#I’ll draw moon eventually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

headkiss · 1 year

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give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

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

word count: 17.8k

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

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

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

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

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

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

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

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

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

“This one. It’s really good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s great. Really.”

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

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

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

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

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

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

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, thanks.”

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

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

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

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

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

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” you nod.

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

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

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

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

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

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

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

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

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

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

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

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

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

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

“Welcome back,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

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

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

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

“If you’re sure.”

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

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” He sighs.

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

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What she said!” Robin adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case you care.

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

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

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like being single, he’d said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

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

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

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

“Yep, ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you, you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

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

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

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

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

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

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

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

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

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

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

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

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

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

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

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

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

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

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

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

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

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

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

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

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Please.”

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

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

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

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

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

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

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

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

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

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

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

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

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

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

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

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

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

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

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

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

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

“You still want this?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

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

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

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

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

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

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

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

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

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

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

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

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

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

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

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

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

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close the door, would you?”

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

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

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie shakes his head.

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

“I don’t know about that.”

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

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

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

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not exactly,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s an absolute dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At what, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My hands?”

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

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

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

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

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

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༄

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yoonivy · 23 days

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 1.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 10k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

“It looks like a storm is heading this way,” Dorothea Mormont murmurs with a frown, her eyes set up above at the darkened sky, clouds of swirling greys gradually covering the sunlight. Sitting up from under a tree she had been reading by, she dusts herself off before picking up the skirt of her dress and then turns to the little girl close by her, drawing on the ground with a stick. “Come. We should head inside.”

You huff in frustration, ignoring your elder sister and continue on the mountains you already laid out on the dirt. You feel her stare for a couple more seconds before she calls your name sternly.

Stomping your feet, you cross your arms and glare at her. “But Dorothea … The day had just begun!”

You hated it. The start of the winter season in the North has been strange so far, but maybe even more so on Bear Island.

Instead of the falling of white and soft snow, it had been raining slates of hail. The temperature going from warm enough to go on out without your furs in the morn to your fingers and toes feeling frost bitten once noon hits the horizon. Your favourite season, summer, came and went so quickly that you had not enjoyed it in the fullest like you had earlier years; and autumn was merely a blink of an eye.

There is not much to do for a young lady such as yourself, only ten and two, when the cold comes around. Staying indoors is such a bore, and your mother would only allow you a few hours every other day to train with Ser Gregory and your brothers outdoors, unlike your older siblings who could stay out all day and night with duties they have outside the castle grounds.

A kind yet pitying smile spreads on your sister’s pretty face. She then walks over to you, taking a hold of your freezing hands, tenderly rubbing them in between her own to warm you up.

“I know, little cub. But look—“ you follow her gaze, at the training grounds a few yards away, where your three older brothers were practicing their swordsmanship with some of the others of the castle, but are now putting away their equipment. “It seems everyone else is done for the day as well.”

As if feeling eyes on him, the second oldest, Forrest, turns towards the two of you and waves, exuberant like always, before cupping his hands around his mouth to call out, “We’ve been called inside! A storm is coming!”

Dorothea rolls her eyes at her twin, mutters under her breath about how obvious that is. When she hears you giggle, she smiles your way. “Let’s go? I promise I’ll allow you to use my paints once we get inside.”

That has you excited, nodding happily, finally letting her guide you to your home, hand in hand.

Much to your displeasure to admit, it was a good thing that your sister had made haste inside when you had. For only an hour later, the harsh winds and flurry of snow surrounded the area, rattling Mormont Keep noisily. This blizzard more ruthless than any you have seen before.

It is night now, you are back in your bedchamber after supper and a hot bath. The tubes of paint and easel that Dorothea had promised you is abandoned in favor of staring out your window. A deep scowl mars your young face – a perfect mirror of your father’s whenever he has a tough decision to make, like when he had to travel to King’s Landing for two moons just to bend the knee to the Dragon girl-queen to be – knowing it would days before you step foot outside again.

Glaring out the window, you could see nothing but snow. Even the Godswoods that would always greet you when you peered outside cannot be seen tonight. It makes you wary for the all the animals out there – especially the bears like in your House’s sigil – hoping they are safe and sound, hibernating comfortably.

It’s too cold. You shiver, pulling the blanket you had draped around you closer to your body – and then that’s when you see it.

The flash of red outside in the sky, like burning flames, so vivid that it is visible through the stormy haze. Then a magnificent roar, louder than anything you have heard before, leading to another burst of orange and reds bright enough for you to witness something falling from the skies.

And as if something takes over your body — you don’t know what — that has you getting up, hurriedly lacing up your boots and grabbing your heaviest furs. You are already out the door and running through the halls when your older brother by two years, Jorah, exclaims behind you when he peeks out of his own bedchamber, “Did you all hear that, too?!”

You do not respond, almost colliding with your oldest brother, Braeden, when you reach the wooden staircase leading down to the main floor of the castle. By the look on his face, it seems that he too had seen whatever it was that fell from the sky. He checks you over, notices the furs you got on, and he just knew what you were about to do. He shakes his head slowly, says your name cautiously and then a warning, “ Wait— “

But it is already too late, your little legs carry you down the stairs, faster than he could catch up. You were always a spritely little menace when you wanted to be. Landing on the ground floor, you pass by your father who whips to look at you and the direction you are heading, calling out your name as well. But you don’t listen, don’t stop, not when you know that whatever it was out there that fell from the sky is all alone, out in the bitter cold.

You make it to the two large doors of the entrance, pressing yourself against it but it does not budge. The two guards on stand by on each of the two wooden pillars a few steps away from the doors are surprised at the sight of you, exchanging a look, but ultimately stays by their post because they know you, and this is not the first time you tried to escape the keep in plain sight. Besides, you are too small and weak to budge the door even slightly – especially now, with the winds outside pushing back against your hardest effort.

But then suddenly, the doors do start to move, and when you open your eyes in astonishment, thinking it is all you – you see that it was actually Forrest. With a smirk on his face, he throws a playful wink your way.

A wide smile spreads on your lips; of course it’s him! Being the total opposite of his twin, Forrest is always joining in your foolish plans, humoring you without knowing (or caring) about the consequences.

And this… This will probably have a huge consequence, you think as the double doors blow wide open, letting in the merciless storm inside your home.

The guards are flabbergasted, both taking a second to realize what just happened, watching you and Forrest make a break for it.

“Lord Forrest! Lady—”

You hear them behind you, following, but you keep running, surprisingly matching pace with your most athletic brother even if the blizzard is trying to slow you down.

“Little cub, where are we going?” Forrest asks in between labored breaths, arm in front of him to try to block the heavy wind blowing against him that is making him exert so much more energy.

You were faring much worse, the built up of fallen snow already at your kneecaps but you push through. So at his question, you try to pinpoint in your mind where on Bear Island that the fallen thing could have landed. You should know it. You know your home like it is the back of your hand… C’mon, you chastise yourself, THINK!

Then an image of a place pops in your head, and you know for sure that is where it should be.

“Beyond the castle walls! In the woods! Where Jorah fell off the tree and broke his ankle!”

Forrest knows exactly where you mean, making him frown. “That is pretty far, sister–”

“Forrest! You imbecile !”

Forrest looks behind him, laughing at the angry Braeden hot on your heels. He could turn you around — knows he should, for every second spent outside more dangerous than the last — but something about pissing Braeden off seems a lot more fun at the moment.

He runs a bit ahead of you, stopping with his back turned towards you and bends his knees. “Hop on!”

You do as he says, jumping on his back and he makes sure to secure his hold on you before he starts again. Soon enough the two of you are at the gigantic logged entrance of the castle walls, still open. They had not a chance to shut it earlier, waiting for some of the men to return from their hunt. But once they all got inside, it was far too late for the men still outdoors to close it together when they needed to seek shelter fast.

Just as you pass the carving of the woman dressed in bearskin with a child on the gates, you feel yourself getting pulled back. At your shock, your grip on Forrest loosens and before you know it the both of you land on your backs on the snowy ground. It is Braeden’s seething glare you see when your eyes open after the big tumble. But although very clearly angry, he pulls both you and Forrest up on your feet.

“What the hell are you two doing?!” Braeden seethes while looking between his two younger siblings. Neither of you look him in the eyes – Forrest looks down in shame and you are looking beyond him as if he is not even in front of you. “Are you trying to get killed or are you both just daft?!”

“We were just–”

“Don’t even answer that,” Braeden shuts Forrest down, not wanting to hear any dumb excuses for the rhetorical question he asked. “Now get your feet moving back to the keep or else I’ll kill you before the storm does—”

And your feet do get moving — but in the opposite direction of your home. Braeden swiftly grabs your shoulders from either side and makes you face him directly.

“Are your ears broken?! Are you not gonna listen to me?!” He yells in your face. Braeden does not know what has gotten into you. Forrest, he can see him doing this. But you… You are always one to do as you are told. Sure, you would occasionally throw a fit but are never outright disobedient like this. But tonight, you are the mastermind of this stupidity.

And even now, even as he is up in your face, your eyes are still darting from his and then to the darkened entrance into the woods. His grip on you tightens, terrified that you’ll run off again if given the chance. He says your name to try to get your attention, and that is when another roar shakes up the island.

It sounds so mournful, wounded, and hearing it causes your heart to pick up in a panic, your breathing getting heavier.

“We have to…” You trail off, trying to pull away from your eldest brother. He keeps you in place, gesturing at the two guards who had just caught up for help with a gesture of his head.

“No, we have to go back inside.”

“But Braeden–”

“No,” he cuts you off, this time his word sounding more final.

Or it should be. You know it should be because Braeden is not only the oldest but the wisest of your siblings and you should not argue with him. But you just can’t… You just can’t sit by and just let this go.

You look him straight in the eyes, back straightening to feel more confident in your stance of defiance. “But you saw it didn’t you?! The thing that fell from the sky!”

“ And…? ” His brows furrow together as his head shakes incredulously. “What about it? What if it’s dangerous?”

Another beastly cry resounds, proving his point.

“You hear that? That’s a dragon—”

“And a bloody big one at that—”

“Shut up, Forrest. I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

“But what if it’s—”

“What if it’s what?!” It was you who Braeden snaps at this time, only to turn to see your watery gaze, and he is not sure if it’s because of the harsh wind on your face or if it's something else.

“I don’t know! ” You choke out with a sob, and he gets his answer. You are upset and in distress, worried for the unknown. “But something – or someone – out there needs help! Our help! ” You scream over the wailing winds in your eardrums. The tears are flowing freely down your face now, and it is clear you are having a hard time breathing, on the brink of hyperventilating, “Please, Braeden, please… They’re all alone and probably scared and –”

Braeden is not one to be swayed by tears. And this will not be the first.

It is your bravery that makes him change his mind.

He takes a shuddering sigh, silently praying to the Gods that if you all make out of the woods alive, that his mother would not finish the job.

“Alright, little cub,” Braeden presents his hand to you with a small smile. “Then let us help them. Together.”

Brightening up slightly, you take his hand, head bobbing in determination.

The journey to the far eastern side of Bear Island where the willow tree that Jorah fell from and broke his ankles just three moons ago is going to be quite a perilous task. Climbing down the steep jagged hills that borders one of the rivers that runs through Bear Island and then crossing across said river has always been intensely tough, more so now with the blizzard picking up. Luckily one the guards that accompanied you and your brothers, Tylor, used to be a part of the group of woodcutters that traverse that part of the island before he took the post to guard your family. He leads your group now, navigating a path that even you could easily keep up with.

Soon enough, you make it closer and closer to where you needed to be, and another howl from the sorrowful dragon lets your group determine just how close you are.

You weren’t far off from your prediction, passing the willow tree to go a bit more north. That is where you find the most gigantic and terrifying creature you have ever seen in your life.

The dark green-bronze dragon laid on the ground and has made a clearing for itself with all the trees it had trampled flat. As soon as Braeden - who is the head of the group - steps foot in its newfound territory, its ferocious eyes snap your way, a low rumbling of a warning in its throat. “Well, shit…” Forrest blurts out in awe, exchanging a look with Braeden. “I do not think we are wanted here.”

Braeden sighs with a nod, glancing back at the dragon and seeing nothing amiss – except, you know, just the dragon – then looks down towards you. “I’m sorry, little cub. It seems this was all for naught.”

Your lips tremble, confused because you know you saw something fall. “But we saw it fall, and it wasn’t just the dragon!”

“It must have been its droppings,” Forrest jokes through his chattering teeth. “Scared shitless because of the storm.”

You glare at him, hating how he could be right. Is that really just what you saw?

“My Lords, my Lady. We should head back now before your Lady Mother has our heads,” the second guard, Howland, pipes up; sounding more scared of your mother than the beast up ahead.

Braeden agrees with him, making a motion for you all to turn around to retrace your steps back to Mormont Keep. This time you do not argue.

But you glance back one last time, watching the dragon watching you, raising its head slightly off the ground as it huffs in satisfaction at your retreat. Then that is when you see it – a tiny hand, lifting up to caress the underside of the dragon’s neck before it falls back limp. You couldn’t really make out what it was, the snow obstructing your vision of whatever it is on the ground that the dragon is curled up around, protective. But it seems small – young.

You are running again before you, yourself, could even comprehend what you are doing.

As you weave through the fallen trees, your brothers and the guards try to follow – but another angry growl from the now alert dragon freeze you all in your place.

“Turn around now ,” Braeden seethes at you, eyes between you and the dragon that is now slowly getting up, looking like it’s getting ready to lunge. He moves his body just an inch, not even taking a step forward, and the dragon still gives a roar of fury.

But you were close enough now that when you squint your eyes to see better, you can see that the dragon is definitely coiled around someone. A human.

“There’s someone there!” You call back to your brothers.

“What?!”

“The dragon is protecting them…” You trail off, notice them shivering violently.

They do not look like they are in good shape.

The sight has the urgency coursing through your veins, taking a tentative and slow step forward. The dragon keeps its eyes on you, but doesn’t make a sound this time. Perhaps foolish on your part, but this has you rationalizing that it is allowing you to come closer.

“Stop being stupid!” You hear Forrest behind you and the snap of a tree branch being stepped on. That has the dragon snapping its jaw forward – though not towards you but at your companions. When they stop moving, it focuses on you again, huffing and tilting its chin down, towards the child hidden underneath it to protect them from the cold. A whimper vibrates the dragon’s throat, and that is when you knew . It wants you — and only you — to help.

Your feet keep moving now, not in a sprint but faster than a walk. You hear your brothers calling your name but you just shout back that you’ll be okay, that you can do it alone. For some inexplicable reason, you knew in your heart that the dragon would not harm you.

You are closer now, close enough to truly take in how enormous this creature is. Are all dragons this big? 10 of them can probably cover the whole entirety of Bear Island. Maybe less.

Shaking your head, you focus on the more important task at hand than mathematics. Getting to whoever it is the dragon is protecting.

You quicken up your pace and you finally reach the foot of the dragon. It moves slightly, pushing a log aside to give you an easier path to where the child lays beneath it. It bends its neck down, pushing you with its snout with another huff as if saying, hurry .

You are not cautious anymore, running full speed ahead and find a young boy who looks not much older than yourself at the center of the nest the dragon had made. His hair and skin were as pale as the snow on the ground that was not scorched with the dragon’s fire and clothes dark enough to just seem like a piece of fallen wood or a big rock. It’s no wonder none of you could see him earlier.

Dread fills you up, noticing he is not moving at all. Not even a shiver shook him. You quickly crash beside him, knees hitting the ground in a way that should hurt but you don’t feel it. With your own decreasing strength — finally feeling the chill slowing and weighing down your body – you pull him towards you, his upper body lying precariously on your lap.

“Wake up, please… Please, wake up…” you murmur to him, eyes filling with heated tears. You caress his face, your thumb rubbing across his cheek, just below the line of a scar running through his right eye. It is a healed one, so it wasn’t from the fall. At least there is that. But as you push his bangs off his face, you find blood gushing from his temple. Feeling sick, you try to check how bad it is, pressing your fingers around the cut. While you inspect, that’s when the boy starts to stir slightly.

Frozen, you stare at his face as his unscarred eye starts to move from behind the lid. Then he is blinking, slow and blearily, until it opens and you are greeted with the most vivid shade of violet. Your heart jumps to your throat as his head tilts and looks at you with the softest gaze, murmuring,

“ Enke..litsos... ? ”

Before you can ask what he means, his eye flutters shut again, though not before you see the light in them dimming. A sob wrecks through your body, pulling him into a tight embrace. Hoping and praying that would not be the last time you see that beautiful lilac eye.

The murmurings at the other side of the wooden door that you have your ear pressed against is way too quiet. Your little fists clenched at your sides tightly so, frustrated that you are having trouble eavesdropping on the conversation.

It has almost been two hours since you, your brothers, and the guards had burst through the entrance of your home, shocking your family at the sight of an unconscious young boy that they have never seen before carried on Forrest’s back. It has almost been two hours, and you still do not know the fate of the boy that you had saved.

Did you actually even save him? Is he even still alive ?

You try not to think about how he was so cold to the touch, the blue of his lips, the light leaving his violet eye.

You have never been so scared before. It must have been evident in your sobbing and desperate calls for your brothers’ help as you struggled to lift the boy up by yourself that the dragon finally allowed them to come to you.

You remember the intense look in the dragon’s eyes as it watched you leave its territory. You knew it had been holding back, choosing to trust you to take care of the boy who is clearly important to it.

Was the dragon wrong to put its trust on you to save the boy it had been fiercely protecting?

You thump your forehead against the door, pressing hard on it enough to hurt as you blink away the incoming tears.

“Oi, stop doing that.”

You glance over to the side where Braeden sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall beside the door. He looks absolutely exhausted.

Being the oldest, Braeden got the brunt of the scolding. Your mother did not know whether to be angry at her children’s foolish venture or praiseful that said foolish venture might have saved a person’s life. So she settled for both, which was more frightening in the long run.

“You should go to sleep,” you tell him, turning your head to once again frown at the door as if it offended you. “Forrest already has.”

He chuckles. “As you should, as well. A little cub needs to hibernate, you know? To grow big and strong.”

You take a deep inhale, ignoring him. Or you try to. Maybe if you were strong enough then maybe…

“He is in good hands,” Braeden says aloud after a few minutes of silence. “Remember, Maester Garland is the reason our great-grandfather lived to be 102.”

It is not that you did not think Maester Garland is incompetent, it is that you think you were not fast enough to bring the boy to the maester to treat to the best of his capabilities. Your group did take the riskier path back home, in an obvious hurry, but you are afraid that was not enough.

You are about to tell your oldest brother what has been weighing down on your mind, when the door suddenly opens, startling you to take a step back with a gasp.

At the sight of the two of you, your mother heavily sighs.

“When did my two most obedient children stop listening to me?” She murmurs mostly to herself but obviously intending for you and your brother to hear her.

“Our names are not Dorothea One and Dorothea Two ,” you remind her haughtily. You might be pushing it now, but you could not hold back, your frustration from waiting so long taking over you. When Braeden laughs at your jest, your mother narrows her eyes at the both of you.

She could not even reply back, as you are already trying to push past her and into the room. You don’t get very far though, her arm barring you from entering.

“The boy needs his rest, and you do too, young lady,” she says, foregoing your familial pet name. Whenever someone does that, you know they are obviously not in the mood to coddle you or they are seriously upset with you. Your mother is both at the moment.

But her tone does not even phase you, when all you could really focus on is her words:

The boy needs his rest.

So does that mean…?

“So he is alright?” Your brother asks, beating you to it.

While he stands up from the ground, your mother answers, “He will be–” her stern gaze resting on you, “-- if his rest is uninterrupted–”

“Did he awaken!?” You ask excitedly, and she hushes you quickly with a glare, pressing a finger to her lips. You quickly slap a hand over your mouth, looking into the room, but all you see is Maester Garland and your father coming out of it.

Just as your father is about to close the door, you manage a quick peek into the guest chamber. They had moved the bed closer to the fireplace in the room, but you do not see the boy. The headboard of the bed hiding him from your view. At least you know he will be warm.

“He has not yet awakened–” Your face drops, turning to Maester Garland. Like always, there is a kind smile on his face, and he continues, “But if it will ease you, My Lady, he is breathing evenly and is even talking in his sleep. I will not lie to you, his left arm is broken and so are a few ribs. But all that will heal in due time.”

Your father clasps his hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your worry. “Forrest broke his ribs and it only took a moon to heal, remember that?”

You nod, remembering it all too well. The heated fight that broke out between your brother and the youngest Stark boy, Willam. It was the first time you have ever seen your brother being truly angry and you often wondered what had really transpired between them, what words were exchanged.

“And what of the wound on his head?” Braeden asks, breaking you out of the memory.

“Luckily it is just a minor cut. There is no sign of a hemorrhage or anything too serious. But I will be checking again in the morrow to make certain.”

Braeden hums, seemingly more at ease now with the new information. He smiles your way. “You hear that, little cub? He will be alright.”

Though you nod, you look downcast, gnawing at your lip.

You feel hands on your shoulders, and when you peer in front of you, it is not your father, but your mother bending down to be at your height.

“You did well,” she begins, causing your eyes to well up. “Although I’m still upset at you; you were a very brave and wonderful girl today, little cub.”

“I think she takes after you, my love,” your father says, chuckling. “You would have done the same thing in her shoes.”

Your mother laughs as she tugs you into her warm embrace. You squeeze her back tightly.

“Now, shall I tuck you into bed?”

Feeling sleepiness overtake you now, you allow your mother to take you by the hand. As the two of you walk away, you hear the three left behind still conversing behind you.

“I really do hope the blizzard passes soon so I can send a raven to King’s Landing. His family must be worried sick.”

“King’s Landing? I thought the boy did not wake…?”

“He does not need to wake for us to know who he is. There is no doubt about it. The boy… He is who they call One-Eye. The King’s youngest son—”

Heartbeat quickening, his name starts to echo in your head as soon as you hear your father utter it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You had thought the stories you heard about the one-eyed Targaryan Prince were just that — stories.

You had never believed them, always scoffing whenever Septa Earla caught you taking an extra piece of pie and her reminding you that your greed will someday lead you to be like One-Eye; the prince who stole a dragon from a dead girl and in turn lost his own eye for it. You had thought it was such a stupid tale. Who would not trade an eye for a dragon? How could you even steal a dragon in the first place?

But now, you think about that ferocious and colossal creature in that clearing. The mere thought of the young prince stealing it makes no sense to you. Not only is he smaller than yourself, but you highly doubt the dragon would allow anyone to just “steal” it, whatever that entails. No, you think about the protectiveness the dragon has over the young boy, and you have the feeling that whatever it is that transpired between the prince and the mighty beast is not a one-way devious act. They have a bond that your Septa’s silly, little cautionary tale could never comprehend.

Then that has you thinking, wondering what made this Aemond Targaryen so special enough to have a dragon so loyal to him. It cannot just be because he is a prince, right? Is it because of his bloodline? You remember learning something about the Targaryens and their bloodline, how they came from an old and ruined city in the East. Or something like that… Perhaps you should have listened to those lessons closer, but you did not really care for history like Jorah does…

So you think, and think, and overthink so hard that you could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in your bed.

You need to know more about Aemond Targaryen.

Huffing, you finally sit up. It is early in the morning now, and if the blizzard was not still ravaging hard outside, the sun would be beginning to rise in just an hour. Which means that although there would be a few in the Keep slowly awakening to start their day, there would still be a chance for you to sneak out of your chamber without being seen.

Pulling your blankets off you and hopping out of bed, you are quick yet light footed when you leave your bedchamber. Luckily, the room that the Targaryen Prince is currently in is close by yours, just five doors down the hall. You slip into his room like a ghost, barely making any sound.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressing up against it. You have always been too hasty, not thinking your plans through. But this one might be stupider than the one you had last night, traversing out in the blizzard… Barging into a room without consent. Not only was it improper, but it was rude and you were taught better. If your parents were not disappointed in you before, they would most definitely be now. Besides, it is not like he is awake to answer all the burning questions you came in here to ask.

So you decide to just leave, come back when he is lucid enough for company.

Though before you can open the door, you hear him start to stir behind you, whimpering in discomfort. You are swift to turn right back around, rushing to check on him.

The young prince looks better than the last time you saw him – color has returned to his complexion – but he still looks unwell. He lays there, a pained look pinching his sleeping face and a sling around his arm. Although for you it feels sweltering in the room, Aemond is still shivering as if still out in the cold. It has your heart clenching at the sight.

Worriedly, you touch his face with the back of your hand, gasping when you feel just how cold he still really is.

You take a hold of his hand closest to you - luckily, it is the one that is not broken - keeping it in between your hands as you start to try to rub the cold away. This always made you feel better whenever your loved ones did it to you, it always brought a warm feeling in your chest.

It seems to be working. As you continue, the tension between his brows relaxes slightly due to your touch. The silver-haired prince looks a bit more at peace now. A sigh of relief falls from your parted lips.

You keep at it for a bit, only stopping when a yawn creeps up on you. That is when you realize how tired you are now, body feeling heavy and head full of fluff. You should go anyway, before anyone finds you in there.

But when you go to pull your hand away, the once loose hold of his hand in yours tightens, keeping you in place. You try again and again to pry yourself away but his grip on you will not let up. For someone so small, it surprises you how strong he seems.

Finally, after a couple more minutes of trying and him not budging, you groan as you give up. Standing in place, you grow even more exhausted, and it has you looking around. You will not sit yourself on the bed beside him, even if there is room; but you cannot stand there anymore. That is when you spot a stool just beside his bed. It must have been the one Maester Garland had been sitting on when he was tending to the young prince. With your leg stretching, you manage to catch your foot around a leg to bring it closer to you.

Once you sit down, you heave another sigh, wondering to yourself how you got into this predicament. Then you laugh to yourself, remembering it was all you.

Soon, you start to slump on the stool, eyelids drooping until it closes.

So it is there where you finally fall asleep, holding onto the prince’s hand.

“ Nngh..? ” The feeling of your hand getting squeezed causes you to stir awake. Your eyes blink open slowly, the wet feel of drool running down the side of your cheek that is pressed against soft fur. After wiping the gross feeling, you sit up, groaning with a stretch to alleviate the ache in your back — only to register that you could not, as the unfamiliar hand holding your own prevented you from doing so.

Confused, your gaze follows where your hand is connected, only half-remembering where you are. That is when you catch a lilac eye staring wide-eyed at you, a flush of pink high on the prince’s cheeks. The sight causes you startle with a gasp, so surprised to see him awake. The prince flinches minutely at your reaction, snatching his hand away from yours, head turning the other way, not facing you anymore.

You are too ecstatic to question it, not even noticing, so overjoyed that he is sitting up and awake and alive .

“Are you–”

“What happened to it?”

Your head tilts in confusion, but it is not like he can see it. “It…?” Then you realize, “Oh! The dragon?!” You glance out the window, the snow storm still wrecking havoc outside. You frown a little, murmuring as you look back at him, “I’m sure it’s fine… I hope so…”

His head to you, glaring as he snaps, “No, I don’t mean Vhagar. I know she’s fine. But…” He turns away again, for some reason unable to look at you for long, letting his hair fall to cover his face. “Where is it? My patch…”

“Your patch…?”

“Do not lie to me. It is an unforgivable offense to lie to a prince, you know,” he threatens. You see his hand that was once holding yours now clenching at the fur blanket covering him. “So give me back my eyepatch or else I’ll…” He takes a deep breath, and you are not sure if he is letting you fill in the blank to scare you more or if he just could not think of a punishment.

You sit up, pushing the stool back with the heels of your foot to create a bit of distance between the two of you. He lifts his head up slightly at the sound of the legs of the stool scratching the floor.

“When I found you, you were not wearing an eyepatch,” you let him know, frowning. It irritated you that he was accusing you of something you had no knowledge of, that all his ire is directed towards you. But you tell yourself to show kindness because of how terrified he must be feeling, being in an unfamiliar place – and injured, nonetheless. “It must have fallen off while you were falling. I’m sorry, but I do not have it.”

He takes a swallow at that, head turning to face you again, his violet eye on you while the other side of his face still obscured by his silver hair. “ You … You were the one that found me?”

You give him a tentative nod, nervous that he will accuse you of something else.

“So you are…” His face softens a bit as he mutters to himself just as soft, “ Enkelitsos… ”

Though quiet, you hear him. You were about to ask him what that means — for it is the second time you had heard him say it — but a knock on the door has your mouth clamping shut. Both your head turns, watching the door open. In comes Maester Garland, who stops short at the sight of the two of you.

Attention on you, the Maester huffs out a slight chuckle, “I should have known you’d be here, Lady—“

At the sound of your name, the young Prince perks up, glancing at you through the corner of his eye.

“I just got here!” You lie. Luckily, the only other one who knows the truth did not sell you out.

“I’m sure…” Maester Garland says with a smile. “I think everyone is breaking their fast now. Would you like to join them while I check over our young guest here? And you can come back with some food for him as well.”

Though it sounded like a suggestion, you knew it was really an order. So you nod, getting off the stool as you grin at the young Prince. “I’ll be back! I’ll get you the most delicious food, don’t you even worry about it!”

He looks at you in mild surprise, nodding back. Then you are running out the door, the Prince watching you until you are out of his sight.

A few days pass before the blizzard also passes, and your father is finally able to send a raven to King’s Landing in regard to Prince Aemond. He writes about what had happened, how Aemond is doing, and Maester Garland’s professional opinion of allowing Aemond to heal on Bear Island for a moon before sending him back home. Your father also writes that he, himself, will be happy to take the Prince home with a few bannerman but if they have another plan, he is all ears for it.

While waiting for a letter back from King’s Landing, your family welcomes Aemond to your home, trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible. By his fifth day at Mormont Keep, he was told that he was well enough to eat with your family in the dining hall. At first he had politely refused, but on the eighth day, he timidly joined in the middle of dinner. By the end of that dinner, you can tell he was well entertained by Jorah’s and Forrest’s antics, and it was nice to see him laughing despite doing so seems to hurt his still healing ribs. He joined every family meal after that.

Prince Aemond and your brothers get along swimmingly, especially Forrest – which is not surprising because Forrest has a way of making a person feel like he is truly their best friend. Your parents and Dorothea also become quite fond of the young boy. Maester Garland likes how curious he is, always asking questions. Even Septa Earla has only nice things to say about him, warning you not to repeat the story she used to tell about him.

As you watch everyone around you get closer to the Targaryen prince, you can not help but feel envious. Ever since that first time the two of you talked, you never had again. But it is not like you have not tried. Because you have. Every. Single. Day.

Like clockwork, you visit him in his chamber every morning, trying not to let it get to you when he allows you inside after you knock, only to look away when he realizes it is you . You push through the cold shoulder he gives you; telling him about your day, reading to him your favorite books, showing off your latest embroideries or artworks — anything you can think of that would interest him. Honestly, it is like talking to a wall, but at least you know a wall has no choice but to not talk back.

It is upsetting. The only time you ever hear his voice is if he is talking to someone else. Even whenever you are in a group, he would only answer questions you asked if someone else repeats it after you.

You are not sure why he is treating you this way. It cannot just be because of the eye patch he accused you of keeping from him, right? Does he really just hate you? It hurts, but you pretend to everyone else that all is fine, only allowing the tears to flow when you are alone in your bedchamber at night.

You do not even know why you keep trying. You guess it is because the other kids on the island are either older or way too young to be your friend. Sure you have your siblings, but you’ve always wanted a best friend of your own like you have read in your books — and then Aemond fell from the sky, and it might be selfish but in your heart all this was fated for him to be that friend for you. Why else were you the one that saw him fall and the one who found him and the one his dragon, Vhagar, allowed to come to him?

Still, it was disheartening to be ignored. One can only take a number of rejections before giving up all hope.

So on the day that marks the second week that Aemond has been staying at Bear Island, you decide that this day will be the last time that you try to get through to him to become your friend. If he once again gives you the cold shoulder then you will leave him alone, forever.

Or at least until he leaves in a few weeks. Then after that, you’ll never have to see him ever again and with no effort on both your part. Because on that same morning, your father wakes you to tell you the news. They had just received a raven from King’s Landing and got word from the king himself that they trust your father’s words and are grateful for the care your house has given to the young Prince. He would like his son home sooner, but if the maester believes that a few more weeks to heal would be good for the boy then they’ll adhere to his suggestion.

Before he leaves for this morning duties, your father hands you a tiny scroll, telling you with a smile that he is trusting you to deliver it safely to the prince. It is a very important note from his mother and sister and it will definitely brighten up his day.

Maybe – just maybe – today will be the day , you think to yourself as you get ready. It is sunny outside, and you were also informed that Ser Gregory wants you to train with your brothers today. Not only that, you and Dorothea finally finished the little project you asked her to help you with last night. So once you are done getting dressed, you grab the scroll and the secret thing from inside your box full of your personal treasure before skipping excitedly out of your room.

“Come in,” you hear the muffled call out from the other side of the door you had just knocked. When you walk inside, you knew what you will be greeted with… Absolutely nothing. Once again, when the prince sees it is you, he looks away, pretending no one even came in the room as he quickly shuts the book he has in his hands.

You take a deep breath, trying to let it not bother you. At this point, you should be used to it by now.

You stride with purpose into the room, stopping beside where he sits at the desk. You hold your palm out, presenting the tiny scroll. You can see him eye it curiously.

“It is from your mother and sister,” you tell him. At that, he glances up at you, sees the kind smile on your face before sharply looking back down to cautiously take the note from your hand. While he pulls at the string, you let him know, “You’ll be staying for a couple more weeks so you can heal properly, then my father and a few of our bannerman will take you home.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “Lord Mormont already told me earlier.”

Your father already visited him? Then why did he not just give him the note then? You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes at your father’s antics. He must have known how hard you have been trying to befriend the prince.

As Aemond opens the note, you give him some privacy, turning away to look and touch at the knick knacks on the desk he has made his own. Some things you can tell are from your brothers, but most were given to him by you. That is when you notice that the book he had been reading is the one you told him is your favorite. It makes you smile a little, but you remind yourself not to make a big deal of it. He was probably just bored.

“What are you wearing?” You hear Aemond ask, and when you turn to him, he is staring at you, the note placed neatly on the desk. You almost want to point at yourself and go, ‘ who me ?’ because this is the first time he has ever said something directed at you without you having to prompt him first. But you guess your outfit for today is very different from your usual. Instead of skirts and dresses, you have dressed up in your new favorite pants.

Taking a step back, you proudly show it off, spinning for him. “It’s my new training outfit! Dorothea made it for–”

“Training…?”

Smiling wide, you excitedly nod. “Yes! Today, Ser Gregory is teaching me how to block–”

“Girls don’t fight,” Aemond says like it is a fact, taking you aback.

“Yes, they do!’ You snap back, getting a bit heated now.

“No, they don’t,” he says again, though a confused frown sits on his face. “My mother, the Queen, doesn't. My sister doesn’t. A lady doesn’t fight.”

You glare at him. If you weren’t so mad, it would have dawned on you that this is the first time he has held your gaze for longer than a second.

“ I’m a lady too! I’m ten and two already, and they do fight, like my mother and grandmother and—”

“You’re ten and two?”

You let out a frustrated huff, sick of his interruptions and his backwards way of thinking. So entitled and rude. Are all princes like this? Do you even want to be his friend anymore?

“What’s it to you ?”

He glances at you from under his pale lashes and says softly as if shy, “I am as well…”

Your eyes widen, eagerly asking him when his date of birth is. Turns out, yours and his are only a few days apart. And just like, everything he has done to you and the way he treated you prior to this is forgotten. You excitedly ask him a million more questions, and this time, he indulges you with the answer.

Some time passed and although you hated to halt this development between you and the prince, you had to get going to train with Ser Gregory.

“I guess I should get going,” you tell him after the both of you had died down from a fit of laughter because of a story you told about Septa Earla and a hornets’ nest.

Maybe you are imagining things, but you could have sworn you saw a flicker of disappointment on his face. “I suppose you should…”

Even after bidding each other a good day, you shift in place awkwardly. Although you had been waiting for today’s training for so long, you just did not want to leave… But you should. With a sigh, you turn, about to head out, when–

“Oh!” You turn back to him, remembering you had something else for him. From your pocket, you take it out to give to him. Once he has it in his hand and is examining it, you start explaining, “I know this might not be like the one you lost but I hope you’ll like it! I don’t know what your old one looks like but I borrowed Butcher Pate’s for reference. You see, he lost his eye from a fishing accident way before I was born. But anyway, I think I must have weirded him out when I asked for it. Dorothea and I made it – well, okay, mostly Dorothea made it but look–” you proudly point out the little purple embroidery on the band of the leather eyepatch, “I did that! Isn’t it nice? I’m not usually good at lettering but I tried really hard to perfect your initials!”

You were talking so fast, a million words per second, that Aemond can’t help but giggle a bit. When you are done, you wait expectantly, nervous as well in the way you toy your fingers together. Then Aemond’s lilac eye is on you, a big smile spreading on his face, rounding his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says, so genuinely that it makes all of Dorothea’s chores that you did to have her make it worth it. Then he looks away, back at the eyepatch in his hands, fingers feeling the threading, “And I’m sorry… For being so… Unsavory towards you.”

Your heart warms at his apology, almost tearing up. But you blink it back when he looks up at you again and repeats, “I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you forgive easily. This is what you wanted. All your hard work had paid off. Then with a toothy grin, you add teasingly, “At least you know that you were being a jerk.”

His head dips sheepishly. Before he can drown in sorrow, you hit his good shoulder playfully.

“Would you like to watch my brothers and I train?”

When Aemond nods, you hold your hand out, offering it for him to take.

He does.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd #aemond #aemond targaryen

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earth2bucky · 3 months

Text

gale dekarios / reader

request for helping the other bathe post-injury!

All prior eves of lacerations and concussions considered, a sprained arm is hardly the worst of consequences you’ve invited in your travels. In the absence of any real, life-threatening danger, all that surrounds the injury is a persistent inconvenience. Your inability to help set up camp comes at no great personal loss, but the same can’t be said for the undesirable of bathing one-handed. And so you turn to your wizard, ever willing, to smooth out the indentations of armor from your skin and rinse the mud from your tousled hair.

Approaching yet another questionably sanitary body of water, led by his callused, ever-persistently ink-stained hands, you let out a deep sigh.

“Once we reach the gate, I’m not leaving the bathhouse for a full week. Mindflayers and cultists be damned. I’m not doing a thing until I’ve scrubbed off three layers of skin and smell of roses from a mile away.”

Gale’s eyes are occupied with ensuring the safety of your steps, but a gentle smile crosses his face all the same. Despite the weariness stamped beneath his eyes, he shines under the healthy glow of the moon. There’s something incredibly vulnerable about moments like these; hidden under tree cover from the heavens and their forsaken goddesses.

“And a robe. I’d like a robe. Something pretty.”

“I’ll see to it myself, love - though admittedly for my enjoyment as much as yours.”

Any flirty comeback you had lined up is overshadowed by a dramatic shiver as your skin hits the water. With the usual urgency of seeing you in any state of discomfort, Gale waves a hand absentmindedly over the surface of the water and you feel sharpness turn to warmth.

“Mm. You beautiful man, thank you.”

He smiles, a gentle, tired thing, and lowers you to kneel betwixt his legs.

As he settles into position, the hand that isn’t occupied with untangling your hair sits tenderly at your throat, right on the pulse. If you could wrangle yourself quiet enough, you’re sure you’d hear him matching his breathing against the dull rhythm. It's a habit you often catch him indulging in; to seek out veins and pulse and rewrite himself to the same tune. To love a living, breathing creature is to kneel in prayer to a fallible god - and Gale Dekarios is never one to back down from a challenge. He had flown too close to the heavens and swallowed the stars, and what a terrible waste it would be if not to bring them back and litter them along your collarbones in reverent kisses.

To be doted upon with such reverence, such pure devotion, suddenly spikes the threat of tears at your eyes. Gale is a devout man; to his studies, his fallen goddess, to the arcane. Really, it should’ve come as no surprise to you that his worship would extend tenfold to the object of his affections - but it seems to knock you right in the chest every time.

“I understand why Tara likes this so much.”

Gale makes a sound of amusement somewhere in the back of his throat. “I won’t deny that we share a profound bond, but I assure you that I do draw the line at bathing with my tressym.”

“I meant your hands, in my hair - silly man.”

“I see. I told you that the two of you were alike.”

“Perhaps, but I draw the line at purring for you.”

His resounding chuckle catches you by surprise, warm and boyish. It’s a pleasant sound, and a far cry from his usual intensity. You fidget under his touch.

“Please get this dirt out of my hair so I can kiss you.”

“In good time.”

You hum in agreement, despite the impatience that flits around in your gut. To his credit, he makes good on the promise on just outside of a minute, gently rinsing your hair with handfuls of water and using the other to shield your eyes.

When you eventually rise to face him, he looks just as wound up by emotion as you feel.

Thank yous are murmured in-between fond kisses that you begin to quite lose yourself in, only to be found back in your pain in an attempt to draw him closer. A hairsbreadth from his lips, your breath hitches, and Gale, ever attuned, begins to scheme.

“As much as I appreciate your usual tenacity - perhaps this is an excuse to still your wandering hands for a night."

Despite your pain, a pang of desire spikes in the pit of your stomach.

“Gale Dekarios, you are a sadist and an insufferable tease.”

His softening frown hangs around for a moment longer in dramatized hurt at your insinuation.

“Perish the thought. When have you ever known me a selfish lover?"

Another instance of pain rings out then, the way it often does when you’re feeling especially sentimental and consider Gale’s motivations too deeply. Always so composed, accommodating, willing to please. Refusing to indulge for fear of losing himself in the surrender. Whether it's a lingering effect of the orb or the result of serving a goddess you’re not sure, but you vow to dismantle it all the same.

You respond with a proposal of your own, and trust him to read between the lines. “Another night, when I have full use of all my extremities, you’re to let me return the favor.”

Any trepidation in his initial reaction is soothed by the sincerity in your gaze, or perhaps he’s simply too tired to protest.

“As the lady desires.”

You nod; kiss him firmly, and file away his promise for later.

“Excellent. Your tent or mine?”

#gale x tav #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios x tav #breaking the writing muscle out of retirement please be nice

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collinrobinsonsglasses · 2 months

Note

I see you're taking requests for reader/Izzy

I really like this headcanon that Izzy loves to watch the stars when he's alone and I've never really seen anyone write about it? He could teach the reader about the stars/constellations or something.

That and like... I love the idea of him being gentle with the reader with touches or kisses or smth just-- he touches the reader as if they might break :') idk if you can come up with something with this mess of an ask but yeah thank youuuuu <3

This is a shorter one <3

Masterlist

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Izzy’s absence during Stede’s story time was no surprise, but you made a mental note to tease him about it later. Instead, you found yourself nestled between Lucius and Wee John, listening intently to Stede’s tale of a young French girl yearning to go to the prince’s ball. Your head rested against Lucius’s shoulder as he boasted about how he would effortlessly catch the prince’s eye if he were part of the story. Frenchie chimed in, expressing his disdain for hoity-toity balls for rich people.

Despite the interruptions, the crew members remained engrossed in Stede’s storytelling, a nightly ritual cherished by all except Izzy. Only when you dragged him over did he reluctantly join, grumbling until you settled snugly between his legs, your back against his chest. Then, he seemed content, holding you close, even if it meant enduring Stede’s tales for an hour.

After the stories concluded and the crew dispersed to their sleeping quarters, you searched for Izzy, only to find him missing from his bedroom. Heading back to the deck, you were greeted by the serene night, the moon and stars casting their glow on the calm waters surrounding the ship. Eventually, you found Izzy near the stern, sitting on the poop deck, gazing at the starry sky. His silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked. As his eyes met yours, you realized he had sensed your gaze. You tilted your head to the side playfully, knowing he would catch on to your silent admission of missing his presence tonight.

A cocky grin spread across his face as he studied you, a familiar gesture he often did when it was just the two of you. “Did you miss me?” he purred softly, the tone in his voice sending a familiar chill up your spine.

“Fuck off,” You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. Yet, a small smile, curling up at the corners of your lips, betrayed your true feelings.

“Oh, I see, you’re pissed at me?” he teased before gazing back up towards the night sky. You made a show of going to turn before his voice stopped you. “Get the fuck over here. Stop being a twat.”

You pretended to pout at his command, but quickly complied, sliding between his two legs where he sat, nestling your back against his chest. It was exactly where you wanted to be, safe in Izzy’s arms. He enveloped you with his arms, drawing you closer, and lightly brushed his lips against your neck. Your body trembled at his touch, feeling your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered in your ear, planting soft kisses along your neck. Although you were never truly upset with him, you melted at his touch, wondering whether you could ever be angry towards Izzy if this was his solution.

Leaning his head back against the ship, he once again gazed at the stars, and you rested your head on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of each breath.

“What were you up to tonight, Iz?” you whispered, brushing your fingers lightly against the back of his hand. He responded to your touch by flipping his hand palm up, allowing you to easily intertwine your fingers with his.

“Story time is when those twats finally shut the fuck up, so I take advantage of that time to just look at the stars,” he replied softly, speaking in a manner he often reserved only for you.

Warmth radiated through your chest upon learning something new about Izzy. It had taken a long time for him to start being vulnerable with you, and you felt privileged every time he shared something new about himself.

“Teach me,” you requested.

With a gentle touch, Izzy guided your hand towards the vast expanse of the night sky. “Here, look,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. His finger traced a familiar pattern among the stars, forming the outline of a bear. “That is Ursa Major. The Great Bear,” he explained, his whisper tickling your ear.

You settled your head back on Izzy’s chest once he had pointed out the constellation, gazing at the stars he had indicated, as a wave of peace rushed over you. You felt Izzy’s fingers begin to trace up and down your arms as you both continued to gaze towards the sky. After a while, his fingers wrapped around your side, and he ran his thumb up and down your ribs. You couldn’t help but let out a long sigh at his touch, eliciting a low chuckle from Izzy that reverberated through the air. You felt your eyelids begin to grow heavy as time continued to pass in Izzy’s arms.

“The Great Bear looks like a ladle,” you mumbled before sleep began to claim you. Izzy chuckled softly before planting a warm kiss on your head. “I’m going to call it Roach’s ladle.”

Next thing you knew, Izzy’s arms had wrapped around your legs, lifting you up to carry you. You nuzzled your head into his chest, gazing up at him, before whispering, “I want you to tell me about all of the stars, Izzy.”

“I promise,” Izzy whispered back, a warm, gentle smile gracing his face.

You thought the stars in the sky were beautiful, but nothing in the universe could compare to Israel Hand’s smile. You would do anything in your power to see it as often as you could.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd x reader #ofmd fanfic #izzy hands #izzy hands x reader #Israel Hands x reader

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lemoncrushh · 2 months

Text

Tattooed Heart - Part IV

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 7k+

STORY PAGE

“Ugh, look at him,” groaned Jill, nudging your shoulder with hers when she walked behind the counter to bring empty coffee cups from a nearby table.

You stopped mid-pour, turning to see whom she was talking about, but the only table occupied now besides Harry’s was the older woman whose coffee you were preparing.

“Who, Harry?” you asked, holding back a grin.

“No, Stan,” Jill scoffed. “Yes, of course Harry.”

“What about him?”

“He’s just so….ugh. Infuriatingly handsome.”

Your cheeks a rosy pink, you turned back to your task at hand. After only one date, you weren’t ready to tell your co-worker that you were interested in Harry in any way. Fortunately, you’d had the early shift that Monday morning, and Harry had arrived an hour before Jill’s shift. So she hadn’t seen your exchange when he’d walked up to the counter, a lopsided grin on his face as he’d ordered his flat white.

“I’ll get that right out to you,” you’d mimicked his smile before taking the next customer’s order.

He’d chosen his usual table by the window, opening his backpack and setting up his tablet. When you’d brought his coffee to him, he’d whispered so softly, you had to lean over to hear him.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I still can’t stop thinking about you.” His hand had covered yours on the table, and he’d given it a quick but tender squeeze.

“Then we may have a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

Boldly, you’d leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Y/N!” called Jill, snapping you back to the present.

“Yeah?” you blinked. Somehow, you’d managed to finish making the older woman’s latte, and brought it to her table without even realizing. You’d had Harry brain for the last two days. And with him currently present in your cafe, minding his own business, it was a wonder you were even able to function. Especially after his previous admission.

“Come see,” your co-worker waved you over to Harry’s table. “He’s working on something new.”

Wiping your hands on a towel, you joined Jill, standing beside her to see what Harry had drawn on his tablet. As he held it up, you felt a flutter in your chest.

“Oh, that’s…” you started to say, pointing. It looked a lot like the painting you had seen at his apartment on Saturday. The one of the moon dripping. But you quickly side-stepped, not wanting to divulge your weekend whereabouts with your new friend.

“That’s really cool,” you croaked instead, clearing your throat. “I like how the drops make a heart.”

“Thanks,” muttered Harry, turning slightly to give you a smirk.

“Ugh! So talented!” Jill spun around, heading back to the counter as a customer entered.

You stood in your spot, your feet frozen to the tile as you watched Harry’s stylus pen continue its magic on the screen. Clutching your hands at your chest, you noticed the slightest differences in the current drawing and the painting from the other night. Completely mesmerized, you almost missed it when Harry’s finger beckoned you closer.

“Sorry…” you let out a breath, speaking softly as you scooted closer to his table. “I shouldn’t be staring.”

“At the drawing or me?”

You weren’t sure if it was his question or his low, raspy tone that caught you off guard, but you felt a sudden high-pitched laugh rise from your throat and escape your lips. Shaking your head, you cursed yourself for blushing. You hated sounding like a giggling schoolgirl.

“Both,” you finally admitted.

Harry’s mouth spread slowly into a sexy grin, his eyes on you. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

Stealing a swift look over your shoulder, you noticed Jill was still helping the customer.

“That’s up to you. I’m free all day.”

“Yeah?” Harry raised a brow. Then folding his arms on the table, he leaned closer, licking his lips. “That opens a world of possibilities, then.”

With a laugh, you pushed your hair behind your ear. “Does it?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re into.” You felt the color rise in your cheeks again, and Harry chuckled. “I’ll think of something. How ‘bout I pick you up at noon? We’ll have lunch and go from there.”

You smiled gently. “Sounds good.”

Realizing Jill had finished with his customer, you made your way back to the counter.

“So, what were you two chatting about over there?” she asked you.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.”

“Well, he made you laugh, whatever it was.”

“It was silly,” you shook your head, waving off her comment.

“Mhm.”

“What?” you shrugged, turning toward the espresso machine. “He’s funny.”

“He’s also staring at you.”

“What?” Nearly bumping into Jill as you twirled around, your eyes caught a glimpse of Harry’s just before he returned his attention to his iPad. A sudden warmth filled your senses and you felt like you might melt.

“Well…” you heard Jill remark. “That was…something.”

You pursed your lips as you glared at her. “It was nothing.”

“I beg to differ. First he makes you laugh, then he’s staring at you?”

“Jill!”

Breaking your train of thought and protest, the cafe door swung open then and two businessmen walked in. As soon as you took their order, a young woman entered, followed by three more. The lunch crowd was starting to trickle in.

Just as you had taken the two men’s orders to them and returned to the counter, you noticed Harry had packed up his things, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. You saw him look up and meet your gaze, an easy grin on his face. Lifting his hand, he gave you a wave, and you waved back as he exited the cafe.

Soon enough, the end of your shift arrived, and Melaina, another waitress, greeted you behind the counter to take your place. You couldn’t get home soon enough, prepared to take the longest, deepest nap of all time. But as soon as your head hit the pillow, you heard your phone ping with a text.

What was with the secrecy?

Confused, you simply typed, ???

You pretended you hadn’t seen my art before. You don’t want your friend to know?

To know what?

LOL ok, I get it. I can play along.

I’m not sure I know what you mean.

That was a lie. You knew what he was getting at. You also knew you weren’t interested in telling Jill - or anyone for that matter - about you and Harry because…you weren’t sure where this was going yet. It was too soon. And with everything that had led up to the first date, you certainly didn’t want everything to unravel and get worse than how it had started.

At least you think about me. Glad to know that.

You texted back the blushing emoji since that’s exactly what you were doing. Again.

Do you work tonight?

Yeah. I’m in my office now. Just wanted to text you first.

Oh ok. I’m about to take a nap. Have a good day!

Can I ring you tonight? Might be late.

Sure, that’s fine.

Have a great nap babe. xx

After laying your phone on your bedside table, you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face.

“Want some more popcorn?” asked Shae, holding out the bowl between you.

“No, thanks,” you shook your head.

You were getting sleepy, your eyelids weighing down as you tried to focus on the end of the movie. A buzz from your left side startled you, and as you picked up your phone, a sly grin twitched your lips.

“Hello?”

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Just a sec.” Rising from the sofa, you addressed your roommate. “I’m gonna take this in my room.”

“Aw, but Y/N, the movie’s almost over!”

“It’s okay. Tell me how it ends.”

Shae huffed as she watched you round the couch and head for your room, shutting the door behind you.

“Sorry about that. I was watching a movie.”

“Oh. Don’t let me interrupt,” Harry insisted.

“It’s fine. I’ve seen it already.” You heard Harry chuckle low as you sat on your bed. “How was work?”

“Good,” Harry sighed. “But I’m glad it’s over so I can talk to you.”

“Wow, you’re laying it on thick already,” you teased.

“Heyyy. It’s the truth! I told you I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“Mhm.”

“Almost came by the cafe yesterday just to see you. But I was afraid it might be a bit much.”

“Why? You should have. I was bored out of my skull yesterday.”

“Were you the only one working?”

“Yep, until closing.”

“Then I’m a stupid twit.”

You laughed out loud, quickly covering your mouth with your hand. This guy was already making you feel…things. You weren’t sure if you were ready.

“At least we have tomorrow. We’re still on, right?”

“Yes, of course,” you replied.

“I was thinking we could have a picnic if you’re up for it. The weather’s supposed to be lovely.”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah. Too cheesy?”

“No…” you swallowed hard and laid back on your pillow. “No, not at all. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Harry said with a smile in his voice. “Can’t wait to see you, love.”

You chuckled lightly. “You just saw me this morning.”

“I know. Funny, innit?”

“If you keep this up, you might get sick of me,” you jested.

Harry’s laugh rang through the phone, and you felt your heart skip. “I sincerely doubt it.”

You bit your lip as you tried to keep your thoughts in line.

“Honestly, babe?” Harry continued. “If I’d had my way, I would have come to yours straight from work to pick you up. And you’d be here with me in this bed now instead of there on the phone.”

Your breath caught in your throat before you gasped aloud. “Harry…”

His low chuckle only fueled the fire. “See what I mean? It’s a bit insane how much my thoughts revolve around you. I’m trying to be a gentleman though.”

You swallowed. “Are you saying you regret what happened Saturday night?”

“Fuck, no. I loved it. If I think about it hard enough, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

“Oh my God, I should probably hang up now.”

“Why?” laughed Harry. “Are you blushing, babe?”

“Indubitably.”

Harry chuckled harder. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re an insatiable flirt.”

“Can’t help it, honey. I enjoy teasing you.”

“And using pet names,” you remarked.

“That’s only ‘cause I like you. But if you don’t want me to…”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No? Which one do you like best?” asked Harry.

“Hmm. I don’t have a preference. I just want it to be natural.”

“Good answer. I like that.”

You chatted for a little while longer until you noticed the time was after 1AM. It was Harry, surprisingly, who suggested you both say goodnight.

“I’ll see you at noon, Y/N. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

You laid on your bed, atop your covers for another ten minutes or so, arms spread wide as you stared at the ceiling.

How had he managed it? In one day - not even a whole day because you’d only seen him for a couple hours at the cafe, and then talked to him on the phone for maybe another hour - Harry Styles had already turned your world topsy-turvy. You were feeling it. No, not love…that was silly. It was way too soon to have those kinds of feelings. But…feelings nonetheless. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to recall the last time you’d felt this way.

Excited. Blissful. Giddy.

Yeah, it was way too soon for this.

He was going to be there any minute. Having already gotten his text announcing he was on his way, you rushed to double check yourself in the mirror, pleased with your choice of the peasant blouse and jeans. Quickly slipping into your shoes, you nearly bumped into Shae when you opened your bedroom door.

“Oh. Hey. I thought you were working today.”

“Nope,” she said, popping her P. “I’m off. You look nice though. Where are you off to?”

“Um…nowhere.”

The sound of the doorbell made you jump. And when your roommate made a move toward the door, you wanted to scream or crawl under the table or…something. But you knew your time had run out. Stood frozen, you cringed as you watched Shae swing the door open.

“Oh! Hi…” she furrowed her brows.

“Hi…um, Shae, right?” you heard Harry mutter.

“Yeah…what…”

“I take it Y/N didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Shae’s glare shifted from Harry to you. “It’s that Harry guy.”

“Yeah, um…” you cleared your throat, opening the door wider. Your stomach flipped when your eyes met Harry’s who stared at you with a questioning gaze. “Harry and I are…on good terms now. We made amends.”

“Made amends? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s…” you sighed, looking at your friend, “it’s a long story. And it’s complicated. I probably should have told you, and I’m sorry. But I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?”

You stepped out onto the landing, giving Harry a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, babe. You look beautiful.”

“What the hell is going on?” exclaimed Shae, her hands on her hips. “Are you seeing him now? After what he did to you?”

“Like I said, I’ll explain it all later. But to answer your question, yes.”

Her mouth agape, Shae stared at you incredulously as you waved goodbye and took Harry’s hand.

“Your roommate’s gonna hate me now,” remarked Harry when you reached his car.

“She already hates you. Because I hated you, remember? Don’t worry, once I tell her everything, she’ll adore you. She already thought you were hot. She’ll be relieved you’re not really an asshole.”

Harry cackled as he held open the door for you. “I dunno if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned, rising on your tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. “I think you’re hot and a sweetheart.”

Harry beamed his dimpled smile as he rounded the car and got behind the wheel. His expression matched the gorgeous weather that he’d proclaimed was imminent. Without a cloud in the sky, you rode next to Harry in his car as he drove down familiar roads until he turned down a side street that led to the park. While it had regretfully been a while since you’d visited, you still considered it one of your favorite places. Even though there had been no way for Harry to know that, you still felt grateful.

After finding a place to park, Harry opened the back door to retrieve a tartan blanket which he handed to you, along with a large basket. Grinning, he took your hand to lead you across the grass. Stopping near a tree, he set the basket on the ground and reached for the blanket which you helped spread out on the green.

“I have to say, Harry,” you paused, biting your lip, “when you mentioned a picnic, this was immediately what I was picturing. But then I told myself I was being too literal. I truly was not expecting you to have an actual picnic basket.”

“It wouldn’t be a picnic otherwise,” he stated matter-of-factly, sitting on the blanket.

“I don’t know. You could have very easily brought something in a paper bag. Or even stopped off at McDonald’s.”

Shaking his head, Harry snorted as he reached inside the basket. “You need to give me more credit than that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. This is just very out of the ordinary for me.”

“How so?” Harry asked as he set out what looked to be individually wrapped mini sandwiches.

“Well, I…no one’s ever…did you make these?”

Harry raised a brow. “Of course.”

“Wow. These look fancy! And delicious. What’s in them?”

“Um…salami, mozzarella, pesto, basil, spinach and tomato.”

You continued to stare at Harry as he pulled more items from the picnic basket. He had a mix of fruit, some kind of layered salad in mason jars, a small quiche, and a large carafe of water with lemon and mint. With a sense of contentment, you settled comfortably on the blanket as Harry poured the water into plastic cups. Handing you one, he smiled.

“Dig in, babe.”

Clearing your throat, you blinked. “Sorry, I…I’m overwhelmed.”

“It’s just food, darling.”

Your chest felt tight and heavy as you shook your head. “No, it’s not. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Setting down your cup, you leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. He grinned against you before reciprocating, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap. Your kisses continued, his soft, pillowy lips combined with his intoxicating cologne making you light-headed, until you finally broke away.

“Sorry…” you breathed.

“Don’t be,” Harry blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing softly against his cheeks. “Reckon I started off on the right foot this time. I only hope I didn’t peak too early.”

A small giggle escaped your throat as you sat back. “Well, let’s not forget, I haven’t actually eaten the food yet.”

“What will you do if it’s rubbish?” Harry laughed.

“Guess I’ll have to walk home.”

Harry continued to snicker as he playfully rolled his eyes, handing you a plate. “I guarantee you’ll at least like the fruit. And probably the sandwiches.”

Grabbing one of the mini baguettes, you unwrapped it and took a large bite. Immediately your mouth danced with glee as you took in the delectable flavors. Pleased by the reaction on your face, Harry opened one of the mason jars and spooned out the salad onto your plate. Then he cut a portion of the quiche and laid it beside the salad.

“You don’t have to feed me,” you insisted.

“What if I want to?”

“Hmm…then I guess I’ll let you.” Picking up the small pie with your fingers, you took a savory bite. “God, this is by far the best lunch I’ve ever had.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry beamed, handing you a plastic fork for your salad and taking a bite of his own.

“Do you like to cook?”

“I do, actually. It’s one of my hobbies, you could say.”

“You’re full of surprises, Harry,” you commented before taking a sip of water. “Although, I shouldn’t be surprised. I already knew you’re a man of many talents.”

You caught the smirk on Harry’s lips as he looked down at his plate. You both ate in silence for a bit, enjoying each other’s company and the ideal weather. You gazed around you, taking in the atmosphere. You watched a couple who tossed a frisbee back and forth, and a young mother pushing her child in a stroller. When you took the last bite of your quiche, Harry surprised you again by leaning over with a strawberry between his fingers. With a grin, you popped open your mouth and allowed him to feed it to you.

When nearly all of the food had been devoured, and you helped Harry pack up the remains into the basket and discarded the trash in a nearby waste bin, you laid back on the blanket, enjoying the warm sun on your face. While it was still a rather cool day, the sunshine made it pleasant.

“Be right back,” you heard Harry announce. “Gonna get something out of the car.”

Squinting your eyes, you watched him pick up the basket and take it with him. When he returned, you noticed the notebook in his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, lifting yourself up on your elbows.

“No, lay back down,” he instructed, taking his seat next to you.

When he opened the notebook, he slid a pencil out from beneath the spiral and began to sketch.

“Are you drawing?” you inquired softly.

His green eyes lifting from his paper, he gave a sly grin.

“What are you- you’re not drawing me!” you exclaimed rolling onto your side.

“Stay still,” Harry chuckled. “Lay back the way you were.”

With a huff, you slowly moved to your previous position as you listened to the sound of the pencil against the paper. You silently wondered how long you had to remain still as you continued to watch Harry’s gaze shift from you to his notebook. Your breaths quickened as his eyes roamed your body, making you a bit self-conscious. Finally, you saw his lips twitch into a sexy grin, and he lowered his paper and shut the book.

“Do I get to see?”

Instead of answering, Harry laid down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Harry!”

With a snicker, Harry lifted the notebook. “Alright. But just so you know, it’s just a quick sketch. And it does not fully reflect the way I see you.”

Grimacing, you glared at him. “Is that good or bad?”

“Here,” Harry laughed, opening the book to the page he’d just sketched and handing it to you. While it was indeed a quick sketch, maybe even a bit messy by some standards, you were amazed at how much it looked like you.

“That’s…remarkable,” you commented softly, choosing the best word.

Turning your head to look at him, you noticed he was already staring at you. When he rolled over and brushed your hair from your face, you lowered the notebook to your side. He kissed you tenderly at first, so softly that your entire body felt like you were lying on a cloud, and not the blanket on the ground. Your hands traveled around to his back while he hovered over you, lifting his head slightly to look into your eyes. Though he didn’t speak, his eyes spoke volumes. The only words you really needed right then. And when his mouth met yours again, and you eagerly allowed his tongue access, you knew he’d heard your words as well.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed when he broke free, his forehead resting against yours. “Your lips drive me mad, baby. I could kiss you all day.”

With a smile, you lifted your hand to his jaw, rubbing his scruffy chin. “Same here.”

After a few more kisses, Harry sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “I had another idea for this afternoon, but do you mind if we stop at my flat first?”

“Not at all. What is your other idea?”

“If you’d like, we could visit the art gallery.”

You sat up urgently. “Where your art is? I would love that!”

“Yeah?” Satisfied with your response, Harry rose from the blanket and reached his hand out to help you up. Then lightly brushing the back of his hand against your cheek, he looked like he was about to say something, but his words escaped him. You didn’t mind, however. When you helped him fold up the blanket and walked with him to the car, you had a feeling the day was going to be filled with unspoken words - gestures of mutual feelings.

After putting away the rest of the food and freshening up in Harry’s bathroom, you were excited to go see his art on display at the gallery.

“Harry! So good to see you!” greeted a man in a suit.

“You as well, Sherod,” said Harry, shaking the man’s hand. “How are things?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain,” Sherod nodded emphatically. “We are still waiting patiently on your newest project, yes?”

“Yeah, I’m still…tweaking it.”

“Ah, don’t tweak too much, Harry. You know the best art is always what comes naturally, from the heart.” As Harry shrugged, you noticed Sherod making eye contact with you. “And who is this delicate creature?”

“Sherod, this beautiful lady is Y/N. I’ve come to show her around.”

Color rose in your cheeks at both Sherod’s and Harry’s compliments. Not to mention the way Harry had his hand on your lower back.

“Miss Y/N, so lovely to have you here today. Please enjoy your visit.”

Once Sherod was out of earshot, Harry grinned at you and gestured to the left. You joined him in the large room where many art pieces were displayed on the walls and on pedestals, some encased. For the most part, you simply nodded as Harry pointed out some of the art he liked, commenting a bit when something caught your eye.

“I especially like this one,” Harry said when he stopped in front of a large canvas of greens and blues, tiny streaks of gold in between that resembled marble. “I sometimes come here just to stare at it for a bit. It calms me.”

“It looks like the ocean,” you agreed. “But also…a little like an enchanted forest, if that makes sense. Very tranquil.”

Turning his head to look at you, Harry opened his mouth. Once again, he seemed unable to speak, so you simply smiled back at him. Running your hand down his arm, you walked behind him to inspect the next painting.

“This one, however, has a different feeling altogether,” you remarked. “It’s sexy…a bit sensual, but not necessarily in a calming way. Kind of reminds me of pent up energy, ready to explode.”

Standing behind you, Harry placed his hands on your waist. You felt his breath in your hair before he pressed his lips to your head. You hummed softly at his sweet gesture, covering his hands with yours.

“Where’s your art, Harry?” you whispered.

Clearing his throat, he released his hands from your body and stepped toward the right. “Over here.”

At the end of the room, Harry stopped in front of a display of art that you recognized from his website. Seeing it in person was different from seeing it on a screen. It took your breath away. Mesmerized, you inspected each detail, every line, every stroke. You could feel Harry’s stare as you walked around his mini gallery. When you took in the last piece, you looked up at him.

“You’re amazing,” you declared. “It’s all so extraordinary.”

“Thank you, love,” he blinked slowly.

Taking his hands, you smiled. “Is it okay to kiss you in here?”

Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing. “I think it’s perfectly okay.”

His lips met yours as you lifted your hands to his neck, pulling him closer.

“I know, I have nothing really to go on,” you added when your mouths separated. “I’m not all that knowledgeable in art. I just know what moves me and what doesn’t. And yours definitely does.”

“Baby…” Harry breathed. “God, love, you’ve rendered me speechless today.”

Giving him one extra kiss, you took his hand again and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t need to say anything.

When you rounded the corner, however, Harry stopped in his tracks, an immediate look of disdain on his face. Following his point of vision, you noticed a familiar looking blonde at the reception desk. When she turned around, she tossed her hair behind her shoulder and lifted her chin.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Nicolette. What are you doing here?”

Of course. The former arm candy.

“Came to do some business with Sherod. Daddy’s having one of his restaurants remodeled, and he wants to buy all new art for it.”

“I see,” Harry frowned. With almost a shutter, he quickly cleared his throat and addressed you. “Sorry, Y/N, this is Nicolette Eisman, Nicolette, Y/N Y/LN.”

“Nice to meet you,” you greeted, gritting your teeth and hoping she didn’t recognize you from Zelda’s.

“Pleasure,” Nicolette said thinly, not bothering to even look you in the eye, her glare still on Harry. “How’s the moon series coming along? Have you finished it yet? Or are you going to wait another three months agonizing over it?”

“I don’t reckon that’s any of your concern anymore.”

“Ouch! Come now, Harry,” Nicolette retorted. “I thought we ended on better terms than that.”

“You thought wrong,” Harry said flatly.

Wanting to crawl into a hole, you were relieved when you saw Sherod emerge from a back room, holding out both hands to Nicolette.

“Darling! So good to see you!” he greeted her with the same emphatic energy he’d given Harry.

“C’mon, let’s go,” you heard him mutter before guiding you to the exit and out the door.

Once in the car, Harry revved up the engine before running his hands down his face with an exasperated sigh.

“Harry…” you said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I definitely didn’t mean to run into her.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“She just…infuriates me. But…ugh, it has nothing to do with you. I don’t want this to ruin our day. I’m sorry.”

“Harry,” you said again, reaching your hand out to touch his arm. “It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She obviously still does business here. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Yeah.”

Scooting closer to him, you smiled reassuringly. “Besides. I’m already having the best day with you. One snarky blonde is not going to ruin it.”

His million dollar smile sent a spark through your bloodstream and made you weak in the knees. When he pulled you into a kiss, he didn’t hesitate to let you know he wanted to deepen it, his tongue eager to fill your mouth. His hands cupping your face, he moaned against your lips, sending a whole other surge of arousal to your privates. You nearly gasped when he released you, your face warm with desire.

“Come home with me?” He asked it in a question form, but it sounded more like a demand. “I don’t want this day to end.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll cook us dinner and we can watch the sunset. Then if you want, we can go to the shop, and I’ll give you your tattoo.”

“My tattoo? Tonight? But I still don’t know what I wanna get.”

“The heart moon. That art of mine you’d liked. I was working on it yesterday at the cafe.”

“You were working on a tattoo for me?”

“Yeah…” he smirked. “Rather presumptuous of me, I know. But I thought you might like it.”

Your smile widening, you nodded. “I do.”

You sat out on the small terrace of Harry’s apartment, overlooking the city, the sun descending before you in shades of orange, purple and red. Harry had cooked another lovely meal, this time bringing out a bottle of rosé as you sat barefoot on the same blanket from the picnic.

“Gorgeous, innit?” you heard him ask when you took a sip of wine.

“Breathtaking.”

“It’s my favorite thing about this flat. When there’s a full moon, you can see it clearly, like a big ball in the sky. It’s what inspired those paintings.”

“Harry, this…this is so romantic. This whole day. It’s been incredible.”

Harry feigned offense, a tiny smirk on his face. “What? You didn’t think I could be romantic?”

“No, I…well, the restaurant the other night was romantic too, it’s just…I wasn’t expecting this.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I guess I figured…you know…after Saturday night, at the tattoo shop…”

“I’m not after a quick fix, Y/N.”

“No?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “Let me make something clear, Y/N,” he said, scooting closer to you. “I’m immensely attracted to you. I’m excited to explore every single inch of your body, and to share mine with you. In every way you can imagine. But I reckon, if we’re on the same page…and I’m pretty sure we are…then we have plenty of time for all of that.”

You gulped, then blew out a breath. “We do?”

Harry reached a hand up to push a curl from your cheek. “I hope so.” His fingers lingered against your skin before he lightly ghosted the tips across your jaw. “You like me, yeah?”

You shivered at his touch as well as the way he was staring at you so intently. “Of course.”

“I like you, too. And the fact that I haven’t been able to get you off my mind tells me there’s something between us. Something I’m eager to explore further.”

“Really?”

Nodding, Harry set down his glass and reached for yours, placing it next to his.

“I’ve been…feeling something today, haven’t you? It’s like…you get me.”

“Yeah? How?” you asked.

“Like at the gallery. When you told me what those paintings made you feel. I feel the same thing. And when I sketched you at the park. You didn’t laugh at me, even though it was basically a rubbish scribble. It’s like you’re willing to open up a space for me in your heart. And I appreciate it so much. I…fuck, I dunno what I’m saying…I-”

Silencing him with your kiss, you moved even closer to him, and he ardently pulled you into his lap. His kisses were thirsty, as though it wasn’t the hundredth time your lips had touched that day.

“Harry…” you breathed. “I do get you. And I’ve been feeling it as well, all day. Just the fact that you wanted to show me your art at the gallery said so much. Not in a show-off kind of way; I didn’t take it like that. But more like you were willing to share a little bit more of yourself with me. Something you take pride in. That’s special to me, and means a lot.”

Harry smiled wide, running his hands up and down your back.

“Does that mean you might be willing to share something with me?”

“Like what?” you blushed.

“Like…your writing.”

“Oh,” you scoffed. “I haven’t written anything in ages.”

“Well…when you do? Can I read?”

You smiled. “Deal.”

“Good. Now…you ready to go get your tattoo?”

“No,” you sighed and shook your head.

“No?”

“Let’s save it for another day.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I hope to have lots more of these with you.”

“Alright. I can’t promise anything though. I reckon I’ve run out of ideas.”

You playfully pushed his shoulder, making him lean back. “Stop it.”

“No, I’m perfectly fine with that,” he grinned. “Elated even.”

He kissed you fervently then, his tongue wanting nothing more than to wrestle with yours. He filled your mouth with wanton and shameless desire, your own appetite growing so much, you thought you might come undone. When his left hand cupped your breast while his right held your neck, you gasped.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” you inquired against his lips.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his chest falling with heavy breaths.

“Yes. I know you’d been holding back all day, trying to be a gentleman. And I appreciate the chivalry, I do. But I need to feel you now.”

A mere nod is all it took for you to rise from Harry’s lap. This time you held your hand out for him the way he had for you at the park. Taking your hand in his, he led you to his bedroom, his large bed claiming the majority of the space. You caught a quick glimpse of another painting above his bed before he laid you down and kissed you passionately.

“Baby…” he cooed. “Tell me what you like.”

With an inward chuckle, you grinned. “Somehow I knew you’d be the kind of guy to ask that.”

“Why? Don’t you want me to please you?”

“Very much.”

“Then tell me. I wanna make you feel good.”

“I think we both know you have no problems with that.”

Harry chuckled then, his sly smirk returning to his handsome face. “Alright then. Can I undress you?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, sitting up slightly to allow Harry to pull your peasant blouse over your head. When his eyes traveled down your chest, you saw them darken with lust. And when he unhooked the front closure of your bra to reveal your bare breasts, his breath hitched in his throat.

“Jesus, babe, you’re beautiful.”

As you laid back down, Harry removed his own shirt, tossing it on the floor. Then he hovered over you, kissing you deeply once again. His necklace tapped against your bare skin as his mouth traveled down your neck and chest and between your breasts. His hands cupped them while his wet mouth sucked hungrily on your nipples, giving each equal attention.

When his lips moved further south, you felt him unbutton your jeans, tugging them as you lifted your butt so he could pull them down and off. Harry grinned when he spied your lace panties, a black pair this time.

“One day,” he commented, “when we’re both off from work and have nothing to do, I want you to spend the day here with me wearing nothing but your sexy lacy panties.”

You giggled delightfully as he grinned at you, his hands running up your thighs.

“You are so fucking sexy. I wanna make you scream my name, babe. But I’m afraid I might not last. Just being honest.”

Before you could retort, Harry slid your panties down your legs, caressing your feet on the way. Then he stood up and removed his own jeans and underwear. You barely had time to process the view of his delicious body before he was above you again, kissing you on the way up.

“Harry…baby…” you breathed hard when his mouth found your nipples again and his hand slid between your thighs, finding your wetness.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I need you. Now. Please.”

You gulped hard, trying to catch your breath as Harry’s thumb teased your clit. You could already feel yourself dripping, and when he slid his fingers up your slit and brought them to his mouth, you whined his name again.

“I’m here, babe,” he promised. “Just need a condom.”

Retrieving one from his bedside table, he rolled it over his length as you watched. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for his size. Then when he situated himself between your legs, he kissed you once again. When he lifted his head, his eyes were a dark, emerald green, his lips pink and swollen. You ran your hands up his inked chest and down his shoulders, grabbing hold of his biceps.

“I’m ready for you, love. Are you ready for me?”

You nodded as you looked into his eyes just before he pushed into you. You gasped even though he was considerate to be slow and easy as he moved. Before long you adjusted to his girth, your juices quickly dripping down your thighs.

You moaned at the sensation, the friction good enough to make you want to weep. Harry’s own groans and low pitched sounds sent your body trembling until you wrapped your legs around him, holding on tightly.

“Taking me so well, Y/N,” you heard him say. “That fuckin’ pretty pussy of yours. So wet.”

Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear, Harry rolled into you deeper. You thought he whispered something else about you feeling so good, but you were already on too much of a high to make out the words. Finally, grasping for the covers underneath you, you threw your head back and called out to God.

“Yeah baby,” Harry moaned. “I’m so close already.”

“Me too,” you breathed. “Holy shit, Harry. Fuck me!”

With a grunt, Harry shifted his body, grabbing your wrists and holding them down as he thrusted harder and faster. He cursed between heavy breaths, his voice quivering as he called you baby and honey while you took him deeper. Your toes curled and more moans escaped your lips until you knew you were close to the edge. Raking your fingernails down his back, you grabbed hold of his ass, pulling your legs back and wide.

“Fuck! Yesss!” Harry cried, pounding into you so hard, the headboard hit the wall. He propped himself up by grabbing it, sending you both sliding toward it until your head was flush against it.

Reaching between you, you took Harry’s balls in your hand and caressed them. You watched his eyes roll back in his head, his mouth gaping open as he continued to fuck you. He cursed again as he licked his lips, veins in his temples thick and prominent before you heard him let out a guttural moan, his hips thrusting a few more times. Then with a tiny whimper, his body fell against yours, his face buried in your neck.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “God damn, baby, you’re amazing.”

“Hmm, so are you,” you cooed, tracing invisible shapes across his back.

“No, ‘m not. I wanted to make you come first.”

With a giggle, you whispered, “I’m not even mad about that.”

Harry lifted his head then to look at you. You smiled at him, his beautiful face wet with perspiration, his curls messy atop his head. As he removed the condom and threw it away in the bin, he grinned at you shyly.

“I told you I might not last.”

“It’s totally okay.”

“Mmm, no it’s not. But I can still make you come.”

Harry crawled down your body like a snake, stopping at your waist. You opted not to protest. After all, he was willing to please you. Who were you to say no?

Gliding his hands down your thighs, he lifted them, wasting no time. His mouth was on your clit before you had time to take a breath, and a small cry left your lips at the contact. He hummed against you, creating a vibration that nearly made you come right then. Clutching at the sheets again, you felt your knees shake, your entire body reaching a new climax. Panting, you felt Harry’s tongue play with and tease your pussy. Wanting to come so badly, but also not wanting the unbelievable sensation to end, you bit your lip, moaning as tears began to well in your eyes. Finally, as a loud cry rose from your core, you grabbed hold of his head, thrusting your hips against him. With jagged breaths, you moaned his name over and over until your legs fell slack and he released his mouth, sucking up the remaining juices.

“How was that, sweetheart?” you heard him ask from far away. Or at least it seemed far away. You couldn’t tell. Time and distance did not exist in that moment. You barely knew your name. Your reply was a mere cry of exhaustion, and you heard Harry chuckle.

“I’ll take that to mean it was good.”

With a sigh, you managed to open your eyes and look at him. “Better than good.”

Harry grinned, crawling back up your body. “I’m glad. I really enjoy making you come. But I hope next time it won’t just be from my tongue.”

You would have joked then and told him his tongue was pretty magical, but you decided instead to just stare at his gorgeous face as you ran his fingers across his jaw and traced his lips. He seemed to enjoy it, his eyelids fluttering softly, a content peaceful expression making you want to pull him closer.

“Y/N,” he whispered low after a minute or two.

“Yes?”

“Will you stay here with me tonight?”

Though your heart was pounding in your chest, and butterflies danced in your stomach, the request combined with the look on his handsome face felt more calm than the tranquil painting at the gallery.

“I can’t think of a better way to end the most perfect day,” you replied.

Pulling you even closer, Harry’s lips met yours, fitting together like puzzle pieces. You melted into the kiss, just like the melting moon, dripping into a perfect tattooed heart.

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