle and flush at a certain presence in the room, making you look.

Your bra tightly wrapped itself around your plumper regions, flustering on his watchful gaze. You never thought it possible that the swelling heat would graze itself with the coldness of your shoulders; an arson of confliction and raging want. Your body screams for his length, his space, his missing piece; an incomplete puzzle you gracefully memorized by heart.

He couldn’t move in his place, paralyzed in a Medusa-like trance, carefully taking in the laces of your bra straps, the wisps of hair tickling the nape of your neck, and the slow heaving motions of your chest. Your numb fingers accidentally dropped the shirt on the floor, which made you pick it up; the denims of your waist tightened around the archness of your back. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie can’t stop looking at the pads of your bra, perfectly cupping your breasts like a housewarming basket. You coughed once you finally retrieved the fallen fabric from the floor, then hurriedly put on the blue button down from the bed as Eddie returned normally.

The silver rims of his watch glistened as he placed a stack of folded blankets on the edge of the mattress, whiffing the strands of hair out of his face. The doe outlines of his eyes waited for you to finish buttoning up, before he could start hearing himself. “I’ll be sleeping in the room next to yours. If you need anything, just…” You felt the creases of your cuffs bend as his gaze traveled down the plumpness of your lips to the shining flecks in your eyes. “Knock."

His adam's apple bobbed through the skin of his throat while he played with one of his rings, then glanced at you for a slither of a moment, before he turned his back on you to leave. The door was slightly ajar when he left, spiking your fallible tendency to take it as a secret hint; a hidden letter on a scrabble. You sighed as you pulled the blankets over your head, concealing whatever door your delusions barged into.

Even when you’re covered in the most comforting of quilts that any man in the cold could have asked for, it can’t shield you from the fact that you don’t want him to be alone. Your sides longed for its match, an exerting piece, willing to complete you like a sacred locket. It pains you to see him that way, to see him try to be so strong for everyone and seamlessly make sure that you feel comfortable around the house.

As his walls are crumbling down, all you could do was just sit there and watch like a knight who can’t do anything to fight off his dragons. Since the moment you saw him, defeated and ashamed, you want to take him in his arms and hold him until the entanglements of his suffering looped off its clots. It’s not enough that you’re just here. You have to do something, anything to be there for him.

The worthless feeling tossed and turned inside you, churning your organs like whipped dough. Before you know it, your legs brushed the sides of the bed, then you paced out of the room with your blanket in hand. Every step gets heavier and heavier as you near the room, but your insistence didn’t stop you from trying. Your knuckles knocked on the door’s timbres while you tiptoed, your feet getting sweaty from the nerves.

In less than a second, Eddie opens the door, and you rush inside without a word. The moonlight cascaded the lines of your shadows as you stood there, your shoulders raised and your breaths quickened. The feelings you tried to conceal broke from its cages when you turned around to face him, his beautiful brown eyes widening at the tears streaming down your cheeks.

His brows furrowed in contemplation as he watched you curiously, checking the door’s metal knobs then onto you in passive strides.

"I can't sleep."

"What are you doing?"

No one hears the other with the simultaneous blurt-outs, which later proceed through the tunnels of silence. Your voices echoed the room even without the possibility of its reach to do so, with the walls not being high as it is. "I can sleep in the other room if you want."

"That's not what I want." The lump on your throat hinders you from speaking in a normal manner. Mentally, you're holding onto a steady rail with the height of your emotions, but unfortunately it's too difficult for you to even look at him; to be near his presence; to be seen by him. "I'll sleep downstairs, then."

"No, stay." Eddie stops twisting the door knob in his hand, frozen in his spot. His stare was still avoidant, yet the sides of his body were awaiting more of an answer. "You can sleep here. Pretend I'm not even in this room, or any place at all in the house." The flash of hurt in Eddie's eyes made you want to roll your words back at the tip of your tongue and swallow it in the depths of your throat. You hate to admit it—and you swear you'd rather go back in time to change it—but you've implied another thing to what you said.

"Well I'm not sleepy either, so." After a quick glance from his watch, he locks the door and waits for you to go to bed, but you don't. All you can hear is the ticking of the clock, the brushing trees surrounding the lake house, and the tiny cracks beneath your toes. Whatever strength you mustered outside inflated in an instant, melting like the icicles under the summer sun. You don't know how to act around him anymore, or imagine yourself in the same room as him. Eddie knows you so well—too well in fact—that you won't come here uninvited without an important reason. The fate of this unfinished business is up to you now, and how he's going to handle it will be etched into your dreams forever.

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.” The lids of his eyes flutter down to his feet when you speak; your voice raspy yet firm in truth. “But I want you to listen to me. I need you to listen, before…you try to run away from me again.” Memories from last summer rolled into the screens of your mind like an old camera reel; every scene heart-wrenching and scarred like a broken mirrorball.

“Please, don’t start.” Eddie tears his eyes away from the floor to look at you, his hurtful expression displayed massively.

"When can you let me? Everyday, I visit your trailer and you're not there. I go to school, I see you and you brush me off like a stranger. Is this really how it's going to be from now on between us? Merely strangers?"

You can feel your crumpled heart curl to see him so stoic; unreachable and tall with his spiky walls of avoidance.

"Okay, fine. Now's your chance. Look, my day hasn't been going well for me lately. And I appreciate your sincerest participation to stay with me today, but please, please, please do not bring that up."

"You barely let me finish five sentences."

"Well I don't want to hear it, okay! I don't need to hear any more, because I know." Eddie clenches his fists, then lets it go shakily to calm himself. What could he have known? He's no mind reader, yet you're finding it hard to shake away the fraying nerves engulfing your entire body. "You don't know. It's not all that simple. No matter how hard I try, it still sounds so stupid." Stupid is just an above-the-surface term to the careless path of thought candy you left behind. You'd rather throw yourself to some pack of hungry wolves than be in the dumbest situation you unknowingly put yourself in.

"No, no, you're right. It's stupid. But you know what's even crazier? I used to believe that there's…more to this. I don't know about your intentions about the whole thing, but I bet it's never similar to mine." His staggering words struck you like arrows in a battlefield, and you can barely dodge every single one of them without a breather. The realization of his hidden insecurities flowed out of his tiny box and into the clutch of your hand; not having an ounce of an idea on whether or not to keep it in your palms or stash it somewhere else.

"Then tell me." You take a step forward as your curious gaze pinned itself onto the brown streaks of his irises. Your footsteps wake his tired features and his shoulders straighten in a jagged line when you stand a few feet away from him. Your shadows mingle with his as the dotted lights of the moonlit sky brighten in all its celestial beauty, wishing that the night will end in much better terms.

"I see the way everyone looks at me, and I know all my precious nicknames to heart. The freak who repeated high school twice, the Kirk Hammett wannabe, that one scary dude who heavily worships the devil. My friends would tease me about you, and it has always been 'poor you dating ugly old me'. And deep inside, I know you're ashamed to be with a guy like me. To be smothered with my ugliness, to be with a loner who plays guitar in the middle of the woods, to be with a guy who couldn't tie his shoelaces properly.” You kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say. Your quiet reaction kept him going.

“Deep in my bones, I hoped for more than just a summer thing. We agreed for an expiration date, but I didn't…I don't want summer to end for us. Never at all." Time seemed to stop with every pouring word, coated with the ultimate belief that only says one thing: he wants this as much as you do.

“All this time, you've been avoiding me because of what the town thinks of us? Well, to hell with them.” His eyes flickered into yours, carefully releasing his tightened fist to center his attention on you. Focused yet bewildered, he examines the shine of your hair, your slightly quivering lips, and the folds of the blue button-down loosely hugging your waist. Breath against breath, you inhaled through the compacts of your chest, letting your anger flow down into a peaceful stream.

"Look, I was also scared. I'm just…used to being treated invisibly by people I know. I barely see my family for the holidays, my friends don't care about me, and my past relationships weren't entirely the best on the scales of 'healthy'. But with you, everything just tipped over for me." You exhale through your lungs when you finish, but the discontinuity urges you to speak more. Let it all out.

"You see me like no other. You spoil me with your special post-it notes, the small private concerts in your room and your sheets of handwritten lyrics that reminded you of me. The little things..you just..you're perfect. There was never a time when I felt scared of you. You never ever scared me, Eddie. You're too beautiful to even fit the category.”

You’ve never called him beautiful before; never through a spoken word nor from a small written paragraph. The sound ringed and reverberated in the most natural of notions; not from the voices in your head, nor from any intrusive thought, rather from the farthest extent of your feelings. The quiet distance pulled you into him, a vacuum of bodies questioning the unreadable space you immersefully share.

A small tear trickled from the wetness of your lids when you blinked in his touch. His calloused palms cup the wetness of your cheeks, occupying your vision with his blurry thumb. Your fingertips travel the construction of his shirt, caressing the warmth of his linen folds.

In a flicker of a moment, you tilt your head slightly as he gently grazes his fingers to the nape of your neck, his features softened. “You think I'm beautiful?” He whispers thoughtfully, completely enamored with the crinkle of your eyes when you conjure up a pleasing smile. The shadows of his hair envelop your line of sight as you examine his collarbones closely, tugging the fabrics of his shirt bashfully towards you. Your daring eyes locks into his, almost like a secret confirmation, drawing him near you in a ready invitation.

Nothing in the world could ever prepare you beforehand when you feel his lips crash into yours, his plumpness blending your chapness. His dark curls tickle your face when he sinks deeper into your ravenous kiss, gently nibbling on your bottom lip. The momentum was extraordinary, and you missed every rhythm with so much longing. You grin against his toothy smile when he steadily pushes you to the bed, covering your whole waist with his large palms.

“God, I miss this.” He mutters in between kisses as your hands sneak under the hems of his Hellfire shirt, making him shudder blissfully under his breath. He bites onto the side of your neck as a subtle punishment, then licks on the same spot to lessen the ting. Eddie pulls back to marvel at his handiwork designating the base of your neck, showcasing his wonderful set of cheek dimples you love so much. You gently press your thumb around the lobes of his ear, brushing the tangles away from the sides of his face. Your knees graze the hardened fabric between his pant legs, carefully playing with your movements while he grunts against your ups and downs.

He stares at you disappointedly when you stop, but as soon as you straddle on top of him, he grins widely like a child in Charlie's chocolate factory. Your fingers grasp his shoulders as he unzips your jeans in a flourish, then slowly slides his light fingers between the hip of your panties. His hungry lips left your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses down to your gasping collarbones and the line of buttons covering your eagerness. Your nipples tingle as he unbuttons your top then pecks the warm skin underneath your breasts, softly caressing the other with his rough palms.

His teases throw you in a whirlwind of pleasure and havoc, completely ruining your well-moderate facade for the whole evening. Careful not to break his legs, you pull your denims down to your ankles, which he tossed in the corner of the room. With a starving look in his eyes, his hands squeezes your bare thighs, then slowly sneaks his ringed fingers under your panties to clench your ass cheeks. You groan against his ear, thrilling you to bounce on top of him, his length throbbing under your wetness. “Give it to me, Eddie.” Your breath fan warmly against his upper lip while you unbuckle his belt, the coldness of the metal channeling your inner impatient wants. He leans his forehead against yours as he lays you down on the sheets, kissing you passionately on the lips before he hurriedly takes off his garments, the sight intensifying the indescribable heat going through your body.

A flock of butterflies dances inside you when you catch sight of the tattoos stationed on his chest, the light hairs on his forearm and the feel of his rough happy trails against your flabs. The warmth of his cock strokes your half-open folds, his pinkish tip slithering under your sensitive clit. Faded stars cascaded your vision once he finally slid his hardness inside of you, your nails pinning his upper back.

Your legs wrap itself around his waist as he slowly shoves his cock in your tightened grasp, your mind going hazy from the largeness. The pain of the surprise all went away when his fingers intertwined yours, leaving sloven kisses on the crook of your neck down to your shoulder. His head of hair nuzzles the pillow close to your ear as his delicious pattern of slams continues to rise above its peak.

It’s incredible how every push tears you apart in a good way. A shameful gasp left your lips as his thumb flicks your clit in circular motions, while his cock monstrously devours your insides. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead when your inner thighs stretch at his extensive motions, getting bigger than the next. He raises his head to look at you, grinning from ear to ear, happily taking in the pleasurable strokes on your face.

“Cum with me, okay?” In between breaths, he gently places his calloused palm on your cheek, his hips quickening against the crinkled sheets. You stare back at him and nod, feeling the pressure of his cock harden stickily around your walls. His tangled curls tumble down the space between your fingertips while you reach out for him, setting in the downcast flutter in his eyes. He deeply groans at how his cock effortlessly glides and withdraws from your pussy; a slippery slope that’s impossible to contain himself with.

Like a force of lightning, he leans his chest forward, pouring himself on your lower abdomen and splaying his cum on your stomach. Quickly, he bounces out of bed and retrieves some tissues from the bathroom to clean you up. You sat up limply from the bed to take the tissues, but instead he wipes the fresh cum off your chest with great concentration. You’ve never seen him behave so nervously before. He was patting you dry like he spilled coffee all over your most favorite shirt.

“I don’t know what went over me.” He chuckles softly as he crumples the last tissue in his hand, throwing it in a bin closer to the door. You let your hip rest on his bended knee, calming the nerves coursing through his trembling figure. “You don’t have to know.” A small, reassuring smile creep the corners of your lips, resting your palm on top of his knee.

A gust of wind sweeps the flailing orange curtains, silkily brushing your skin like smooth ribbon. “All I know is,” He whispers softly in the small space between the two of you, your bent wrist kept in close contact with his fingertips.

“You find me beautiful.” The teasing hint in his voice liquifies your insides, his restlessness fading with your inability to look at him straight. His coffee brown eyes follow the direction of your fingers on his curly ends, then the plumpness of your thighs. “The prettiest.” He lunges forward with his arms wrapped around you, crushing you in a passionate kiss. Carefully, he pulls his arms away from the pressure of your back, then rests his elbows on the disorganized sheets, caging your vision with his heavy fixture.

Every little thing he does transfixes you to a thrilling paralysis. Nature fades at the sight of him, surpassing your high observant tolerances for your surroundings. He’s like a blinding light, the afternoon sun, and a white flashlight in a darkened room.

Most of your days started to revolve around him the moment he shone on that stage with his band in middle school—battling his heart out to the music and the good impression of the judges. The admiration has always been about him, and he doesn’t know that you did for a very long time. The gods of fate swept at your feet when you encountered him on the second week of freshman year, pinning Hellfire recruitment posters on the school’s cork board.

It used to be a silly little crush, ridiculous with no strings attached, but through the passage of time, you realized that it was more than what you believed it to be. You cradled into his chest, taking in his familiar scent and the steady, heaving motions of his stomach. All night, you’ve been thinking about what would've happened if you never joined Dustin and the others at the video store, or raise your tone at Mr. Owens for ridiculing Eddie at the printing shop.

What would happen if you declined Nancy’s request for the photos, and never went to the campaign at all? What would happen if you never encountered Eddie in the middle of the forest that day, or chased him outside the night you decided to end things with him?

These kinds of thoughts sink in like quick sand—with no capability to heap it into a bag and throw it away into the ocean of other nightmares.

For the first time in a while, you observe his state of rest—the shadowed lashes of his eyes pointing down to his hollow cheeks; his brows fixed in a calmer line and his pink swollen lips, exhaling peacefully. You wished—somewhere in the deeper crevices of your mind—that you get to spend many of your quiet evenings with him someday. Your imaginations start as you invite him to your empty house, where you both cuddle up on the couch and count the stars from the ceilings of your bedroom, until you pass out after the forty-sixth star.

You swear you'll never let him out of your sight again, no matter the cost of that promise, even after everything the town says about him. Or what they'll do to him. You don't care if you have to hide him in that damn tarp and ship him to California alongside yourself. There won't be any more expiration dates, no more judgement, and no more hiding.

No matter the cost. No matter the price.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine

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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 6 months

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Can you do an headcanon about the perfect Holiday gift for each Keanu's character,please?

Perfect Holiday gift for each Keanu Reeves' Characters Headcanon (John Wick, Ted Theodore Logan, John Constantine)

A/N: I hope I did this right, and I hope it's good for each character. I love this man so much 😩🤚

John Wick: John Wick, a man who has experienced so much loss and violence, would appreciate a gift that brings him peace and helps him move on from his past. Given his love for his dogs and his bookbinding hobby, the perfect gift for John Wick would be a beautifully handcrafted leather-bound journal. This journal could be customized with his initials and feature a dog paw print as a symbol of his beloved pets. It would give him a space to reflect on his thoughts and memories, perhaps even use it as a diary to express his feelings and find solace in the written word. Inside the book, you could slip a photo of his beloved late dog, Daisy, as a reminder of his past and the love he still carries with him and a candid picture of him with his new dog.

Ted Theodore Logan (Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure): Ted is all about the music and has a deep appreciation for classic rock. The perfect holiday gift for Ted could be a vintage, limited-edition electric guitar, perhaps a Fender Stratocaster, in a vibrant and eye-catching color. To make it even more special, it could come with a personalized message like “be excellent to each other and party on dudes!”

John Constantine (Constantine): John Constantine is known for his supernatural and occult interests. The perfect holiday gift for him would be a unique, ancient grimoire or spellbook that he hasn't encountered in his extensive travels. It could contain rare incantations, spells, and secrets from various mystical traditions. To add a personal touch, a silver amulet with protective symbols, ensuring his safety on his dangerous journeys, would be included as well.

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greenhorn-art · 7 months

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Prince of Shadows, Lord of Thieves by alkat

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 1 929

Once upon a time, their exploits were immortalized by artists and writers across the tapestry of history. Once upon a time, they were worshipped as gods and reviled as demons. None of that stopped the Met from stealing all their shit.

About the Book

FONTS: Alegreya [Google Fonts], Lato [Google Fonts]

IMAGES: all art made by myself @greenhorn-art for this fic

MATERIALS: regular ol' printer paper (8.5"x11", 20lb, 96 bright); ~2-2.5mm binder's board; Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", 65lb, bright white); Cialux bookcloth (black); waxed linen thread (30/3 size, white); wheat paste (1:4 flour:water); paste wax (from a friend, unknown ingredients&quantities, some kind of wax and turpentine/mineral spirits)

PROGRAMS USED: Affinity Publisher 2; Affinity Designer 2; Bookbinder JS | Renegade's Community Imposer (settings: Quarto, snug against binding edge, custom signatures of 2, 1, 2 sheets).

Text & QR codes printed with colour laser printer (duplex, flip long edge), images printed with inkjet printer. QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, snipped, saved, and inserted where needed.

BINDING: quarto (quarter-letter) size, sewn board binding with french link stitch and breakaway spine.

So this one all started because the visual of HST's outfit was so fun that I was possessed by a visceral need to draw it. Inspiration slapped me across my mind's eye, and much like a medieval knight being slapped in the face by a glove (which didn't actually happen, that's a myth that sprung from the throwing down of a gauntlet. but that's beside the point), I felt bound to take up the challenge. Which lead me to draw a few more, and then I ended up binding the whole thing.

(Also, I find it really amusing that the famous Terracotta Warriors were just storage for YXs stuff. And the gang going 'shopping' at various exhibits for gifts for friends/family,, like that sure is SOME window shopping! I can hear it now: 'Oooh I'll take one one those SMASH, and that SHATTER, and throw in some of those CRASH, they're going to love these! 😇'. All in all, it was a fun little read, and fun little project! :D)

About the Art

Because this was initially a one-off drawing I tried a new art style (and struggled to at least not stray too far for the rest). It was fun and helped me think more about shape and visual focus, instead of being caught up in the details.

The crow (based off of image ID: 4039963 from Rawpixel) and the red umbrella on the front cover were filled curves made with the pen tool. The illustrations' poses were based off of a combination of images found on Google and photos taken by myself.

Pinterest is awful for sources, but it would have been handy to pin the references I'd googled. Only remembered to save the one of a man sitting at a desk. (I deliberately searched for someone sitting with bad posture because YX is described as being "slumped" over the desk. I figure that since "the laws of physics held no meaning to ["cursed souls eschewed by the natural order"]", they'd also be immune to mundane things like discomfort from sitting hunched over for too long. Back pain images were a gold mine! All I had to do was choose one with lighting that would give me a silhouette.)

The Myriad Manifestations Umbrellas and illustrations were drawn in Procreate.

I opted for a more plain umbrella design because it's not (presumably) a fantastical weapon in this story. Though the initial version did have YX cradling the donghua!MMU.

For the scene breaks I inserted the images, pinned them inline as character, and adjusted height and baseline in the pinning menu to fit.

The author wrote one scene break differently than the others, using multiple empty paragraphs instead of just one. Following suit, I used a different image for that particular break. I wanted to reference vampires somewhere, so for that break I made two bloody spots resembling bite marks. The blood spots were made with a group of shapes in Designer.

On cover design:

Because the MMU is what sparks the whole heist, I wanted it on the front cover.

Earlier iterations involved a full cover spread with a man's shadow standing before a shattered glass case, with a plaque mounted on the wall to the left providing information. The plaque was formatted like a museum label and had the author, date published, title, event collection, and story description. I'd also added a QR code to it. Ultimately, I abandoned the concept because it was difficult to decipher what is was when only looking a one cover at a time.

My second idea for the cover would have been a bookcloth-only cover with a cut-out of the MMU on the front, acting like a window showing off an image of the MMU on paper below it. (Inspired by the work of a number of folks over on Renegade's Discord. Here's a few examples gleaned from a quick search: szynkaaa's lung cutouts, some of EHyde's books, and the front cover of Spock's massive all-in-one TGCF). As fun as that would have been to try out, I felt it didn't quite suit the style of the art so I nixed that too.

Eventually I landed on the back cover design with the Met exhibition webpage. At last, I felt that the back & white and simple-shapes-background went with the artwork. The webpage viewed on the phone is based off of the Met's actual website. I took a snip/screenshot of the Met's logo from the banner at the top, then looked at their exhibitions' pages and eyeballed it to create my own. (Threw in the QR because I wanted the easy access to the fic online on the back cover). I chose to use a phone screen rather than I computer monitor because it worked better composition-wise. And besides, while YX may be allergic to owning a phone, SMC is not. I imagine that she saw the news while on her phone then messaged him.

The front cover came together after that. An umbrella for the MMU, and a pop of red. One of YX's messenger crows. A black shape in the background similar to the back cover's, sort of creating a spotlight over the umbrella and placing the rest of the cover in shadow.

Trying New Things: Applying a protective finish to printed covers

Over on the Renegade Bindery Discord, folks have spoken about using a beeswax & turpentine/mineral spirits 50-50 mix to seal printed covers (thank you Kate). According to my dad that's just a paste wax, so he threw 3 different ones at me and said 'have at it'.

I tested them out using the same paper and inkjet I'll use for the cover. I was looking at 1) whether the paste wax affected the paper colour or print quality, and 2) the finish. After applying one coat each and buffing them out I had my winner. Then I applied & buffed two more coats to it and tested 3) water resistance by dripping tea on it. The liquid beaded up and wiped away without staining -- good, three coats will work nicely.

(Test results: Mystery paste wax from a friend wins.

The commercial SC Johnson Paste Wax Original formula (intended for woodworking) has a nice dry shiny finish, but coloured the paper slightly brown -> disqualified

My dad's homemade stuff has a nice shiny/satin finish and didn't change paper's colour, but it felt slightly tacky even after buffing it -- maybe I didn't buff it enough?

The gifted paste wax has a matte finish, didn't change paper's colour (in the image below this one has 3 coats. The paper is now slightly off-white, but still acceptable), and while not as dry-to-touch as the Johnson it was not as tacky as the other homemade stuff.)

When I print out my quarto covers, I print front and back covers side-by-side on the same page*, with some guides to ensure I'm cutting and gluing in the correct place. (The guides mark the boundaries of the covers and start of the turn-ins, and stop at the edge of where I cut. Before cutting I flip it over to mark the guides [see marks indicated in image below] on the wrong side and connect them so I can see where to glue/place book. Then flip it back over to cut, right side up.)

*I'm being economical here at the cost of possible warping damage. This layout means that I'm only using one sheet of paper, but the grain is running in the wrong direction (across the book instead of preferred head-to-tail/top-bottom). This could cause warping issues, but I'm OK with that. I'm hoping that by just gluing at the edges, instead of pasting down the whole thing, warping will be minimized. (I use wrong-grain endpapers most of the time with larger books anyways).

I applied the paste wax before cutting out the covers, working carefully to avoid accidentally creasing/bending the paper (which happened twice, but it was minimal and I hardly notice it). Doing so before cutting ensured that the cover material was completely covered. Even the turn-ins -- something I later came to regret. After all, wax is used specifically so that things don't stick to it. It made it rather difficult to drum on the endpapers because I was trying to glue something down onto a waxy surface. It all worked out in the end -- perhaps due to the fact that there were multiple layers of wheat paste which could adhere to each other, followed by being squashed in a press.

#Prince of Shadows Lord of Thieves #alkat #fanfiction #bookbinding #my art #the king's avatar #qzgs #tka

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sluttywonwoo · 1 year

Text

instead of you [part twelve] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two-and-a-half-hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Jisung. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Jisung and Felix bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Minho flicking them off.

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Jisung noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits.

You almost wished the Hans hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that.

If Jisung noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care.

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Felix asked, stretching his arms above his head.

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Minho had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status.

“Y/n,” Minho answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like Korea has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“Okay, but it’s the other way around for us. At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Felix interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Jisung shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Minho continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?”

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hans. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra beneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Minho’s polite smile.

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours.

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time.

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Minho’s legs down.

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Minho said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response.

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Minho. Jisung was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward.

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Minho outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit.

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?”

“Identity theft,” you sighed.

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Minho replied, false sympathy rolling off his words.

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you.

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit.

Minho made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you a famous dancer?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Choi Minho,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!”

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that’s on me, so…”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hans were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance.

“It’s about time!” Felix yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you.

Jisung grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hans were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked.

Minho nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Jisung.

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Jisung hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Jisung’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Jisung’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience.

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at… this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Jisung asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Minho chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Jisung. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Felix groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Minho, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Jisung tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

“Ji and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Jisung’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel… cozy.

Felix and Minho traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Minho again it’ll be too soon,” Felix sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Minho scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“That’s only because you’re wearing boots.”

“Whatever,” Felix grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Minho slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Felix whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Jisung explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hans.

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. We used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“All boys… I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Felix muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Jisung shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Jisung warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Jisung snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Jisung replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jisung growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Felix!” Jisung and Minho shouted, Minho going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Felix.” To your surprise, it was Minho who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Felix took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Jisung was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Jisung, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for… other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Jisung’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Jisung, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Felix was already fast asleep, but Minho and Jisung were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Jisung was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Minho didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Jisung’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Jisung and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other’s arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Jisung were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Jisung spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Jisung.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Minho stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Jisung standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Jisung’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Jisung just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Minho. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Jisung.

“Why do you ask?”

Minho shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

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