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#i’ll do that on another drawing >:D
ajkaruu · 3 months
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Decided to draw while finishing the foxy arc !!
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peapod20001 · 1 year
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Ngl man..this made me snort laughing
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mars-ipan · 11 months
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sometimes life is your dad witnessing you doodle a 50yo man in cat ears
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headkiss · 1 year
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give you the moon
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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
You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.
New city, new apartment, new tattoo.
It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.
The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.
Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.
“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.
“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”
She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”
“Thanks, Nancy.”
She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.
A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.
A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.
“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.
“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”
He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.
He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.
Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.
“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”
“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.
“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”
“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”
“Alright. Got an idea for size?”
“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”
You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.
You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.
“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”
“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”
“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”
His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.
The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.
He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.
“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.
“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.
“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.
He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.
“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”
There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.
“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.
“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”
“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”
“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”
“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”
He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.
“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.
“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.
“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”
You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”
“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”
Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”
“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.
You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.
“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”
“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”
“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”
“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.
That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.
-
He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.
Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.
Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.
-
It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.
Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”
“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”
“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”
You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.
“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay, see you-”
He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.
You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.
Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.
His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.
“Why are you still here, Steve?”
“Why are you still here?” He retorts.
“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.
“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”
Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.
“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”
“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”
“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”
No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.
“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”
Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.
-
You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.
The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”
She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.
“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.
“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.
“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.
When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”
“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.
“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”
You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.
“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.
“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.
You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.
“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.
“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.
“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”
“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”
He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.
“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”
You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.
“This one. It’s really good.”
He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”
He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.
“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.
“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”
That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.
Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.
When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.
Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.
“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”
“It’s great. Really.”
“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”
He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.
“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”
“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”
“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
He manages to ease you with very few words.
The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”
It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.
“You okay?” He checks.
“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”
“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.
Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.
He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.
It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.
Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.
“So, why the moon?” He asks.
“Huh?”
“Why’d you choose the moon?”
“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”
He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.
“That’s really…wow.”
“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”
“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”
He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.
Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.
That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.
“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”
“Please,” you nod.
He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.
You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.
“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”
So are you, he thinks.
“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.
“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”
“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”
He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.
“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.
“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”
“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.
You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.
“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.
Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.
“How was it?” Nancy asks you.
“Good! I’m really happy with it.”
“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”
You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.
It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.
You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.
-
You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.
It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.
You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.
You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.
Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.
The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”
“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.
“Hey! How can I help you?”
“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”
“He did?” She sounds surprised.
“Um. Yeah.”
“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”
“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”
Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.
It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.
“Hello?”
You can tell that it’s Eddie.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”
Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”
“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.
“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”
He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.
“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”
“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”
“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”
He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.
“‘Course. See you soon, then.”
“Bye, Eddie.”
He hangs up.
You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.
“Welcome back,” she says.
“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”
“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”
Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.
His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.
“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.
“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”
“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”
“Perfect. How much do I owe?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.
“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”
“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”
“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”
“Bye, moon girl.”
You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.
“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.
You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”
“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”
You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.
“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”
Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.
You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.
“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”
You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.
“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”
You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.
-
As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.
He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.
Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.
“What do you want?” He sighs.
“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”
“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.
“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”
“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.
He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.
So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.
“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”
“What she said!” Robin adds.
“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”
They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.
“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.
He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.
He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”
“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.
“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.
Just in case you care.
He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.
He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.
Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.
“That’s nice,” he settles for.
“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.
He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.
“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.
“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”
“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.
Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.
I like being single, he’d said.
And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.
-
Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.
The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.
You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.
It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.
“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.
“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”
“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”
“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”
“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.
“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”
You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.
“Yep, ready.”
She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”
She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’
You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.
This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.
You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.
Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.
Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.
Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.
It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.
You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”
She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.
It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.
When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.
He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.
“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.
“Thank you.”
The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.
Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.
“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”
“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.
You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.
Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.
“He likes you, you know?”
“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”
“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.
“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”
Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.
“I don’t know, Robin.”
“You’ll see, trust me.”
Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.
He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.
When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.
You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.
Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.
“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.
“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”
You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.
“C’mon, it’s dark out.”
“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”
He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.
The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.
He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.
“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”
Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.
“What? You’re not,” he says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”
He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”
“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”
He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.
The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.
He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.
Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.
“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.
You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.
“Thanks,” you breathe out.
You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.
Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.
It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.
He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.
He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.
When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.
He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.
There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Eddie-”
“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”
He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.
You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.
Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.
You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.
-
Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.
You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.
It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.
He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.
He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?
He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.
Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.
“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.
He plays guitar? Fuck.
“Shit, yeah. I did.”
“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.
“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.
“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”
They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.
“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.
Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.
“Really?” Eddie asks softly.
“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”
He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.
Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.
“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”
Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.
He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.
“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.
“We’re just friends. Seriously.”
“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.
Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’
He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.
Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.
You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.
When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.
“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.
“It’s nothing special,” he replies.
“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.
He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.
Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.
The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.
When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.
This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.
“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”
Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.
“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”
The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.
One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”
He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.
“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”
Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.
He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.
The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.
“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“You are?”
You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.
“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”
“Why did you?” Is what you say next.
“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”
He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’
He could, but he doesn’t want to.
“You think I’m pretty?”
He nods, almost ashamed about it.
“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”
“What?”
“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”
You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.
The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”
You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.
Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.
You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”
When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”
He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.
“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”
“I can look at it, if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.
“‘Course I am, let me see.”
“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”
He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.
“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.
You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.
Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”
He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.
For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”
“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”
The compliment warms your insides.
“Thank you.”
“Want me to clean it for you?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.
His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.
They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.
Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.
“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”
You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.
There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.
Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”
The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.
“Yes. Please.”
Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.
He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.
Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.
He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.
“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.
“Eddie, come on.”
“What is it?”
“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.
He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”
It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.
He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.
Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”
“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.
“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”
“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”
Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.
“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.
The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.
He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.
“Holy shit,” you breathe.
“You okay?”
“More than okay. You’re really good.”
“‘M not done yet, babe.”
He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.
His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”
You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.
You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”
“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”
He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.
While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.
The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.
He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.
“You still want this?” He asks.
Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”
I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.
You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.
You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.
He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.
You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.
Yeah, you like him a whole lot.
Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.
He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.
“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”
He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.
“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.
“Dirty girl.”
He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.
He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.
“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.
It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.
Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.
His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.
Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.
“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.
“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”
“Eddie.”
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”
He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.
If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.
“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”
You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”
He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”
It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.
“Oh my god,” you choke out.
“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.
He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.
When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”
“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”
He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”
Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.
He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.
His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.
The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.
He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.
He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”
“What?”
“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.
“Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, moon girl.”
You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.
-
You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.
For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.
You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.
You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.
There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.
He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.
“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.
“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”
Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.
His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.
“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”
The tips of his ears go pink.
He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.
“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.
That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.
-
It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.
You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.
Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.
So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.
You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.
You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.
“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.
“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”
“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.
“Hi, Eddie.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”
“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”
He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.
“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”
“You know you will,” you say.
“‘Kay, see you soon!”
She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.
“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.
“What’s this?”
“I want you to give me a tattoo.”
Your eyes widen, “sorry?”
“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”
Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.
“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”
“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”
It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.
Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.
He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?
“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.
The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.
You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.
It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.
Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.
His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.
As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.
He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.
He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.
“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.
“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”
He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.
“What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” he says.
You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”
He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.
He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.
“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.
-
Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.
You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.
There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.
“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.
“Close the door, would you?”
“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”
Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.
“No. That’s not- I need your help.”
“Oh. Okay, hit me.”
“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”
Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.
That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.
He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.
“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”
“Not even a thank you?”
“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.
Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.
He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.
Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-
The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”
As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.
“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”
He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.
“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”
“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”
“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”
“Not exactly,” he says.
Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.
He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”
It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.
“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.
“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”
“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”
He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”
He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.
When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.
Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.
-
After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.
“Hello?”
“Hey, moon girl.”
“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”
You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.
Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.
He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”
“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”
You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.
He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.
He’s an absolute dream.
He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.
In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.
You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.
“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.
You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.
“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”
“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”
“At what, sweetheart?”
“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”
He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.
He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”
You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.
“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.
“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”
The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.
“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”
“My hands?”
“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”
He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.
You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.
Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”
You shake your head.
“Can I show you my place, then?”
“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”
He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.
He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.
The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.
-
Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.
He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.
You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.
His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.
You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.
There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.
“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.
“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.
You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.
“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”
He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”
You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.
Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.
“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.
If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.
“No, it’s- these are all for me?”
“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”
You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.
“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.
“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”
You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.
“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”
No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.
It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.
“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”
You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.
It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.
He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”
You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”
You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.
“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.
if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3
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charliemwrites · 4 months
Text
Good morning. Chapter 8. 😈
(Okay I was a lil wrong. Not full smut, but some spice.)
CW for violence, threats, non-con groping. Reader has a “bad” time and Simon is a bastard. Stay safe while reading!
He doesn’t kill Brandon immediately. No, no that little sack of spare organs deserves a long, slow, thoughtful death. But he doesn’t need to be able to walk for that.
Besides, Simon has a little bunny to track down.
And when he picks up your trail, oh. Oh. You are in so much trouble.
Somehow, you managed to shimmy a window open just enough to squeeze through. Out into a goddamn blizzard. At the very least, he notices when he finds your tracks, you put some boots on.
Catching up to you is pitifully easy. Longer legs and more experience in extreme terrain like this - you’ve barely made it to the tree line before he snatches you up.
“No!” You shout. There’s something so fucking cute about it. The pitch, the indignance mixed with despair. His shoulder shake a bit as he hauls you over her shoulder. “No, Riley, put me down!”
“Name’s Simon, luv.”
“I don’t care!”
“You will.”
He carries you, kicking and squirming and shouting back towards the lodge. Only starts to lose patience when he loses his grip a bit and nearly drops you on a hard sheet of ice.
He growls, digs his fingers into your plush thigh. “If you don’t fucking behave, I will spank you raw right fucking here. With your face in the snow.”
You gasp. Pause. Then go limp, sniffling and crying as he carries you back inside. He dumps you gently in front of the fire on your stomach, pins you down with his boot in the center of your back when you instantly try to scramble away.
“Where did those good manners go, sunshine?” he teases.
“Fuck manners,” you cry, pressing your wet face into your arms.
“No, baby, see? Those good manners are why you’re still alive. So sweet, so nice.” He leans down, careful not too put too much pressure on your abdomen. “Too sweet and nice to die.”
You hitch with a quiet noise. “Why are you doing this? Another lesson?”
“Mm. Could make it another lesson, couldn’t I? But no, luv. This all just for you, because I want to.”
As if on cue, Brandon comes crawling into view whimpering and begging for you to help him. Simon, annoyed by the interruption, snaps at him to shut up.
“Speaking of what I want you to do…” He drops to his knees, straddling your ass. You jolt when you feel the unmistakable hardness pressed against it. Takes everything in him not to grind. “I want to peel this little prick’s skin of square by square.”
Both you and Brandon make frightened noises at that. Simon rolls his eyes and continues.
“I’d settle for letting him bleed out from the stomach or lighting him on fire if he apologizes though.”
“F-for what?” Brandon demands.
Simon buries his fingers in your snow-wet hair because if he doesn’t, he’s going to take this idiot apart piece by piece right in front of you. Seems like a bit much for a second date.
“To her, for being a fucking pervert.”
“I’m not the sick fuckin-“
“S-Simon, please,” you pipe up, voice quiet and wobbly. “D-don’t do this, don’t hurt him.”
He clicks his tongue. “Little late for that, eh?”
“Just… please. He’s suffered enough hasn’t he?”
He laughs. Can’t help it. You just don’t get it yet, do you?
“He touched you. He upset you.”
You swallow. “You’re upsetting me.”
“You’re mine.”
You suck in a breath and finally, finally seem to understand.
“Then…. Then just leave him be. F-for me?”
Simon sighs, but can’t help the fondness that flares in his chest. Such a smart, kind little thing.
“Tell you what, sunshine, I’ll make you a deal.”
He shuffles back a bit, captures both your little wrists with one hand. You don’t try to struggle, know better now. He could purr; such a fast learner too. He draws you up on your knees, leaning you back against his chest.
“If I win, he watches what I do to you and then dies nice and slow like he deserves,” he murmurs in your ear.
You tremble. “W-what are you gonna do to me?”
He grins wickedly, trailing cool blood-stained fingers beneath your shirt. “Nothin’ you’re not already gaggin’ for.”
You jerk a bit, that precious flame of defiance brightening. “I’m not-!”
“Then prove me wrong and take the bet.”
“W-wait what happens if I win?”
He snorts softly, nuzzles his mask into your cheek. Likes the way you shift uncomfortably.
“I’ll stop. Hell, you know what? I’ll turn myself in. Brandon gets to live and you go to therapy and I got to prison, yeah?”
You turn to him, eyes huge and mouth parted in shock. Hook, line, and fuckin’ sinker. Oh, sweet thing, you never stood a chance.
“Deal?” he asks.
You only hesitate for a beat, know that it’s off. Too good to be true.
“If you don’t take the deal, I’ll just continue with our regularly scheduled programming.”
“No!” you gasp. “I-I’ll take the deal. What… what’s the bet?”
“Well,” he purrs, tracing aimless patterns along your sensitive tummy. “Since you’re so sure that you’re not gaggin’ for my cock - you win if this pretty cunt isn’t drippin’ wet for me.”
And he sees it, the exact millisecond that you realize you’re going to lose this bet. You squeeze your eyes shut, a little sob escaping you.
Brandon makes a horrified noise on the other end of the carpet.
“You can’t be fucking serious?! You’re fucking-”
That’s quite enough of that. Simon can’t have you feeling ashamed of something that’s only natural.
“You say another fucking syllable and you’ll be eating your own eyeball.”
Your stomach hitches with disgust. He shushes and coos to you, “I know, I know. Gross nasty, hm? But I can’t have him speaking ill of you, sunshine.”
He tugs the mask up to the bridge of his nose, places a slow kiss against the corner of your jaw.
“Now, for our wager…”
You turn your face away as his hand trails down your abdomen, thumb sweeping over your navel. You shiver as he toys with the waistband of your pants, then finally slips his fingers inside, down….
“Oh, luv,” he moans.
You’re fucking soaked for him. Your panties alone are absolutely ruined. When he pulls them aside and strokes his fingertips through your slit, they come away gleaming. Your clit is swollen and hard, so sensitive that the gentlest brush makes you hiccup and twitch.
He stuffs the two fingers in his mouth, sucking the taste of you from bloody skin. Fucking divine. He could cum in his pants from that alone.
“Mm, shame that,” he rasps in your ear. “Guess I win.”
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tteokdoroki · 1 month
Note
Hi aali!, Happy Valentine's Day~ I saw your bumble date, swipe right event and would like to participate :D I put forward gojo satoru as my fav, red bottomed heels as my ideal valentine's gift and for my date to be sweet. Please and thank you in advance /^w^/
⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. swipe sweet: red bottom heels.
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about. it’s a match! whilst dolling yourself up to spend valentines day with your husband — satoru gojo reminds you of how much he loves you with a very expensive and reminiscent gift ( 1K ).
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, reader and gojo are married + have kids, reader is wearing a dress, afab!reader.
・:〃⤥ bumble date, swipe right event !
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“are the kids in bed?” you ask your husband satoru as you scrutinise the line of red on your lips in the mirror. his large palms smooth over the curves of your frame, hugged by your pretty and powder blue dress, before stopping just above your navel. 
the gesture is sweet, with no ulterior motives, you’ve learned over the years that your husband values proximity and closeness. he likes to hold you close like you might disappear and touch you as though to make sure that you’re real. tonight, he gets lost in the way you feel underneath his explorative fingertips, entranced by how beautiful you look tonight (or any other night). 
cooing, you capture his attention — brilliant colbalt eyes finding yours in the mirror.  “satoru,” 
“you look good in this dress, baby. is it new?” he quips, head of silvering hair coming to rest at the junction between your neck and shoulder as you finish perfecting your lip. “sorry, yes honey. the rugrats are sleepin’.” 
you squirm happily in your man’s hold, relishing the way that he loves up on you with kisses to your neck and his warm hands rubbing up had dabi’s your sides. “what about the sitters? did you pay them?”
“you mean fushiguro? we practically raised him, a bit of free labour never hurt anybody —“ when you cough unhappily, glaring at your long-time lover and father of your children in the mirror, satoru pouts into the kisses he’s fitted along your bare shoulder. “— fine, i’ll leave him a tip.” 
the man is rewarded with one of your dazzling smiles, the type that has his heart bursting through his chest and his brain a mess. no matter how many dates you go on, how many times you celebrate valentine’s day together…satoru gojo finds himself falling in love with you all over again. each and every time. 
“satoru baby, did you—?” 
“yes, sweetie, i called the uber. it’ll be here in five. yes, i called the restaurant and had them push back by thirty and yes, you look beautiful. you always do. you’re just as beautiful as the day i met you,” years of marriage has taught satoru gojo to be prepared for anything. your fluttering mind, your worry for your children, the fact that you always take a little too long to get ready for the simplest of outings. these little habits and ticks of yours are things that he cherishes, things he wouldn’t change for the world. satoru has grown a lot since he first met you, and has grown in all the right ways to make sure that you’re loved. 
spinning you in his bulking arms, satoru backs you up against your bathroom sink — caging you against it with his arms either side of your hips while he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “now, i know we like to be fashionably late to things, being the hottest couple in the world and all, but i really do think we should get going,” he scolds you playfully, but doesn’t make an effort to draw away from you. “i can’t push this table back anymore,” 
you smile, blowing a kiss up at him so that you don’t smudge your lipstick. “don’t let megumi hear you say that, you know that he thinks we’re cringe.” 
“he can think what he wants, nothing will stop me from showing off the most beautiful woman in the world,” when the white haired man finally steps back, your fingers remain linked — wedding bands clinking against one another. “let me get your shoes, gorgeous, the car’ll be here soon.”
as your husband retreats ( leaving you a love stricken mess in the bathroom ), you resort to packing a clutch with the essentials for tonight — debating on which lip gloss to bring with you until he comes back. 
“remember these?” satoru questions you softly once he re-enters the bathroom — sinking to his knees despite the tight fitting black tux that he wears. your eyes drift over his handsomely aged face, firm and muscled form, down to the pair of heels he holds in his grasp. their white leather and red bottom sole are all too familiar to you. a pair of christian louboutin heels fresh from the box. 
setting the pair of shoes down, satoru gently takes one of your ankles in his hold and positions it perfectly to slip your foot into the heel. “you wore them to our wedding, way back when. i remember that you spent hours deliberating between the kate model and the hot chick model. even still, i always loved how they looked on you,” he reminisces, lips ghosting over your thigh and thumbs smoothing up your calves once your foot is secured in its shoe.  “how they make your legs look.” 
he wiggles his eyebrows up at you then, making you snort under the dim lighting in your bathroom like two teenagers struggling to get out of their clothes after a night out. “satoru!” you squeal, pushing at his shoulder with your bare foot. “focus, we’ve got to leave soon,” your husband nods, working your other heel on while you reminisce. “i thought i lost the original pair in one of the boxes when we moved to the bigger house for the baby.” 
blue eyes shoot up to meet yours, holding so much love and adoration for you. “not too tight, right?” gojo whispers, rubbing at the back of your foot to make sure the leather material isn’t hurting you. you shake your head, earning yourself a kiss to the knee. “you did. lose them. i remember how upset you were, so i figured i’d get you a replacement pair. they might be a little different but—“ 
“but they’re perfect, thank you baby,” even after all this time, satoru remains the most thoughtful partner you’ve ever had. you swear to yourself that you’ll cherish him always, look after him always. even after life and even in death. “i love them.”
“i love you.” gojo says tenderly, taking a stand and offering you his hand all in one swift movement. “now cinderella, i do believe our carriage awaits. our Uber driver has just set a timer and i’ll be damned if he drives away with my damn money.” 
with that, you let your husband whisk you away for a romantic dinner — expensive and cherished red bottom heels clicking against the pavement while the wind carries your joint laughter as you run like fools for your uber (much to megumi’s dismay). 
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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impyssadobsessions · 22 days
Note
I don't have much time but I wanted to share this with you while I can! I can't draw but I can write and this is the only way I can share this imagery with you!
The world is passing by in a flurry of colors.
Which usually isn’t that unusual for Clark…usually though it’s because his flying of his own accord. Now…now it was because he was hurdling who knows how fast in piece of metal that was more of a mobile armory then an actual RV then it supposedly was.
There were no support handles to hold on to for just a bit of comfort, no, that was replaced by a handle that would pull down and release a fog horn sound.
So all he could do was pull his knees up to steady himself against the front console, using his size to squeeze himself into a cannonball form in hopes he didn’t get dislodged on a particular rough bump.
Then again if he did, maybe he could get propelled forward and through the front and take the engine out on his way.
Wishful thinking…at least he was doing better then Bruce.
Who was currently sprawled out on the floor of the RV looking like a disheveled cat hanging on to whatever and however he could. Maybe it would look more natural in his Batman outfit but at the moment both if them were in civilian wear and seeing the ‘Prince of Gotham’ doing an impression of a deranged starfish just added on more to today’s bizarreness.
Jack Fenton was giving him a large smile as he drove through another wall, “Don’t you guys worry! I’ll get us to our boys! No speed limit or any barrier can stop a Fenton!”
Clark could only let out a groan of despair as a response...
AMG THIS IS LOVELY LMAO!!! Bruce just imitating one of his sons to keep himself from being thrashed around.. or worse... throw up. ahhhh imagine they both slump out of the rv when they arrive, shaking and so grateful to touch the ground. Bruce is definitely calling for a private jet after this and Clark might agree to ride with him just to have a slower ride.
Danny gives them pity pats when he learns... Jon and Damian like how bad could it be. Damian thinking his father been in a space ship and Jon like we fly that fast every- Only for them to be overheard by Jack by their curiosity, so they all end up being drove back by him. Which bruce and clark like OH GOD please- which becomes a little relief when it turns out Jack drives safer with children.... still deranged but one they can handle. Damian still doesn't see what got their fathers so twisted up. Danny knows though and then asks dad how long it took them. "Regrettably 3 hours son. I was hoping it would be two." Damian frowned and done the math then asking if there was a flying feature in the... rv? "AHA! Nope, but I've been trying to convince Mads to let me install one. She said it would cost too much in gas though, and take up room for the ghost scanner." Damian does the math.. then realizes why his father and clark are shaking in the rv.. even by the tiniest of amounts. "That's my dad! :D" Danny grinning. "He's cool." Jon says innocently enough, not realizing the horror of that statement until it takes them over five hours to get home. Jack decided to play it safe and follow SOME speed limits and road signs. Jack is never allowed to drive again next time they hang out. Bruce or Clark always gets the keys =w= or has limo. ahh sorry got inspired. I LOVE this snippet ;w; !!!! <3 Thank you for writing this. <3<3<3
Link to prompt
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jobean12-blog · 6 months
Text
Insatiable
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Vampire AU)
Word Count: 893
Summary: Bucky will never tolerate any harm coming to you and he will do anything to protect you.
Author's Note: Another little piece for Kinktober! I can never leave out my favorite AU and Vampire!Bucky is one of my fave kinks! 🫠🔥 The inspiration for this came from Castlevania season 1- if you haven't seen the show it doesn't matter, I just love the idea of Dracula losing his mind bc anyone tries to hurt his love. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰
Warnings: soft sweetness, mentions of b-l-oo-d, fi-g-e-r-in-g, p-in-v, Vampire!Bucky bc he's just so hot lol
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Vampire AU Masterlist
Kinktober 2023 Masterlist
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His blue eyes pierce the darkness of night as he gazes down on the slumbering village, unmoving on the large balcony even as you approach.
“I was wondering where you had gone,” you whisper as you curl yourself against him. “I hate being in bed without you.”
He removes his gaze from the village and settles it on you, the radiant skin of his brow furrowing when he sees your bare skin.
With a tsk of disapproval he removes his shirt and drapes it over your shoulders, cocooning you with its warmth as he presses you against his body. He drags his eyes away from you and stares back out over the village.
You lay a palm on his bare chest, feeling nothing but his cool skin. “Talk to me.”
He rests his hand over yours. “I’m going to burn that city to the ground.”
The words come out in a rumble of a warning, his eyes glowing and his fangs elongating.
“No,” you state, sliding in front of him so you can draw his attention. “You’re not.”
With a sly smile his focus returns to you. “Is that so doll?”
He cages you against the iron railing of the balcony and ghosts his fingers along your collarbone, moving higher until he pushes his shirt from your shoulder.
“Mm hm,” you hum, pressing yourself closer to him.
His dark eyelashes kiss his cheeks as he feels every inch of your naked body and his hands glide along your curves.
But when he speaks the next words his grip tightens and his eyes flash. “But they tried to take you from me. Tried to take the only thing that makes this eternity worth enduring.”
“James,” you whisper, brushing your fingertips along his jaw. “They didn’t succeed. You saved me. I’ll always be safe with you.”
His fingers ghost over your hip to grab your elbow before they continue sliding along your arm until he catches your wrist in his hand and leans his cheek into your palm.
“They need to pay for what they’ve done,” he murmurs as he lifts your hand and presses his lips to each fingertip. “I will make them bleed.”
“You can’t punish all of them for the wrong doings of only a few.”
“I can,” he says, his voice deep and powerful. “Besides doll,” he croons, his smirk growing, “how do you plan to stop me?”
Your own grin graces your features as you remove your hand from his and take his wrist, sliding his fingers down between your breasts and along your stomach.
His breath hitches ever so slightly as his eyes track the movement.
“A distraction,” he simpers.
You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.
“For the rest of eternity?” he teases.
“Are you complaining?” you ask when his fingers meet the apex of your thighs.
You release his hand and he doesn’t move, his touch teasing.
“If I could stay buried inside you forever,” he murmurs, nipping lightly along your throat with his fangs, “I would.”
You shiver and spread your legs wider when his fingers dip lower. His free hand slides firmly around your neck and his fangs still hover above your delicate skin as he runs his nose the length of your throat, inhaling your scent into his lungs.
“You smell good enough to eat,” he hums when he slips two fingers inside you.
Your head rolls to the side, exposing more of your neck as you thrust your hips onto his fingers, whispered pleas for more falling from your parted lips.
“You tempt the beast inside me doll,” he growls.
“I want you…every way I can have you James.”
The drag of his fingers is slow, torturous and purposeful.
His cool lips graze along your jaw before they find yours and he draws out every breath from your lungs, pushing harder and deeper with his fingers.
“James,” you gasp as your legs start to tremble.
Without warning he pulls his fingers from inside you and lifts them between your bodies, the moonlight illuminating his glistening skin. He brings them to his lips, licking and sucking them clean of every last drop with a satisfied growl.
“They tried to take you from me,” he repeats, his eyes growing darker even as a soft glow surrounds his irises. “Tried to take this from me.”
As he speaks the words he grabs your thigh and spreads you open, lifting your leg and wrapping it around his waist. He fills you in one hard thrust, your back arching and bending back over the railing.
He holds you in his embrace, his hips still as he nips and sucks along the swell of your breasts.
“James…please,” you beg.
When his lips reach your pulse point he bites down hard enough to draw blood, his fangs caressing the spot before he soothes it with his tongue.
“You would have me do nothing when they try to take everything from me?” he whispers into your skin, his voice raspy with need. “I can’t lose you.”
He starts to move; each roll of his hips deliberate as he chokes out the next words and wraps his hand more tightly around your neck, drawing you impossibly closer.
“I can’t lose you and I’ll do anything to protect my Angel. Even if it means I have to be the Devil.”
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@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @lizette50
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katyswrites · 6 months
Text
don't call me 'baby'
PART 10 | SERIES
Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, mentions of pregnancy/a pregnancy scare, mentions of food and alcohol, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, ddlg dynamics, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n
Wordcount: 10.4K
A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?
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PART 10 | meet me in the afterglow
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Your walk to work was chilly enough to warrant a coat. That was perhaps the thing you missed least about home in the U.S. - even though the winters certainly got cold here, it was nowhere near the sub-zero temperatures you had grown up with during the coldest time of year. Maybe the only thing you missed was snow - in all of your time living here, you had only gotten a brief dusting once, and it had melted by the following day.
Still, a week out from Christmas, you now needed to wrap something warm around yourself as you walked down the street, heading closer to the city center as your shift was due to start. 
You were technically two minutes late to your shift, the coffee shop busy enough to have a line going out the door when you arrived. Yet, your manager Francesco said nothing - a small spark of joy in your day. 
You didn’t necessarily need to go back to work - Steve’s money had yet to run out. But, you felt good about earning your own money - and, the less you had to draw on his remaining funds, the less you had to think about him.
You hadn’t seen or spoken to Steve since the night of your argument. Well, that was only partially true - you had received one piece of communication from him. It came a few days later - you had been moping in your apartment, having barely left your room for days, when an envelope arrived. It had his familiar writing and wax seal, with another wad of cash and a letter made out to you:
I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me. I am a man of my word, so I promise to help provide for you until you’re finished with school. I’ll be transferring enough money to your account to cover all of your expenses, so no need to worry about your rent, food, anything of the sort… I really do want you to be able to focus on school, okay? So, please don’t protest, or try to send the money back. Please feel free to use the credit card if you need to. 
I’m sorry it ended this way. We both knew it was going to, but I apologize if I said anything out of line the other night. I truly do wish you the best. 
Take care,
Steve
Reading it had been a punch to the gut. The formality of it, the finality of it… you would’ve rather that you never heard from him again. You had stashed the letter in a box under your bed, and not looked at it since.
A few weeks after that, you had pregnancy scare. It was silly, really - but, your period was late, and if was the first conclusion your mind had jumped to. You had called Robin in a panic, begging her to come home - she did, with four different brands of pregnancy tests. Those 15 minutes of waiting for results were the most agonizing of your life - then, upon seeing them all negative, you fell to your knees and burst into tears.
“It’s okay,” Robin had cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re good it was a false alarm - you’re probably just late because of stress -”
“I know,” you sobbed. “I just -”
“What is it?”
You then had sat up, chest heaving as you sobbed.
“He’s really gone isn’t he?”
Robin held you in her arms that night as you cried yourself to sleep.
To your knowledge now, he had gone back to the U.S. - was he still in Chicago? Or, did he go back to New York? You realized it was better for you to not ask these questions, or to think of him at all. As the weeks had turned into months, you found yourself thinking of him a little less each day - but you still thought of him. You saw him in the passersby as you walked down the street, in every car window, in every businessman walking through the door to order a coffee. Sometimes, you’d hear a laugh, or get a brief whiff of cigarette smoke, and swear it was him. But it never was - it never would be again.
The days had dragged on, but luckily, you often found yourself too busy to dwell too much on thoughts of Steve. Between work and school, your plate was pretty full. With graduation in mere weeks, you had spent the entire term studying and working on your thesis. Steve’s remaining money, at least, allowed you to work far less hours than you had before - a small blessing, you supposed. 
The day was moving pretty quickly, the morning rush busy enough that two hours flew by without much notice. It was only during the afternoon lull that you found yourself able to look up from the espresso machine - only to lock eyes with a familiar face through the window.
Eddie smiled back at you, waving. You couldn’t help but grin, and beckoned him to come inside. He bounded through the glass doors, bursting into the coffee shop with the infectious, chaotic energy he always carries with him.
“Bella, how are you?” he asked, leaning over the counter with a big grin.
“I’m okay,” you said, shrugging.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Just okay?”
“Oh well - you know, a bit stressed with the end of term and all. But, that’ll all be over soon.”
“I’m almost done, too - just finishing up my exams, all of that nonsense.”
“Do you have someone for your thesis?”
You nodded. “Professor Hopper - he’s always had a soft spot for me,” you said, smiling fondly, thinking of the seemingly-gruff. 
“I have Clarke - I don’t actually know how much he knows about photography, he teaches chemistry for godsake, but apparently it’s a hobby or something, so he’ll sign off on whatever I do,” Eddie said, laughing.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you - I actually have my own studio space now.”
“What? Eddie, that’s amazing!”
He grinned. “Thanks - I mean, I’m still technically freelance, but I’m hoping once I’m fully graduated more work will start coming in. But for now, I don’t mind having some spare time to practice with the band.”
You did your best to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
“Right - don’t forget me when you make it as a big rockstar, Eddie.”
He let out a hearty laugh at that, the infectious kind that had you joining in - you hadn’t laughed like that in quite some time.
“You know, you should come by later to check it out,” Eddie said. “I mean, if you want -”
You thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Sure, why not - I get off in about a half hour -”
“Perfect,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “I’ll just wait around then - and, uh, can I get an espresso? Since I’m already here and all.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.
“Yeah, sure thing Munson - I’ll take my sweet time with it, just for you.”
The end of your shift flew by, and soon enough you were pulling off your apron, linking your arm in Eddie’s as he led you out the door and through the city.
The studio, as it turned out, was only a few blocks away. The space was small, but nice - a big glass storefront allowed plenty of light in, even with the fading sun, indicative of the short days of winter. Some of Eddie’s work hung framed on the walls - city scenes, candids of people on the street, bands in action at his favorite club… and even a few of you, from the project you posed for a few years ago.
“Wow - this is amazing, Eddie!” you exclaimed, glancing around the studio with genuine pride for your friend. You knew this was always the goal for him, what he always wanted to do.
“Grazie mille,” he said, beaming. 
“Do you have anything lined up?”
He nodded.
“Some - nothing too interesting. A few weddings, graduation photoshoots, things like that. Oh, do you want to see the photo lab?”
You let him lead the way into the back room, passing through a dimly-lit room with machines and equipment that you were sure you had no idea how to use. Newly developed photos were hanging around on clothespins, or spread across the table in the middle.
“Back there is the darkroom,” Eddie said, gesturing to a small door on the other side of the room. “But yeah, this is where the magic happens.”
“You develop all your pictures this way?” you asked, examining a few laid across the table.
He shook his head. “Not exactly - only the stuff I shoot on film. A lot of what I do is digital, and I edit that on my computer but… I really do love shooting film. I only really do that for specific things. Oh, which reminds me!”
He turned his back to you, rummaging through a filing cabinet until he produced a large manila envelope, extending it to you. You furrowed your brow, confused. You turned it to examine it properly - the only thing written on it was your name and a date, in Eddie’s telltale scrawl.
“What -”
“It’s those pictures I owe you, from your birthday party - sorry, it took me a while to get around to developing them.”
Oh. 
“Oh,” you said quietly, gripping the envelope a bit tighter. “Uh, thanks - that was really nice of you, Eddie.”
You were still staring down at the parcel in your hands, your hands shaking a bit - you had completely forgotten that Eddie had been taking pictures all night. Most likely because you had been a bit distracted at the time. But now…
“I think they turned out pretty nice, if you ask me,” Eddie said. “But, you can be the judge of that yourself.”
You pressed your mouth into a tight line, nearly feigning a smile as you finally met his eyes again. He was looking back expectantly, and you realized he wanted you to look at them now. 
“Oh, yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess I’ll just -”
You opened it up, sliding out the stack of photos - they were slightly bigger than the ones you had seen from a digital camera, on a beautiful matte paper that you knew must have not been cheap. This, you realized, was Eddie’s belated birthday gift to you.
You thumbed through the pictures - the first few were just candids of your friends on the dancefloor, or deep in conversation around the bar. There were a few of you and Robin, arms thrown around each other and smiling ear-to-ear.
There were quite a few solo shots of you, raising a glass to the camera, mid-laugh, or dancing - somehow, he had made it look like you truly were the center of attention, as if to tell people this is who we were there for! 
You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, laughing quietly at a few of the shots, including one of Robin flipping off the camera as she kisses Vickie. Then, your smile dropped, because there he was.
Steve, looking as handsome as you remembered, but somehow also a stranger, or like a figment of your imagination. Somehow, a small part of your subconscious had convinced you over the last few months that perhaps he wasn’t real, a true figment of your imagination that had been too good to be true. But there he was, large as life, his arm wrapped around you as you smiled into the camera. You were smiling in his arms, a girl completely unrecognizable in some ways. In another photo, he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek as you laugh - you remembered that one being taken, that’s for sure. You gently trailed your fingers across the picture, as if you were hoping to reach in and pull that happy girl out, just to shake a bit of sense into her. You didn’t even realize you were crying until a fat wet teardrop his the page, rolling down and off the edge.
“Whoa - are you alright?” Eddie asked, his voice tinged with worry.
You jumped, having nearly forgotten that he was there at all. How long had you been staring at the pictures of Steve? For a few minutes, or hours? There was no way to know.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, the thickness in your voice betraying you. You pressed the heels of your hands under your eyes, willing the gentle tears to stop, sniffling.
“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked softly.
You laughed dryly, more hot tears welling up as you did.
“Nothing! I - they’re beautiful, Eddie. Really - thank you. You - you’ve really got a talent.”
Your voice wobbled a bit at the end, and you sniffled.
“I’m sorry, I - it’s nothing to do with you,” you assured him. “I just - I’ve been having a hard time lately.”
Eddie cocked his head, confused. Then, his eyes flitted down to the picture in your hands.
“Oh - I’m sorry, I - is this about him?” Eddie asked quietly, gesturing to the photos. You just nodded, avoiding his gaze again as you stuffed them back into the envelope.
“I didn’t know you two had broken up, I’m sorry -”
“We didn’t break up!” you snapped, harsher than intended. “Fuck, I - sorry, that came out wrong. We didn’t break up, because we were never exactly together. It’s just complicated.”
Eddie furrowed his brow. “Yeah, okay - well, I’m sorry to hear about your not-breakup. I guess I’m just a little surprised.”
“Why’s that?” you asked.
He shrugged. “I spent a long time looking at all of those when I was developing them - you know how they say pictures tell a thousand words?”
You nodded.
“Well - I take pictures of a lot of couples - weddings, engagement shoots, all of that… and I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.”
You felt your chest tighten - maybe you were being a lovesick idiot at your party, but Steve?
You shook your head. “No - Eddie, it… it wasn’t like that. I can promise you that.”
Steve made that perfectly clear.
Eddie shrugged again. “I’m just telling you what I observed, that’s all.”
“Well maybe you should mind your business,” you grumbled.
Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that.
Eddie’s face fell a bit, and he slowly took a step back, hands shoved in his pockets.
“My apologies,” he whispered. He was hurt, that much was obvious. You mentally kicked yourself.
“No Eddie - I’m sorry, I didn’t -” 
You sighed, frustrated.
“Things have been, like, really weird the last few months and… it doesn’t matter.”
“I could tell,” he said, voice quiet. “You’ve been.. Distant.”
You nodded, the awkwardness filling the space between you two. You had fucked this up too, somehow.
“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Uh, it’s getting late, and dark… I probably should head home.”
“Yeah, okay - good idea, I have some stuff to work on anyway.”
You both nodded, avoiding eye contact as you both headed out back into the studio.
It wasn’t until you were at the door that you turned to face Eddie again.
“The place really is beautiful… I’m proud of you,” you said sincerely. He offered a small smile in return.
“Thanks.”
“I also - the pictures are beautiful. Thank you for these, I - they’re great.”
“I’m sorry if they -”
“Don’t apologize,” you said firmly. “They’re great - you’ve really got a gift, you know.”
You could tell Eddie was fighting a real smile, a small win in your book.
“C’mon, you know my ego’s just fine on its own.”
You laughed, and without thinking, pulled him into a tight hug.
“I’m sorry I lost it a little earlier,” you whispered.
“It’s alright,” he said, pulling away. “Heartbreak is funny like that.”
You decided not to bother protesting his assessment this time, too tired to start a fight again just to feel something.
“Right, okay.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take out the photos with… him?” Eddie asked, gesturing down to the envelope.
“No, that’s alright - I’m a big girl, I can go through them. I’m definitely going to hang a few of these up though, so thanks again.”
“Take good care of yourself darling, alright? And come by any time - for any reason.”
It was an olive branch, an assurance that things were okay. You forced a smile, nodding.
“Thanks, Eddie - you’re a great friend, you know.”
You bid your farewells, and left the studio with a strange feeling settling within you. You pulled your coat a little tighter around you, stuffing the envelope underneath as you charged through the chilly evening air to the nearest bus stop.
You didn’t get home until nearly 6pm, the winter sky fully dark by then. By the time you walked a few blocks and up the stairs to your apartment, your face was stinging from the cold, the wind picking up more since that afternoon.
Robin was on the couch, a rerun of Friends playing on the TV.
“Hey! You’re back kind of late,” she remarked.
“Yeah - I ran into Eddie, funnily enough,” you replied, hoping you sounded nonchalant.
“Oh really? How is he? I miss him - we should really make a plan to hang out with him soon -”
“Yeah, for sure,” you said, kicking off your shoes and hanging your coat on the rack. “He’s good - I saw his new studio, it’s nice.”
“Oh, no way! That’s great - I need to go sometime -”
“Yeah, totally,” you said, absentminded. “Uh, I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll be out here later -”
“Maybe we can get takeout or something -”
“Yeah, perfect -” you tittered, closing your bedroom door behind you, eyes on the envelope in your hands.
You bit your lip, debating what to do. Part of you considered finding all of the pictures of Steve, and burning them. But, that felt a bit dramatic. You pulled out the stack again, sifting through until you found the shots of him. You couldn’t help but smile, looking at how happy the girl in the photos was - if only she knew how quickly things would fall apart that night. The photo of Steve kissing you cheek was your favorite - it was just full of pure, unbridled joy. The one after that was the one you stared at for quite some time, though. You were looking into the camera, grinning widely. Steve, however, wasn’t - no, he was looking at you. You stared at him for quite some time - and remembered Eddie’s words.
I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.
You had thought it was crazy - but, in the picture, Steve was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. Like, if he didn’t have you, he’d be lost. He was looking at you with eyes full of love - you just hadn’t been looking.
You gasped, realizing what Eddie had seen that you couldn’t - maybe everything had meant more to Steve than he had let on. No, that was crazy - wasn’t it?
What happened next didn’t have much explanation - it was probably crazy. You found yourself Googling Steve’s company headquarters in Chicago - it couldn’t be this easy, could it? But it was.
A quick call through the directory brought you to his secretary, a bubbly woman who was more than happy to help. You pretended to be the secretary of a business partner you had remembered Steve mentioning, saying how you wanted to send a thank-you gift - it had been too easy to get his home address, really. And, a confirmation that he was back in Chicago.
The next morning, you sent out an envelope, sticking on international postage. You debated not putting your name on the return address, but ultimately decided to include it - he’d recognize the address anyway. When you dropped it at the post office, you walked away feeling a sense of relief - and, perhaps, just a bit unhinged. TIme would tell if anything came of it. But, at the very least, it felt like finally closing the chapter of your life that had been defined by Steve Harrington. And, that was a good thing… right?
********
The day before Christmas Eve, you received great news: confirmation that you had passed all of your exams, your thesis receiving glowing feedback from the professors in your department. Your degree, which studied Art History and Travel and Tourism Management, meant that you would actually be able to stay here - you hoped to work in tourism in some way right here in Rome, or perhaps work in one of the city’s many museums - being bilingual would help, and more importantly, it meant you never had to set foot back in the United States again, if you didn’t want.
Christmas brought its usual cheer and celebration, complete with mulled wine and a potluck dinner you and Robin held for some of the other foreign students you were friendly with, knowing they didn’t have families to go to for the holidays. Your graduation only brought extra festivities, including a speech prepared by Robin given as a toast at dinner, saying how proud she was of you (and, how jealous she was that you didn’t have to worry about schoolwork anymore). It was silly yet sincere enough to make you tear up and pull her into a big hug. Eddie and Jonathan even swung by for a bit, joining in on the celebration until the wee hours of the morning. Robin and Vickie were all over each otherYou ate and drank to your heart’s content before stumbling to bed, leaving cleanup in the kitchen for the morning.
The morning of Boxing Day, it turned out, was actually the afternoon, with you and Robin oversleeping. You, to your own relief, felt tired, but not too hungover - the same couldn’t be said for Robin and Vickie, who stumbled into the kitchen with grimaces on their faces and grumbles as a greeting.
You spent most of the day cleaning up from the last two days’ festivities, washing dishes and clearing away wrapping paper, wiping countertops and vacuuming just enough until your home felt semi-in order. 
You were still in your pajamas as it was getting dark again in the evening, a rarity these days. When Robin said she was heading out to dinner with Vickie and likely would be staying at her place that night, you bid her farewell, looking forward to some time alone to fully relax and unwind. 
It was several hours later, after scrounging together a dinner of Christmas leftovers and half-dozing on the couch while a movie played, that your doorbell rang. You sat up with a start, your heart jumping at the unexpected intrusion. You stumbled to the door, grumbling about who could possibly be here at this hour - maybe Robin decided to come back after all, and got locked out again? You were ready to playfully ridicule her when you opened the door. But when you saw who was standing on the other side, you froze.
Steve Harrington was there on your doorstep, barely illuminated in the dim light. His chest was heaving, his hair just a bit disheveled. His eyes widened when he saw you, and you imagined you did the same. Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the sight of him, so real and alive in front of you. Were you dreaming? Was this some sick prank?
Neither of you said anything for a moment, two mouths hanging open, searching for the words.
“It’s Christmas,” you blurted out, the first words you’ve said to him in over four months.
“It’s December 26th,” he replied, simply and casually.
“I - well, it’s still a holiday, kind of.”
“Yeah, I know - do you know how hard it is to catch a last-minute flight on Christmas?”
You just stood there in the doorway, unable to think of anything else to say - what the fuck?
“What are you doing here?” you asked, words biting. You were lashing out a bit, but you didn’t care - this moment right now reminded you of a similar one over the summer, when he came to your doorstep to explain how he wasn’t engaged. What was his excuse now?
“Why did you send me this?” he asked, holding up a familiar envelope - the photo.
Why did you? You weren’t certain of that answer yourself. So, you went with the first explanation that came to your head.
“It’s a good picture of you,” you said quietly.
He rolled his eyes.
“Do not - I don’t hear from you for months, then I get this in the mail - on Christmas Eve, mind you -”
“I’m sorry, were you supposed to hear from me?”
“I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe?”
You scoffed. “You can’t be serious - you made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again.”
“I - what?”
“I wish you well? Take care? We ended things, Steve - what else was I meant to think?”
He sighed, his shoulders sagging.
“I don’t know. I guess part of me - it doesn’t matter. But, what am I supposed to make of this?” he asks, waving the envelope.
“I - Eddie gave me a bunch of pictures he took at my birthday party… I thought maybe you’d want that one.”
He took a tentative step closer towards you, gauging your reaction. You held your ground, not breaking eye contact.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked, voice low.
You felt your heartbeat quicken, your palms clammy - he really was just so handsome. Still, there was something so boyish about him, something that reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. He had cut his hair a bit, his summer tan faded - and he looked tired. Then again, you probably did too - you suddenly became conscious of the fact that you were in your pajamas, still looking like you had just woken up - you wished you could disappear, never to be perceived again.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “The only reason.”
He was close enough now that you could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped, his eyes glancing up and down your form as he took a deep breath.
“Tell me that, when you sent this, there wasn’t at least a small part of you that hoped I’d respond - that, when you sent this, you hoped I’d call, or show up here. If there wasn’t, I’ll walk away right now, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
There it was - everything laid out on the table. So much was still unsaid - but, it was obvious that he also had been hurting the last few months, that he didn’t want this to end, maybe even nearly as much as you did. 
“You really flew all the way here because I sent you a photo?” you whispered.
He nodded. “Of course I did.”
“You realize how crazy that is, right?”
He chuckled dryly.
“Well, they do say it makes you do crazy things.”
“...it?” you asked, voice wavering.
He nodded.
Oh.
“Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s pretty cold out there.”
As soon as the door was shut behind him, he began spiraling into a new explanation.
“I hope you know that I didn’t come here just to - you’re right, it is kind of crazy, but I didn’t know what else to do, after everything that happened -”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk at all.”
You both stood there for a moment, eyes locked on eachother. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, you both moved at once - you crashed your lips into his, fast and desperate. He sighed against your lips, pulling you close as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 
You felt like crying - you had missed him so much, more than you had realized - his voice, his warmth, his scent - it brought everything flooding back, the feelings you had buried in an attempt at self-preservation. But now, as you kissed him, you felt the tears well up, stinging your eyes as they rolled down your face, hot and fast.
“Whoa - baby, it’s okay - what’s wrong -”
Baby. 
“Nothing,” you cried, wiping the tears away. “I just - I really fucking missed you.”
You felt stupid to admit it, but then again, didn’t he come close to confessing that himself just a few moments ago?
“I know, I know, baby - you have no fuckin’ idea -”
Another kiss, passionate and apologetic.
“I didn’t mean any of what I said that night,” you gasped, pulling him closer. “I was just so scared -”
“I know, me too, baby - m’sorry -”
Baby. Babybabybaby.
He was holding your face between his hands now, backing you up until you were pressed against the wall, his lips finding yours again. He titled his head down to nuzzle at your throat, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin there. You tipped your head back, giving him full access to do as he pleased. He kissed and nipped at your neck, until you were moaning and crying out his name, pulling at his coat until it fell off of his shoulders. You twisted your hands in his button-down, his hands squeezing tighter on your waist in response.
“Fuck, Steve,” you breathed. “I’m sorry -”
“Stop with that,” he said, firmly taking your face in his hands again, catching your lips in another gentle kiss. “You’re right, I just realy don’t want to talk anymore -”
Then he was kissing you again, swallowing your noises as you whined his name, fingers gripping his hair.
“Bedroom, now,” you told him. “Please -”
“Yeah, okay.”
He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, both of you stumbling down the small hallway and into your bedroom, Steve slamming the door closed behind him with his foot.
“No Robin?” he asked, lips finding your neck again.
“No - ah! She’s at Vickie’s tonight -”
“Thank Christ,” he growled. “I don’t know how quiet I’m capable of being right now.”
He was apparently as desperate as you were, lips finding yours hungrily as he pulled your oversized t-shirt over your head, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when he saw your breasts.
“No bra?” he asked.
“I was lounging around, until you showed up -”
“Thank god,” he practically snarled, his hands finding the small of your back to pull you close.
You reached between yourselves, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers slipping as they shook with anticipation. He reached down to help you, until he eventually shrugged the shirt off. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your bare chest to his, nearly crying again from the contact.
“I really missed you,” he whispered, a man ruined. “I never thought I’d be able to have you like this again -”
“None of that,” you murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s alright.”
You just stared at him, running your hands down his chest as you took a deep breath.
“I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” he asked, face flickering with concern. “Oh god, are - are you seeing someone else? I didn’t even ask -”
“No! No, nothing like that,” you assured, biting your lip. “I just - do you remember the night of my birthday on our trip, on the rooftop?”
He nodded. “That was a really nice night.”
“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” you admitted, heart racing as you were ready to lay out the thing you had been terrified to admit aloud.
“About what?” he asked softly, cupping your cheek gently with his palm.
“Remember when I said something in Italian, and you asked what it meant? And I just said it meant I loved the gift, the star thing?”
He nodded. You took a deep, shuddering breath.
“That wasn’t exactly true. I - I said that I was in love with you,” you managed, voice quivering at the end. “That’s why I was so scared - I didn’t realize until I said it… I had broken our rule, our number one rule -”
“Hey, hey -” he cooed, shaking his head. “Did you mean it?”
You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah - I still do.”
The few seconds that passed after that had your stomach doing somersaults - what if he still didn’t feel that way, and everything he had said in the doorway was bullshit? You thought you were going to be sick -
But his face softened, his eyes glistening - was he going to cry?
“Fuck the rules. I stopped following those a long time ago,” he said.
Your heart fluttered, your face heating.
“Are you saying -”
“How did you say it in Italian again?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve been slacking on my lessons without you around.”
You laughed. “Oh, um, it’s sono innamorato di te. It translates directly as I’m in love with you, or I’m falling for you.”
He nodded. “Well then - sono innamorato di te.”
You felt like your chest was about to explode, and before you knew it, you were crying again. He was too, you realized, his cheeks glistening with tears as he choked a sob with laughter.
“We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we both just said that in the first place,” he said, reaching to wipe away some of your tears.
“How long?” you asked.
“Since the night of the gala I brought you to. So… longer. I guess I win.”
You sobbed again, Steve swallowing the sound with another kiss. It’s wet and salty with tears, a mess of apologies and confessions.
“Steve - I -”
“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing your salty cheeks. “It’s alright - I’m here now -”
The conversation truly stopped after that - you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another, shedding clothes until you were nude and devouring each other with desperation unlike anything you had ever felt before.
Steve was pressing his lips between your breasts when you asked, voice breathy and filled with need.
“Steve - I need you, please -”
“Mm - yeah, okay -”
Before he could move, you were reaching down to grasp his cock in your hand. He gasped, pupils blown as his head thumped back against the wall. The noise that came out of him was unholy, wrecked and ruined as you brushed your thumb along his leaking tip.
“Christ, baby -”
“Can I suck you off, please?” you asked, desperate to make him come undone. 
“Honey - you can’t - I just, I wanna fuck you so bad… I won’t last if I let you get your mouth on me, baby.”
You pouted, even as your heart raced with the thrill of knowing you’d have him inside you again.
“Next time,” he said, “I swear.”
A promise of a next time, of a thousand more times - you started kissing him again, lips bruising his - losing yourself in any drink or drug would never compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington, you decided.
“Get on the bed,” he muttered, gently pushing you back. You did as he asked, falling back onto the mattress gently as he joined you, face hovering inches from yours.
His hair was a mess, pupils blown and lips glossy. He just shook his head, as if in disbelief.
“What?” you asked.
“You’re just so beautiful,” he breathed. 
You felt your face heat, and you buried your face in your hands.
“Shut up.”
“About you? Not likely.”
Before you could come up with a clever remark, he was kissing your neck again, his lips traveling down slowly between the valley of your breasts, taking his time - he was going to leave bruises, you already knew.
But he didn’t stop, traveling down, down, down - 
“What are you -”
“I never said I didn’t want to taste you first,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I miss having my mouth on you so fuckin’ much -”
“Fuck,” you gasped. “You’re unreal -”
“Says you,” he retorted. Whatever you planned to say next died on your lips, anything resembling a coherent thought dissolving as his lips found your cunt.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, back arching as his tongue swirled around your clit.
“Just as fuckin’ sweet as I remembered,” he whispered, his breath against your pussy making your chest heave.
He licked a stripe along your slit, making your back arch off the bed, your eyes fluttering closed.
“Be loud for me, baby,” he murmured, lips finding your clit again. You did as he asked, moaning and crying out his name as he devoured your pussy, eliciting desperate sounds from you as your fingers wound themselves in his hair. He groaned as you pulled on his locks, encouraging you to continue doing so as he opted to slide a finger inside you.
“Fuck - Steve! Ohmygod, fuck -”
You felt him smile as he lapped and licked at your folds, adding a second finger and beginning to pump them in earnest, finding that spot inside of you too easily. 
You were crying out, bucking your hips against Steve’s lips, like putty in his hands. For about ten minutes you were completely his, mind numb with pleasure as he took you apart with his mouth. You let him, feeling the blunt fingernails of his free hand digging into your thigh, pulling you as close as possible.
“Steve - I’m gonna - I’m so close, y’feel too good -”
Encouraged, he picked up the pace a bit, sending you completely over the edge. When you came, you saw stars, grinding down on Steve’s mouth and fingers. You were screaming, and he helped you through it, nuzzling against your core as you pulsed around his fingers. Your hand left his hair and found his temple, gently coaxing him closer as you rode out your orgasm.
You were still breathing heavily as he kissed his way slowly back up your body, worshiping every inch of skin he could find. YOu didn’t let your eyes open again until he was face-to-face with you, chin glistening with your release as he wore a smug grin.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured. “Tasted so good… you came so hard for me -”
“Mm -” you hummed, pulling him down for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him, the sensation completely euphoric.
“Do you need some time?” he asked gently.
You ran a finger over your clit, still sensitive and puffy, and shook your head.
“No, I’m okay - I actually really need you to fuck me.”
“Thank god,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t think I can go another second without fucking you -”
“I know -”
“I would dream about you, you know - all the time. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with a hard-on, of a mess in my boxers like a fuckin’ teenager -”
“I know what you mean,” you admitted, recalling a few times you had thought of him as you touched yourself since he’d left. 
“Please tell me you’re still on the fuckin’ pill -”
“Yeah, I am - God, Steve -”
“I know, I know - ready baby?”
You nodded, locking your eyes with his as he positioned himself above you, pushing inside of you ever so slowly. You could tell he was holding back, doing everything he could to not enter you in one rough movement. You winced at the stretch, nearly forgetting just how big he was. He kissed apologies across your face, gasping as he felt your warm walls envelope him.
“Fuck -” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I went so long without this - you feel so fuckin’ perfect, baby - such a tight, perfect pussy -”
“You feel so good,” you breathed, digging your fingernails into his shoulderblades. “Steve - I’m so full, please fuck me -”
He did as you asked, rolling his hips against yours, eliciting a groan from both of you. He was still holding back you could tell - but you didn’t have time for that, not after months of missing him, of missing this -
“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “Please -”
“What did you just call me?” he asked.
“I - baby,” you repeated. You realized you never had before - was that wrong?
“Say it again,” he breathed.
“Baby,” you breathed, gasping as he thrust into you a little harder. 
“Baby, please - fuck me, let go,” you cried.
It became fast and hard quickly, the desperation you shared impossible to mask. The slapping of his hips against yours was positively dirty, Steve’s arms caging you underneath him as he pounded into you. Your hand snaked down between you, your own finger finding your clit.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, continuing his relentless pace. “Touch yourself for me, just like that - M’not gonan last long, I’m sorry, you just feel too good -”
“It’s okay,” you assured, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to lose it.”
He groaned, the room filling with the sound of slapping skin and moans, your names on each other’s lips.
Nothing else mattered, not when Steve was making you feel like this, not when he had flown across an ocean on a whim, a desperate hope to just see you again, even if only for a moment. You suddenly became so overwhelmed with love for this man, this person who had turned your world upside down - it was indescribable, impossible to even express. So you just held him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.
“M’close - I need you to come with me, baby - can you do that? I know you can, you’re always so good for me -”
You nodded, unable to formulate words anymore.
“I fuckin’ love you,” he cried, hips stuttering, his thrusts growing sloppier. “So much, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I love you, baby -”
His words sent you over the edge, white-hot pleasure surging through your body as you screamed his name. The feeling of you clamping around him sending him into his own orgasm. He spilled inside of you, your name on his lips like a prayer. He practically collapsed on top of you, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours feeling like home, like it was always meant to be this way.
Your breaths were labored, sweet kisses peppered across skin. Neither of you spoke for quite some time. After he rolled off of you, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and gentle. It was only when you pulled back, brushing some of his sweaty hair away from his face, that you broke the silence.
“I love you, too,” you murmured. You brushed your fingers along his face, and he caught your wrist, pressing kisses to your palm and knuckles, as if determined to worship you every chance he got.
“I want more than an arrangement,” he whispered. “I don’t want rules, or a deal, or -”
“Yeah, that was obvious,” you replied, chuckling. “And, me too.”
“And, you were right - you have school, and I never wanted you to think I just wanted you like a trophy or something - you have your own life, aspirations, and i know that - I just like spoiling you, but I never wanted you to give up who you are,” he said, face soft. “I need you to know that.”
“I do,” you murmured.
You really did. 
“Besides, I graduated.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What? When?”
“Officially? A few days ago.”
He smiled, soft and sincere - part of you was worried he might cry again.
“Congratulations - I’ll have to take you out to celebrate.”
“Mm - sounds good to me. How long - when are you here until?”
There was still life to reckon with, after all - living on two different continents, jobs, obligations - the kind of thing that could ruin this. But, he just shook his head.
“I bought an open-ended ticket. So, until whenever you want.”
“I - what? What about work?”
He shrugged. “Turns out, when you run the place, you can get away with that stuff.”
Your jaw dropped.
“What? Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Brenner’s out. I’m in - youngest CEO in the company’s history.” 
You laughed, pressing your palm to your forehead as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief.
“Steve - that’s amazing. But how -”
“Shhh - we’ll figure everything out later. But, let’s at least ring in the new year together, yeah?”
You nodded cautiously - he really was here, now, and wanted to make it work.
“Okay,” you said. “Sounds good.”
“Hey - you know what’s really pissing me off, though?”
“What?” you asked, wary as a pit of dread formed in your gut.
“I have to thank Eddie fucking Munson for fixing this.”
You laughed, a real, hearty laugh, and in that moment, you realized things were going to be okay.
******
That night, you slept better than you had in months, safe and warm in Steve’s arms. That was, until you woke to Robin’s scream the next morning, both of you shooting up in bed with a start.
“WHAT IS HE DOING IN YOUR BED?” she cried, shielding her eyes. “God - I wish I could bleach my eyes - motherfucker -”
Then, the door was slamming shut, Robin bemoaning her luck as she bolted down the hall to her own room.
You felt your face heat with embarrassment, sinking under the covers.
“Well - I guess I owe her an explanation -”
“Later,” Steve saidly, shaking his head incredulously. “For Christmas, I’m getting you a fucking industrial lock for that door!”
Then you were laughing, blissful and unable to control yourself, Steve joining you. He kissed the giggles away, pulling your body to his, and not much talking happened after that.
It didn’t matter what real life held after this - because Steve was here, and he was yours. Wherever you ended up, you realized, if you were with Steve, you would be home.
He was here to stay.
author's note: Hi y'all - thanks for your patience! This story isn't quite done - there will be an epilogue posted tomorrow. But, that's essentially the conclusion of don't call me 'baby' - I told you it would be a happy ending! Shoutout to @is-writing for some help with this. And of course as always, Em, without whom this fic wouldn't have happened. Comments, reblogs, and messages are always welcome - keep an eye out for the epilogue!
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randomyuu · 7 months
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i keep the warmest truth.
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Well you look at that. Another comic hahahaha why did I do this to myself—
But I do enjoy drawing this comic! It was a different kind of challenge, where this one focuses a lot on close-ups, so I need to learn about the subtlety of expressions. Can’t say I learn a lot (I use lots of copy-pasting of the same position lmao), but I still learn... something!
This beautiful one-shot fic is titled i keep the warmest truth by Dehawny. If I have to summarise the fic, it’s basically Ace!Gojou and Adorable!Yuuji. It's more like gray ace but better keep the “A” going, haha. And as usual, the fic is NSFW, so please do read the tags before you decide to give it a read.
Ace!Gojou is something I don’t know I need. I think I love almost every kind of Gojou headcanons, but Ace!Gojou holds a special place in my heart. I could be biased as someone in the ace spectrum, but the way Dehawny wrote Gojou and Yuuji’s interaction is truly heartwarming. And also a bit possessive, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Possessive Gojou is my jam.
And Yuuji. Oh, dear lord where do I even start with this boy. I don’t have enough vocabularies to express how much I adore Yuuji. Him being his horny teen-self and constantly worrying about making the pleasure mutual is too much for my heart. And he’s still understanding of Gojou’s sexuality. Yuuji is kind, like that. Don’t mind me as I’m crying out happy tears in the corner.
Alrighty, below are my thoughts as I drew this, as usual haha:
After I got a taste with comic-making from my previous GoYuu comic, this one is a bit easier to plan once I narrowed down the scene I want to draw. I wanted the comic to start with Gojou positioning himself and Yuuji in the futon, bringing up Yuuji’s question weeks ago, but that means I have to draw 10+ pages and I was like, “haha nope”. I still love my hands, thank you very much. So I start with Yuuji’s reaction after Gojou explains a bit about his sexuality.
Panelling is still a struggle. In a way that I still feel that the layout can be improved, but I can’t for the life of me figured out what needs to be improved. I guess this kind of thing will come eventually, but not now.
During the sketching, I must say I got super hyped drawing Gojou’s eyes. That eye close-up? I really want to try making it as ethereal as possible in an achromatic setting. It’s intimidating, don’t get me wrong, but I have always loved drawing eyes since I was a kid and this is a fun thing to test my love for eyes.
If I have to complain… it would be the intimate position of them laying on the futon. I never really try drawing “couple-like” positions before, but it was really hard! Like, holy shit, can you guys stop being so awkward looking? Where the hell did I draw it wrong??? Thankfully references have helped me a lot with positioning.
The line art took sooo much time because I realise I want to make Gojou and Yuuji more… buff (kinda) so I need to re-sketch a bit :(( but the result is better than the previous one, so I’ll take what I can get haha. And I start to really like using screentones for shading—once I properly learn how to do manga layout, I think I might fall in love with drawing mangas!
But overall, this is a fun process to do, and I hope you enjoy the comic and this rambling of mine! :D
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georgiapeach30513 · 18 days
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Your Mark On Me, Part 13
Summary: Steve softens and submits
Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, bit of a chase kink, teasing, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, bathtime fun, D/s dynamics, breeding kink, bit of voyeurism, mean!Steve, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 5.9K
Previous
Series Masterlist
*dividers created by @firefly-graphics
*edit by @nixakimbo
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You give a final smile to Bucky and Shy, and hug to your former guard. Making sure to kneel down to rub on Shy’s belly, leaning to give the bump a kiss, “You take care of your mama, little Ember. I can’t wait to hold you. Thank you for a lovely day,” you stand back up, giving Shy another hug. “Your home is lovely.”
And with that Steve nods a head to both Bucky and Shy, leading you out to the car where he opens the door up for you. He can be sweet when he wants to. When he isn’t so brooding and all business. Trying to be create a persona that is quite different to the man you were starting to learn. Days like this made you realize that there is a lot more to Steve than meets the eye. He could be soft. Just with the right people.
You suppose that is probably the safest thing to do, be cautious. For him. You just loved people, and wanted them to know. Everyone needed words of confirmation from time to time. “She looks adorable pregnant.”
“So will you,” he answers, giving you a soft smile. He could be a bit confusing with his personality. Today you are getting the sweet Steve. It had to have been seeing Bucky again. Bucky leaving Steve’s business for good seems to have affected him. He realizes how things have shifted.
“Are you sad?” He keeps his eyes on the road, and his Adam’s apple bobs while he searches for the right words.
“That you have an IUD? Of course. But I’ll let you decide when I get to fill you full of me,” you roll your eyes as your hand naturally falls into his. He is so silly. Always going back to that, and not at all what you are thinking about.
”I meant about Bucky choosing Shy over…the business,” you hesitate to say over Steve. he didn’t necessarily choose Shy over him. But in a way he did. Bucky found something more important to him than what he had been doing for years. More important than being in the business with his best friend. The business risk didn’t outweigh his love for his fiance and future family.
Steve goes silent. His sharp eyes look out in front of the car, but never respond. It hurts him too much to think that Bucky would never be a part of this world for him. “I mean, having a child is a huge responsibility. It seems like Shy makes enough money to keep them afloat. And he seems to really be right at home with her. And their kitty. We should probably get a pet. I bet it was nice for her to have a pet when Bucky was out at odd hours of the night. Especially when he was with me. Heaven knows that man has seen so much of my body, and just what you do to me. Do you think she was ever jealous of that? Have you met Shy before today? Wait, no you said that was your first time meeting her. Bucky must really love her to want to protect her from your life.”
”Dovey,” his thumb draws shapes on your hand, and you turn to look at him. He is haunted about something. About his thoughts that never left him. There is no telling the things that he has seen in this life. “Baby, you need to breathe.”
“Where are you taking me?” This isn’t the way home. “Are we going out?” he shakes his head no, and you look at him with a pout. The facial expression does get a huff of a laugh. “Steve!”
“Does this road not look familiar?” No. It didn’t. But clearly it is supposed to. You sigh, waiting on him to hopefully answer. Your body leans more into him. Letting his warmth encapsulate your nerves. Trying to think of when you had been here, and then there is something that looks familiar.
“But…where is everything else?” It is the playground. Before there were swings, slides, monkey bars, but now the only thing left standing is the bars that Steve had set you on. “Steve?”
“I held onto this place for a long time,” he places the car into park, and while you give him your full attention, he just gazes out at the almost empty park. “I met her here for the first time,” he is taking way too long to tell a story, but for the sake of him not getting pissy at you, you wait on him. Even if you feel a pang of jealousy with the simple word of her.
“She was beautiful. I hadn’t fully grown into my body yet, but she still saw me. I told you I was bullied here, but I was slowly turning it into a drop off. It was overgrown, and kids didn’t come here anymore. But Peggy did. She stayed a bit too far away. Watching. Always watching me. I got a bit cocky, and came by more often. Bought the land, so it was my private property. Employed Bucky and Sam. And I kept getting bigger, and finally she came and talked to me.”
You don’t even know Peggy, but you hate her. It isn’t even jealousy, okay maybe a little bit. But it is mostly due to the fact there’s something so off in her behavior. She just watched him for months?
“She was a simple girl, just wanted some weed. And came by regularly to get it. And then I got the courage to ask her out. We were inseparable. I fell so hard, and so fast. I was telling that woman I loved her everyday. Bucky and Sam kept telling me there was something off with her. She didn't want to move in, but she stayed at my house a lot. Didn’t seem to have a job, but I kept her up anyways. And then — fuck,” he slams his hand onto the steering wheel, leaving you without his warmth.
“A squad came barging into my house throwing shit all around, and what do you know, Peggy was the one leading them. She’d lied the whole time. Undercover for what she felt was the next up and coming drug ring. Sam and Bucky were right, and smarter than that bitch. They cleaned out my house the night before. She was the one that shoved me to the floor, got me in a submissive position on my knees and demanded for me to tell her where the drugs were. I just smiled up at her. I spent a few weeks in jail. And come to find out later she actually is dating Rumlow. Maybe she’s going to bust him, too. Maybe she actually loves him, I don’t know. But I’ve never trusted another woman. Nor been put in that position again.”
It's your turn to go silent. You hated that bitch. How dare she even touch Steve. She got all that with him. All the love and words, and before you. It shouldn’t matter, but she broke him. And the realization of him holding her actions over you. She made him not trust women so much that he couldn’t even be honest with you.
”Until you,” your head slowly turns to look at him, and he’s never seemed so torn. His eyes are glossy, and face solemn, and all you want to do is hold him. “I got on my knees for you. I have left you in my home alone. I have entertained you for months, and I’ve done everything I said that I would never do again, and it’s all been for you. I can’t — Dovey, I’m sorry, I can't say those words you deserve to hear.”
You let out an air of breath that you aren’t aware you were holding, as you search his face. He is being as candid as he can, and his hurt from being used, and lied to still lingers. But he said you deserve to hear the words.
“Steve, I told you it was enough. I will hear those words from you, but what’s more important I feel those words from you. I see them. I didn’t know about what she did to you, but I know that every time you drop to your knees to put my shoes on, it is something that isn’t easy for you, and you’ve given that to me more than once.”
“All that I told her should have been for you.”
“It will be,” your hand cups his cheek, and you place a kiss on his face. Kissing away the single tear that rolls past his lash line. She might have gotten the words, but you get the actions. “Why did you have everything from the playground removed?”
“I didn’t,” his lips turn up into a smile, but he doesn't dare to look out at the former park. His dark lashes splay across his cheeks, keeping his eyes closed, choosing to feel this moment instead of just seeing it. “That piece of equipment doesn’t look familiar? That is the first place that I stared at the face of God. It holds a special meaning to me,” you roll your eyes, attempting to turn away from his silly self when he grabs at your face. Hand on your jaw, making you look at him. His fingers are steady but not too harsh.
His eyes open slowly, and you stare at his perfectly imperfect blue eyes with their bit of green lacing through the crystal blue, “Don’t look away from me when I’m talking to you, and being sweet.”
“You’re talking about my pussy.”
Steve gives you a boop to your nose and a too innocent smile for him, “I think you mean my pussy. At least that’s what you tell me every time I fuck into you. Are you saying I don’t own this pussy anymore,” the hand holding onto your jaw falls in between your thighs, and cups your covered mound. “I do love that you wear skirts. Do you realize how easy it would be to move these panties over and…hey!”
He yells after you as you jump out of the car. Looking back at him with a playful grin. “If it’s your pussy, come and claim it!” Squealing you run away from the giant tattooed man that stomps after you. He doesn’t even have to run with his long strides. But you don’t stop.
Bobbing and weaving on the mostly empty lot. Looking back at him laughing carelessly, and you see the first genuine smile spread across his angelic face. If it wasn’t for his chiseled body covered in ink, he’d look almost boy-like. You’re glad he didn’t tattoo his face. But right now in this moment, you see him for the man he was before his harsh world crashed over him.
Crinkles at the edge of his eyes that you love to kiss. You wished you could see those lines more often. They did seem to be making an appearance more often now. His lines on his face told a story, much like the tattoos and scars that stained his skin.
He reaches out a hand to grab you, but you dodge his advance. Doing a quick twirl before you sprint away, and turn to look at him, “Is that the best you got, Rogers?”
“Now, you’ve gone too far. Take that back!” You’re almost tempted to call him that again.
“Never, daddy!” He growls, wrapping his hand around your wrist, but you slip away. “Stevie, you really are losing your touch. AHH!” You screech when both his arms wrap around you. He pulls you so tight against his body it takes your breath away. You struggle to get away, not wanting this playful Steve to disappear just yet.
Struggling so hard that the two of you slam onto the ground in a fit of giggles, “What was it that you called me, Dovey?”
“Captain,” laughing when he rolls his eyes, and shakes his head no.
“You’re such a liar,” he crows, his teeth nibbling on your neck. Playfully biting you, while demanding you admit the names you called him. “Tell me, baby,” his voice turns labored. The playful chase already over as you wiggle around in his embrace.
His thumb hooks under the elastic of your panties. And he starts to jerk down the cotton. Lifting you up a bit to fully remove them. Legs being pushed apart by his wide body, and you pull at his button, trying to release the monster cock that is straining in these jeans. “Tell me first, and I’ll give you everything you want.”
Pushing aside your hand, he pulls himself out. You yip at the sight of his pretty little piercing coated in beads of precum. Gripping the base of his cock he pumps himself a few times before rubbing his tip through your drenched center. His squishy head barely pushing through your entrance, “I called you Rogers,” his hips thrust forward, leaving you blinded by the intense and immediate stretch.
Vision is blurry. Like a filter had been laid over the world around you, and all you see is him. All you feel is his weight lowering over top of you, and his arms caging you. The cold grass tickling your backside. Senses on overdrive because he gave so much of himself to you today.
“I called you — daddy,” you scream out as he fucks into you so hard and deep his tip kisses the edge of your cervix. The one name he told you not to call him, and you would pay for your indiscretions in pleasure. You are now aware of how you haven’t fully taken all of Steve from the way he is filling you up. A perfect fit indeed as you revel in having him so purely. His hips piston him deeper into your warmth than he’s ever been. Branding you in a different way than before. This is just for you and him.
”Fuck,” Steve grouses, a hand slides up to your neck. Keeping his eyes on yours as he adds a bit of pressure. He is fighting off saying what he really wants to say. Using your body to work through his emotions. Never looking to where the two of you connect, keeping both eyes trained on you.
The softest whimper explodes out of his chest as he holds your gaze, “You’re my best friend.”
His words contradict his sharp thrusts inside of you. “You are. I trust so few, but I trust you…the most,” you preen at his words. Mewling out his name, and circling your legs around him. Allowing your body to take every part of him. Soft words with harsh movements have your body floating and unable to focus.
“I love…love spending every day with you. I don’t want to miss a day,” he is getting there. Slowly. But he is. And judging by the sparks going through your body, you’re also almost there.
“You’re my best friend, too, Captain. Now finish me,” he rams into you. Hitting you in all the right spots until your eyes go crossed, and you roll them into the back of your head. “Steve!” you scream out as your body begins to tremble. There is nothing but the two of you out here in the middle of nowhere where Steve changed your life. And now you are also changing his life.
“My pussy sure does feel good,” he smirks at you. His body slams into you, and your back skids across the ground in the most delightful pleasured pain. You owned him. He is yours. And you will do everything to protect him. This stunted man is now yours to protect. He could hide and deny it, but he is yours.
“Your pussy is only for you.”
“Good,” he growls as you arch your back into him. Bringing yourself close to him. Your body stiffens up. Everything builds to the climax. Looking deep into his beautiful eyes, he nods, “Let go, Dovey,” and everything crashes down around Steve. Your velvety walls cling tight to his thick girth, and his sticky heat fills you up.
He lets your body sink to the ground slowly, and he smirks down at you. “You’re so pretty like this. Fucked hard and dumb, and filled to the brim of…”
“Steve Rogers,” you coo. You’d let this man do whatever he wanted to you. He is powerful, scary, intimidating, but to you he’s just your Captain.
“Let’s go home, sweetie. You need a bath. You have leaves in your hair,” he picks out a leaf, holding it up to prove the mess he made. “Plus you smell like dirt. Come on,” he slowly pulls himself out of you, flicking his eyes down to look at your spread legs. “When can we take that thing out of you?”
“Steve! I have only been having sex for a couple of months. Give me at least a year.”
”I love it when you whine, but a full year?” You nod, going to stand up. Wincing as you reach for your panties he really was deep. Body wobbling, and Steve holds you upright, but still keeps your panties out of your reach, and you stomp your foot. “If I have to wait a year, you have to ride back home with no panties.”
”Steve, your cum…”
“Yes, the thought of my cum leaking out of your cunt is part of the appeal of this arrangement,” exhaling quickly, you start walking away from him. “Oh, cutie, you acting like a brat and seeing that run down your leg is turning me on again.”
“Wash me clean, and you can have your pussy again.”
”I wasn’t going to ask,” he gulps, continuing to watch you walk away. You have been the best thing that’s happened to him. The best part of him. “But I’ll always ask for permission, Dovey,” he whispers, knowing you won’t hear him. “Because I love…hearing you beg.”
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Steve’s hands squeeze on your foot, and he sighs when you can’t control the sounds that hum out of your mouth. “You’re the one causing those sounds,” your brow cocks up as you stare at him over the bubbles. “Can you be here with me all the time?”
“If you’ll let me suck on your clit underwater.”
You stare at him both confused and shocked. No way was he going under the water for such a thing, nor did you want his face between your legs right now. He starts to move his body from across the tub, closer to you, and you shake your head no.
“Do you doubt my abilities?”
“Not at all. I know you’d die in between my thighs and think it was the best death in the world. But I’d rather you not die,” or have him be where he was wanting his face be.
He blinks once slowly before getting even closer. Looking more like a predator than your boyfriend, “Steve, no!”
“Then sit on the ledge of the bathtub.”
“I’ll get cold.”
“Then dry off and I’ll feast on my pussy in the bed.”
“Can you give me a few more moments in here? Alone?” " He shakes his head no. “Why not?”
“Why the fuck do you want to stay in the tub?” Because you needed to. Did he not get you needed private time sometimes?
“I have something I need to do, and I don’t want you in here,” pursing his lips, he narrows his eyes while watching you. Making you uncomfortable with how hard he’s staring at you. “Stop! Get out, and give me just a moment.”
“What do you need to do that I can’t see?”
“Seriously?” He scoots a bit closer to you, and you push your foot up against his chest, holding him in place. All the while knowing that this would not keep him away from you, “What are you doing?”
“Going to suck on your clit,” like it is the most obvious answer in the world. Shaking your head no, Steve sighs. “You know I could lift you up and make you do whatever I want you to, so why don’t you explain to me what the problem is, and why you don’t want me to touch you right now?”
You take a long look at Steve, sighing before looking down at the bubbles. Steve had done so much to break down your walls. He had made you a completely different person, a stronger person. He had turned your world upside down. Had just been inside of you, but you don’t want his face down there.
“Dovey?”
“I need to shave,” Steve scoffs, trying to push his body towards you. “Steve, stop. I don’t want your face there.”
“Does it look like I care about a little bit of hair. Let me suck your clit.”
“No.”
“Even though you’re pissing me off, I do think I have found the perfect woman. Because you, my darling, don’t put up with my bullshit. How does it feel to be the only woman that has ever tamed Steve Rogers? Don’t,” the timbre of his voice lowers when you cross your arms across your chest.
He stares deep into your eyes as he gets a bit closer to you. Gaze never leaves yours, but he uses a hand to cup your mound. His fingers roll over your entrance as he tilts his head watching you, “It’s not that bad.”
“It is to me, and I haven’t even found the energy to get away from you to shave.”
“Since I’m such a menace to you, let me shave you,” it is a simple statement and said so easily, but the audacity of this man.
“No.”
“You’re being a brat.”
“It’s one of your favorite things about me.”
“I’m a bigger fan of my pussy. Let me shave you. I’ll get it how you like it because frankly, I don’t get a damn. But I also get to see the face of god,” he’s relentless. Ridiculous even. A menace for you. And the way his eyes flick all over your face, and he never once pushes past your entrance, just lazily taps his fingers on it. “It will be so fucking sexy.”
You’re doubtful of that. You also don’t trust that Steve won’t try to devour you, regardless of what you want. “I want to do it, Dove. I will bow down before you and shave every inch of you if that is what you want. I want to be in every part of your life. Even the parts that you find embarrassing. Because all I know is I get to spend even more time with my favorite girl. Please, Dovey. I’m begging you, please, let me shave your pussy.”
“I’ve never done this before,” you sigh, biting at your lip.
“Neither have I. You get another one of my firsts. Just…just sit on the edge of the tub. I’ll be careful,” he wouldn’t stop until you give him what he wants. And there’s something adorably sexy about him wanting to take care of you in the most intimate and simple way. You want him to.
Taking a deep breath you lift yourself onto the side of the tub. Spreading your legs slowly as Steve’s face beams up at you as his eyes drift all over your body. Watching as the suds coast down your soft curves. Consuming you with his eyes alone.
“This is not that bad. But let me take care of you,” he reaches for the razor and runs a smooth hand over your mound. His thumb teases along your clit, and you can’t help but whimper out his name. “Shh, don’t make that sound just yet, Dovey,” sudding up some soap, he spreads it over your skin. Making sure to coat every bit of your exposed skin with the foam, and his hands expertly move the razor over your supple body. Making sure to clean it after every pass.
Even though you know it is killing him, he never makes a lewd joke. He doesn’t slip a finger in, it’s like this is his job. It’s fascinating to watch him. He keeps looking up at you through those inky black lashes making sure you're grading his work. And when he’s not looking at you, his tongue pushes out the front of his mouth in concentration, and you commit this moment to your memory. He looks adorable.
He always does wheng a he’s not trying to be this hard drug lord. There’s a sweetness, and a loyalty to him. This need to control, but also a need to protect and take care of you. You position yourself to lean back more, and he growls, rolling his eyes to look up at you. “This isn’t funny. You’re already torturing me.”
“I enjoy the view,” this big bad drug lord was down on his knees, and just for you. Towering above you, or bowing before you. Submissive only for you, or your fearless dominating Captain. He was all yours.
“You’re a fucking tease, too,” Steve’s hand drops into the water, giving you a clear view of his hard and angry cock under the water. “You’re killing me.”
“I enjoy you from this angle.”
“You enjoy me worshiping you right at the face of god. You’re a sweet little tease. Has her pussy spread out deliciously before me, and making me shave you. Dove, the water isn’t fooling anyone,” you hum as he lets water drip over your body, washing away the remaining bubbles before he spreads your puffy lips out. Keeping you wide open before looking up at you.
“You’re dripping. Coated in that sweet honey because all you can think about is me fucking into you so hard and deep that my sweet little Dovey falls asleep, huh? Do you like me on my knees in front of you, and taking care of you in this way?” You answer by nodding your head. He knew you too well. You’d let him command you because you knew he had these sweet moments ready to remind you it isn’t just your cunt that keeps him obsessed.
“Dove, you’re no longer in the water, and I can’t attempt to deep sea suck on your clit.”
“You are ruining a sweet moment, Steven,” Steve adjusts to his knees, letting his heavy cock rub against your leg, and your legs spread even more, “Steve,” a whispered whine escapes your mouth, and you start going into that space where he controls your every thought and movement. Making everything about pleasing him because you get the utmost pleasure.
“I will try that one day. But you need to be fucked like my sweet little slut don’t you,” your head nods. A mess of words tumbles out of your mouth, and he stands up. Cock and piercing right at your face, and you whimper. Leaning forward you kiss the tip, sticking your tongue out to lick the vein on his cock. Looking up at him through your lashes when you tongue his slit.
“You sure do love Clarence, huh?”
“He loves me, too. Doesn’t he?”
“Clarence loves and adores you,” stepping out of the tub, he turns to you, lifting you up in his arms. He carries you into the bedroom, ripping open the curtains so you can see the woods and the moonlight creating silvery light into your room. Turning to the bed, he sets you on your knees.
“Put your head on the bed, and keep your eyes on me. You’ve teased me for too long,” you do as you're told, receiving a smile, and a soft slap to your pussy, “Such a good girl for me. As much as I love your fight, when you get in this space and will do anything just for this,” he spears into you with such a hard and deep thrust, your body scoots onto the bed.
Fingers cling to the sheets as Steve pulls himself out of you, “And what my Dovey wants,” another sharp thrust has you seeing stars. Stretched out, and that cool metal grazes over your cervix, “She gets,” gripping onto your hips he pounds into your depths.
Such frenzied movements. You aren’t sure if you have ever taken him so fully like this. So deep. So full. So aggressive in his movements. “And I…soon — soon you’ll have that thing removed and I will pump you so full of me that I start growing in your belly. You’ll be so filled with all of me. Something I have never done. You’ll get it all.”
His voice is gravely despite the words coming out of them. He means every bit of it. Making you understand and know that you are his world. Giving you all that he can, and more than he has to anyone else.
“I will do whatever it takes for you, Dovey. Anything to keep you safe. But you will always be mine. There will never be another. No one can ever treat you the way that I do. I own every part of you, all the way down to your soul. We’re bonded together. In this life and the next. I’m yours, but you’re mine. All of you. Every bit of your every being. It’s all mine. All. Mine.”
”It’s all yours,” you let out a scream of pleasure. Trying to get a grip on anything because the build up for the orgasm has you on edge. Your body tenses as euphoria builds up in your body. All the way deep into your soul. The most lewd, but also innocent form of being together. Searing himself throughout your body. And you didn’t even realize just how much you are burning yourself into his world. When he said anything, he meant it. You will always be his first thought.
No one has every had this much of Steve. And he would do whatever it took to keep you safe. The first and last thoughts on his mind are always you. Everything was just you. With your body almost flat on the bed now, he stabs into you, spurting his seed into your warmth and letting you milk him clean.
Losing a bit of himself in the moment, “God, I love…this,” he pants out. Watching your eyes close, and a derpy smile on your face. “I love it.”
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You sleep so soundly. Can’t even feel Steve ghosting his lips over your worn body. You never complained about how much that he needs and uses you. You always just let him have whatever he wants. Even if you’re asleep he’s going to make sure that he spoils you with his touch. The only way he can show you how much he loves you, even if he can’t say it.
Not the way he sinks into you, but these moments. The ones where you’re softly snoring, and he’s staring over your body and painting your skin with his kisses like you are the most beautiful work of art. He wants to cover you in his — touch. He is working on it. He wants to give you what you need from him. He wants it more than he wants sleep. And one day he’ll find the way to give you all you deserve.
He didn’t bother closing the curtains and blinds. You love watching the woods outside to fall asleep. Saying that it makes you feel closer to him because it was just the two of you and the creatures.
He blinks, looking out into the distance when a flash of light catches his eye. Staring down onto the forest floor when he slings the blanket off him. Taking a moment to make sure you’re still asleep before he walks out the cabin. Teeth already clenched together as he marches down into the darkness.
Stopping when he squares up against a woman that once upon a time could have looked just like you. Her eyes lifeless as her sight moves from the bedroom window to Steve, “Didn’t bother to put a shirt on did you?”
He glares at her, snapping his fingers in her face when she looks back up at your sleeping form, “I need some money.”
“I told you I wasn’t giving you money,” his voice is quick and final, and she pouts up at him.
“She gets money.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Oh right, she lets you use her,” every conversation starts the same with her. Always money. Always he uses you. “Does she know?”
“That I paid for a fucking apartment and you trashed it, and got kicked out? No. I told her I would keep you safe. I don’t know what the fuck all that does because you can’t keep you goddamn nose clean. Let me see in between your fingers.”
“Fuck you!” Steve didn’t have to see. He could tell by the state of her, she’s no longer clean. A junkie that had nothing to lose and knew where he lived was dangerous.
“Why are you here, Lark? How did you know about our home?” She cocks up her eyebrow, looking Steve up and done before staring at his brand. “Yes, ours. How did you find this place?”
“I know people. Pussy gets you a lot of things. Ask my sister,” if she wasn’t a woman Steve would have backhand her.
“My patience is growing thin. What the fuck did you want,” she looks back up at your sleeping body, conflicted with emotions at how comfortable and unknowing you are. Did you even realize the shit Steve was into? Or did you just not care? The people that Steve employed? What they could do to you. “Lark!”
“Since you won’t give me money, we’re done here. I’m surprised you left her unattended. Did you remember to lock the door?” A more sinister person would smile, but Lark seems sad. Waiting for Steve to gasp before he bolts back towards the house. The door now wide open, and he sneaks around the room. Checking every dark corner before slinging the bedroom door open. You’re still asleep and none the wiser, but he can’t relax.
Needing to check the bathroom and closets, and keep turning back to you. Still relaxed and dreaming. Unaware of the turmoil that is going through his head at someone having the ability to hurt you. Didn’t even feel he had the right to crawl back in the bed beside you, or even hold you.
“Steve?” You whisper, turning in the bed to look at him. Blinking away the sleep in your eyes, “Baby, get back in bed. Can you close the curtains?”
“Yeah,” he says, telling himself the curtains will never be open again. Looking out into the woods, he wonders how Lark got here. Where she was at and where she was going. She was up to something. She wasn’t alone. He made promises to you to never hurt her, but if it comes between you and her, she will be eliminated.
“Take the sweatpants off, too,” you hated when he wears clothes to bed when you’re naked. As he tosses his pants to the side, they hit the dresser, knocking something into the floor. “The hamper, Steve.”
“Yes, ma’am,” his voice is quiet and solemn, and he doesn’t pay attention to the envelope that floats to the floor. “Let me set the alarm though.”
You’ll never be left unattended. He’d have you with him every second. You were all that mattered to him. “Mmm,” you moan, unaware of what transpired tonight. And even he wasn’t sure, but he would be soon.
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spctrsgf · 8 months
Text
mi luz
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based off of this comment i wrote on tiktok: “he looks like he could use a hug and a shoulder to cry on.”
word count: 2.2k
warnings: nonspidey!reader, language, hurt to comfort fic (miguel needs a break. like a sabbatical or something)
a/n: ngl, i'm not too happy with how this turned out, probably because i wrote it all on a plane and it's not beta read, but i need more soft miguel fics in my life!!!
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He’s tired.
He’s tired and he’s missing you. The boring, monotonous walls of his office harshly remind him of his place, the jubilant orange glow of his monitors tell him of just how much more work he’s got left before he can finally retire to your world.
Lyla, lounging atop one of his screens, watches him and his glossed over eyes, knowing exactly what the lazy flick of his fingers meant. She sighs, glitching over to bring one of his screens forward. “Miguel!” She yells, scaring the poor man out of his thoughts and momentarily extending his claws. “Lyla, what the fu- what the hell?” He growls, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“No kids are here, you don’t have to keep it PG.”
“Whatever.”
“Look, you got work to do, and if you don’t finish it soon, it'll be too late to get in some quality time with this lovely human,” she shoves the digitized photo of you up and into his face. “Before your next mission.”
He sighs, knowing she was right.
“Daydreaming about it isn’t gonna get you there any quicker,” she flickers to be right in front of his face, slapping a hand onto his nose as if she could actually touch him. “GET YOUR SHIT DONE.”
“Fine, fine! Get out of my face.” He grumbles the second sentence, swatting her away and strolling back up to his screens. His eyes catch on your photo, and he reaches to enlarge it in front of him, but—
“No,” Lyla dissipates the photo before he can even get to it, face twisted in disappointment. “No. Not until you finish working.”
“Hey! Who’s the boss here?” 
“Me. Now work.” Lyla glitches out of view with a triumphant huff.
He huffs dramatically, pouting as he pulls himself together. He lets his emotions drop from his face and slides into his stoic mask, resuming the work on his screen. It’s hypnotizing as soon as he gets into it; Lyla must’ve done something to keep him focused, he supposes. She always does have a trick up her sleeve.
In what feels like no time at all, he’s done with his work. With a final, defiant tap to close down his screens, he spins on his heel, ready to leave and go home. Ready to hop in through your window— as much as you hate when he does that— and rest his head atop yours, caging you into where you’re surely stirring something on the stove.
But as he turns, he’s face to face with none other than Hobart Brown. A look to the left reveals his partners in crime; and Miguel knows he’s in for a ride. At least a ten minute detour, as it always is with the four of them. 
“What?” His hands come to rest on his hips naturally, trying to become bigger to them as if it would make the next words out of their mouth more blunt and less angering. “We have a slight problem—” Gwen starts, before Pav butts in.
“It's not slight. It’s a pretty big deal!”
“Mate,” Hobie huffs. “That’s not helpful.”
“I’m trying my best!”
"Yeah, and that's going great-"
“Okay, stop it, all of you,” Miguel interrupts before they can go down the rabbit hole, trying to keep his already strung thin patience steady. “What’s going on?”
“There’s another fight going on.” Hobie gives the answer blunt, to Miguel’s satisfaction.
“Cafeteria?”
“Main hall. Sector D.”
The huff that erupts from his lips draws a colorful picture of his current emotions as he hops off of his elevated platform. “I’ll fix it.”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Miles brings himself to stand in front of the man. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone, right?”
“I can’t make any promises.” He brushes past the kid, dismissing him with a shake of the head. 
“Miguel. Don’t take your anger out on them–” Gwen tries, but all it gets is his recoil and daunting stalk towards her.
“I will do whatever the–” the swear word is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “I will do whatever is needed, but violence is not my first course of action.”
“Please be nice to everyone,” Pav says, peeking over Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week for all of us too.”
Miguel sighs and brushes past them, saying nothing. He brushes off their words in silent agreement. He didn’t really want to hurt anyone either. 
By the time he reaches where he'd been informed the fight was, there was a mosh pit encircling the brawl, a mass of blue and red and spidermen. He approaches from behind, the tide parting for him as each person registers his presence.
When he meets the pearl in the oyster, the hotheaded spiderman hasn’t noticed him quite yet. He’s got the other spidey— one of the many spiderwomen— beneath him, gnarly fist raised to land another punch. Miguel sighs, grabs the back of the man’s elbow, and dragssss him off.
“Everyone get away now.” His tone squeezes the air out of the room and leaves no room for discussion, not that anyone would dare to object. The spidermen flee the scene before he can even finish his sentence, and by the time he’s turned back to the perpetrators of it all, they’re gone too.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low cálmate under his breath as he moves to regain his bearings. “Lyla,” he waves the said woman near.  “Find those spidermen and remind me to get to them when I come back.” She sputters to focus in front of him, dipping her head in an obliged nod before sputtering off again to wherever she found herself needed. 
Miguel shakes and unclenches the fist he’s made with his free hand and stalks back to his office, rubbing the palm of his hand where his claws had taken purchase amidst anger. 
Sometimes, he regrets putting himself in charge of all of this… shit.
But… he’s the only one who can do it. No one had the vigor, the dedication, the understanding of why and what had to be done to keep the multiverses in line and make sure what happened to him never happened again. 
It’s tiring. It takes his nights and his days and chips at his brain until he’s sure there’s nothing left in the expanse of his head. For someone who appears naturally angry, he’s quite good at keeping all the real anger in.
The downside of this: he bottles it all up. But the bottle isn’t big enough, doesn’t last forever, cracks at the seams, and then shatters in a explosion of tears. It enjoys crumpling him into the floor, loves the way his hands shiver in the cold breeze, shakes him to the core and, for all his confidence, makes him doubt.
Lyla’s only seen him like this once, when he couldn’t get away and instead had to sequester himself into his office, not quite getting to hardwiring her nosy personnel to do something else. 
No, he doesn’t rely on her, as he normally would with other problems. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t even trust himself with post breakdown Miguel, no. 
He goes to you.
You. The lovely, kind person he’s had the great privilege of calling his. His love, his support, his everything, or better yet; mi luz. My light. The light at the end of the tunnel, at the end of the world, when he feels like the walls are caving in and there’s really nowhere else to go and nothing more to lose.
You calm him, like you always do. Effortlessly caring, eternally so. Never afraid to give, to let him take and take until he’s stuffed whole. You know little things about him, take the time to learn them. Like where to get his favorite empanadas— much better than the ones in the spidey cafeteria— and that he loves when you press your fingers into his shoulder blades. He loves your massages.
He loves you.
Tapping insistently at the shitty gadget on his wrist, he mindlessly pulls up the coordinates for your dimension. Second nature. He’s walked himself into some obscure corner of the building, but he isn’t processing such mundane things at the moment. He can feel himself slipping, the mask fracturing. He can’t be left alone right now.
You.
The portal is up now, flashing and glitching in an assortment of colors, beckoning him in with its delectable light, like a halo. Miguel wastes no time giving in, diving into the portal and tucking himself tight like a torpedo.
Multiverses zoom by as he glides through hexagons and hexagons, thousands of people in each. Worlds that he keeps steady, safe, perfect. Normally, he’d stop to smell the flowers, observe and appreciate the sereneness of every special home in front of him. Pride himself in the fact that there was a special home for someone to come home to. 
But not this time. No, this time he keeps his eyes screwed shut, he wouldn’t, couldn’t get distracted by the novelty. The bottle is cracking now, cracking into long and sharp spikes aching to slice across his chest. He’s so close, all he could get himself to do was focus on his breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out—
The abrupt warning of your multiverse approaching pinches his wrist, reminding him that this whole mess was very much real. He stumbles into your living room with a not so quiet thud, startling you. You drop the spoon you were stirring something with— smells like some sort of sauce, yum— and whip your head towards him.
He’s got his arms wrapped around you before you can even process that it's him, burying himself in your neck and inhaling the calm scent of you, a mix of your perfume and your detergent, so very you. 
“Miguel.” You sigh into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist as the initial shock of his intrusion wears off. 
He slumps into you, only trusting himself to let out a low grumble of your name. 
“What’s going— oh,” your brain puts two and two together. “Oh, Miguel, shh. It’s okay, I got you.”
And he breaks. Because he knows you mean it. He knows you have him. You always do.
The tears are bubbling over the rims of his eyes and splashing down his cheeks, his hands are twisted up in your loose shirt. He’s sure his claws have made an entrance too. One of your hands reaches to turn off the stove, the other rubbing incandescent patterns into his back. 
You were always so careful. Never leave the stove on, Miggy. Don’t wanna burn the food. He loves that about you.
“Hey,” your voice wisps in through the fog of his mental breakdown, of the end of the world. “Hey. It’s me. Just me. Your absolute favorite person on this planet.”
“Multiverse.” He manages through sob induced hiccups. 
“Multiverse,” You smile, breathing out a soft laugh as you toil him in closer. “Breathe, my love. I have you. Nobody is here but me, and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
He nods, lets himself weigh more onto you.
“That’s it, I got you,” you coax. “Get it out of your system.”
He gives all the tears he has to give. He’s sandwiching you between the counter and his stature, but you don’t seem to mind. Your spilling words, mindlessly, talking until he’s done and ready to attach himself to them, the soft baritone of your voice.
And it takes time, but he gets there. He’s in the tunnel, the walls are caving in, he’s believing he's given all he has to give, but you’re there, and you’re telling him no, no you have not. You don’t get to lose, because you have SO much more life to live.
His light.
The tunnel lets up, opens up the walls, lets him bathe in you, in the way your arms are still hooked tight around his waist and you’re going on about how there was a new episode of your favorite show that he had to watch. 
And of course he would watch it.
He’d do anything for you, anything you asked whenever you wanted. And he knows, in turn, that there wasn’t a damn thing in this god forsaken reality that would stop you from doing the same for him.
You tell him as much. To his face, into his hair, with the dance of your fingers on his back, in the way you guide him to the couch, when you place down some food and a cup of water— you just cried out your backup supply— and again when you place yourself down next to him.
“I’m so beyond lucky to have you.” He murmurs to you, some fifteen minutes into the episode of your show, something about this dude with a metal helmet and a green baby? He can’t recall the name.
You turn, a smile gracing your features. “You deserve me. You deserve everything the multiverse has to offer and more. Dunno what I’d do without you.”
“You’d have one less person bothering you.”
“Ah, yes,” you laugh, swatting his cheek. “Like you’re such a nuisance.”
He laughs, actually laughs. It’s nice.
You tilt your head onto the girth of his shoulder, snuggling in tight as your attention is again sucked into the screen.
He smiles dazedly at you, finally feeling at peace.
Mi luz. My light.
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is anyone else still obsessed with him or is that just me
546 notes · View notes
pedgito · 1 year
Note
i just saw your post about glasses!eddie munson and whenever you have the time, would you be able to write a cute series of reader finding out about his glasses ITS JUST ADORABLE
author’s note: this was meant to post sooner than now but here it is lol, i finished this pretty quick but got sidetracked. glasses!eddie has invaded my brain and it’s never leaving.
cw: sfw, glasses!eddie, eddie’s not so subtle flirting, acquaintances to friends, once again another fic where everyone bullies eddie (give this man a break), if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 2.5k
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“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Your voice is soft, leaning back toward Eddie, whose eyes are nearly closed from how hard he’s focusing on the board, blindly scribbling something down on the paper. He’s lost on where the voice comes from until you’re in focus, looking back at him with a smile.
Eddie wasn’t a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was the boy who got picked on relentlessly and as much as you wanted to help, you weren’t sure it would change anything. Plus, he didn’t seem that bothered by it—or he was just really good at faking like he wasn’t.
“Oh,” Eddie replies, still confused, “I’ll be fine—Mr. Donahue’s handwriting is always shit, I can barely understand it.”
It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still legible.
“Munson!” The teacher's voice rings from the front of the classroom, “let's stop trying to distract other classmates and focus on our own work, okay?”
And if it wasn’t the condescension in his tone that pissed you off, it was the way he so quickly blamed Eddie for the interaction. He shrinks slightly, sending you an apologetic look.
It happens a few more times that week, catching Eddie glancing at the board as if it’s nearly impossible to see—and maybe he was telling the truth, but it’s also obvious that Donahue hates Eddie for no other apparent reason than just because he thinks he’s up to no good, which isn’t fair to Eddie.
You show up early to class the following week, bag resting in the chair of the desk beside you—Eddie’s usual seat, waiting. He’s always bordering on being late, making it to class as the bell rings, looking more frazzled than the others.
You weren’t sure what he got up to between classes, but he definitely seemed overwhelmed.
“This seat taken?” He asks with a smug smirk, pointing at your backpack. You smile slightly, reaching for it.
“Sorry—I just wanted to make sure I could sit beside you.” You tell him honestly. It throws Eddie off, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly before relaxing, eyes roaming over you curiously. “You said you can’t understand his handwriting, I was gonna let you copy my notes.”
“Can I copy your work too?” Eddie asks jokingly, but you can tell he means it. “I’m barely scraping by with a D in this class.”
You snort out a quiet laugh. “Let’s worry about the notes first.”
Eddie spends most of the class still struggling, forehead creased up as he sifts through your notes, writing things down sparingly. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mean, focusing a little too hard on one word every now and then as he looks over, your papers perched on the corner of the desk.
“If my writing is horrible you can tell me,” You say, which makes Eddie chuckle, “seriously, I won’t be offended.”
“It’s not that,” He assures you, “it’s just—the angle, it’s a little hard to read them—“
“Oh, well,” You grab the papers in a bunch, extending them toward him, “here, just take them.”
Eddie ignored you, his fingers wrapping around the leg of your desk to pull it flush against his—it’s quick enough that it doesn’t make much noise, only a slight shifting that draws a few eyes.
“Or…that works too.” You say shyly, face heating up at his straightforwardness. “Better?”
He glances over, shifting the papers to his side and gives a subtle nod as his lips pull together in a tight line, “Yeah, actually.”
And it’s almost blissful silence as Eddie copies them down, asking a few questions when your words meld together out of habit when you’re writing too quickly, he still leans in slightly but you don’t pester him on it—eventually Eddie’s actions are noticed, all eyes shifting toward the back of the classroom.
When you look up, everyone is staring back, including the pensive and threatening eyes of your teacher.
Eddie mumbles a soft, “Sorry.” as he pushes your desk back.
“Do I need to remind you two that this isn’t a matchmaking class?”
And it’s a ridiculous comment to make, but it has Eddie scoffing slightly underneath his breath.
“I’m letting him copy my notes,” You say innocently, “is that okay?”
You can’t remember having a problem in any of your classes, either flying under the radar or one of the usual favorites—you’ve never felt this tense, staring down the entirety of the group that was staring right back, though your gaze was focused on Mr. Donahue.
Eddie looks at you briefly before settling his eyes toward the desk, fiddling with pen in his hands to soothe his anxiety.
“If Eddie has a problem, he can come sit up front,” He says coarsely, “I don’t think you have the wiggle room to be socializing, do you?”
And suddenly his gaze on you is forgotten, flicking toward Eddie.
Eddie doesn’t give him the satisfaction, shuffling his shoulders forward in an effort to hide himself, scribbling something random down on the paper in front of him—it’s something he did when was bored or uncomfortable, even, a comfort.
You catch Eddie toward the end of class, gripping his sleeve before he can sneak away.
“How far behind are you?” You ask him, peering up at him curiously. Eddie looks sheepish, glancing away for a moment.
“Uh, I haven’t really taken notes all semester—I kinda just..scribble shit down so it looks like I’m working.”
Your eyes slant down slightly, in an ire of disbelief as your mouth parts, “Eddie, are you serious?”
He shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch his jaw. You huff through your nose, snatching the pen perched in Eddie’s pocket and uncapping it before shoving it into his hands.
“Give me your address.” You insist, holding out your arm to him. Eddie seems skeptical, fingers wrapping around your arm gently, shifting your sleeve up, “I’m getting you caught up—don’t look at me like that.”
And truly, he’s not sure how to respond. Kindness and niceties weren’t at all familiar, feeling like there was always some ulterior motive. Still, he scribbles down the information with slow strokes, careful that it doesn’t smudge—leaving a small smiley face out of spite, forcing a similar expression onto your own face.
“I’m free after six,” He tells you, “so unless you want to get caught up in awkward conversation with my uncle, wait until then.”
You laugh at that, pulling your sleeve down.
“How else am I supposed to uncover all of your secrets?”
Eddie smirks slightly, eyes averting toward the floor.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—you just have to ask.”
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He spends most of his nights—sans the ones where he’s performing for the small audience at The Hideout or hosting Hellfire meetings—organizing campaigns and writing down random things that come to his mind, feeling the need to get the thought out on paper, even if it’s song lyrics or a drawing.
He adjusts the thin rimmed glasses up his nose, eyes hurting from the strain he’s forced them through all day. He knows he should spend a few minutes resting, even just closing his eyes for a moment, but he can’t help it. Eddie knows it’s his fault, the beginnings of a headache forming as he tries to focus, his finger sneaking up to rub at his eye—he can feel the haziness, willing it away.
But then you’re knocking at his door and every thought is thrown out the window—part of him never expected you to show, his heart thrumming in his chest as he leaps from the bed, tossing the papers away haphazardly and forcing the glasses up into his hair without a thought, pushing his bangs away from his face.
Eddie whips the door open, causing you to startle slightly.
“Hi.” You say wearily, a soft smile on your face.
“Hi,” Eddie responds slightly out of breath, before clearing his throat and offering a smoother, “Hey.”
Your eyes glance up, noticing the difference in his face. His bangs were like a trademark, constantly hiding his eyebrows. You point up curiously, speaking before you can think things through.
“You wear glasses?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion.
“No—no uh, of course not.” Eddie responds quickly, adamant in his refusal. “Why would you—“
He’s clearly caught off guard, standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes crossing as he follows your finger, only realizing his mistake when you drag the glasses down slowly, pushing them gently up the bridge of his nose.
“Well, that is definitely an interesting pair of non-existent glasses.” You say jokingly, grinning at his embarrassment, cheeks flushing a deep red.
It’s hard to explain how perfectly they fit his face—like it’s the missing piece that pulls him together. He’s not dressed up like usual, in a faded graphic shirt and gray pair of sweats, no jacket or rings in sight. It’s natural—and it’s in that split second you can see the real Eddie. Not the threatening, menacing Eddie Munson that everyone played him out to be.
Eddie nods wearily, beckoning you inside.
“I won’t tell anyone,” You promise him with a tinge of amusement, rounding on him as he closes the door, shoving the stack of papers at his chest, “—if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Eddie pulls the glasses off of his face, folding them up.
“It’s not that,” Eddie tells you, “—didn’t mean for you to find out about them, it kinda ruins the whole image, you know?”
Image. It makes you laugh to yourself silently.
“You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide them,” You giggled slightly, “besides, I don’t think they ruin anything.”
“I kinda forgot you were coming.” Eddie lies, knowing he had been riddled with nerves since he stepped foot inside of the trailer that evening, not understanding why he was so anxious to begin with.
“Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything—“ You stop briefly, sighing softly, “but if you need a tutor or even just…some help, I don’t mind.”
Eddie doesn’t really know how to take it, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.
“I study with Nancy a lot,” You explain, “it’s really not a big deal.”
“I’m a lost cause,” Eddie admits with half-smile, “there’s no saving me.”
“I don’t believe that,” You tell him honestly, approaching him to shove the glasses back toward his chest, his other hand still stuffed full with the papers containing your notes, “—seriously, put them back on and I can spend a couple hours seeing where you’re at.”
Eddie listens, though skeptically, placing the glasses back onto his face—you smile without really thinking, causing him to react similarly.
“It’s okay to let someone be nice to you,” You assure him, “as many assholes as there are at Hawkins, there’s still a few of us who mean well.”
“I can’t be taught, I’m just warning you now.” Eddie remains adamant, leading the way toward his room. You follow behind eagerly, taking in the abstract way of decoration littered around the trailer.
“Fine—you can at least show me your drawings then.”
Eddie looks back at you briefly, a confused grin on his face.
“I’m really observant,” You tease, “and curious.”
“Promise not to tell anyone?” Eddie asks.
“I’ve already got one secret to keep,” You respond, teasing him lightly, “what’s one more?”
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“How bad is it?” You ask him, staring up expectantly.
“What—oh, my eyes?” Eddie asks, “Uh, kinda bad. It’s okay, though—I manage.”
You crease your eyebrows together, motioning for him to remove the glasses. He does, watching as you reach for a paper, holding it up in front of him.
“Tell me when you can read it clearly.”
Eddie nods, squinting as you move the paper closer and closer, until it’s only a few inches from his face, your eyes widening in shock.
“Eddie,” You stress, “you can’t be serious?”
“I told you I manage,” He argues with a slight laugh, “but it’s bad, I meant that.”
Your expression remains the same, arms falling to your side as you discarded the paper.
“They look weird,” Eddie defends, “that’s why I only wear them at home—I already get enough shit at school anyways.”
“Bullshit,” You say boldly, “they do not look weird.”
Unfortunately, you did see all of the relentless teasing he caught at school, that wasn’t lost on you.
“You don’t have to lie,” Eddie says, “it won’t bother me.”
“I’m not,” You counter, smiling as the glasses returned to his face, his eyelashes touching the lenses, bangs brushing against the rim, “they fit you—they’re…cute.”
Eddie snorts in disbelief, “Okay, enough.”
You smile to yourself, watching as his cheek flushed a faint pink.
“Can I try them on?”
Eddie doesn’t answer outright, pulling them away from his face and handing them over—they’re a little bigger, his more prominent facial structure different from yours and causing the glasses to slide down your nose slightly. You push them up with your finger, squinting at the strain it puts on your eyes.
You can see Eddie smiling over the rim, admiring how perplexed you look in the moment, “Don’t look at me like that,” You say playfully, “these things are really strong.”
Eddie shakes his head, “It’s—nothing, nevermind.” He pulls the glasses from your face gently, placing them back on his own.
And Eddie’s never been shy, but suddenly he can’t force the words out, afraid of the mix of both rejection and embarrassment.
“I like you like this,” You tell him, hoping it eases him, seeing how tense he was—clearly unloved by many, “I mean, I like you both ways but this—it’s nice.”
“You’re the first.” He says flippantly, not aimed at you for any specific reason. He’s not immune to the words thrown at him, they do start to wear on him after time, even if he brushes them off for the most part.
“They’re insane,” You tell him with a surety, “all of them.”
“Careful,” Eddie treads, “Jason would have a fuckin’ field day if he heard you say that.”
You shrug, smugness in your expression.
“He’s terrified of me.”
“Jason—terrified of you?” Eddie asks, begging for more clarification.
“Our parents are friends—I’ve seen…a lot.” You say cryptically, not wanting to dive into details, “I’m not one for blackmail but I’m not totally above it.”
“You’re so interesting,” Eddie speaks candidly.
“I’ll take that was a compliment?” You respond, “Hopefully.”
Eddie nods with a subtle smile.
“Well—like you said,” You start, repeating his earlier sentiment, “I’ll tell you anything, just ask.”
You hold your finger up as his mouth opens—
“But, notes first—secrets later.”
Eddie pushes his glasses up comedically, forcing a quiet laugh from you—it’s the exact reaction he wants. He settles, agreeing with your rules.
“Deal.”
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Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡
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yoonzinuhh · 5 months
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studio love,kinktober special.
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thinking of adding another fic to the kinktober special👀hope you guys enjoy this !
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𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : woozi x reader
𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : purely smut
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : SMUT minors dni !
𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 : this is purely fiction and i have no intentions in sexualising any idol. this is from my kinktober special. let me know if you want to be added on my general tag list. reblogs are highly appreciated!
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“i’ll be done in 10 minutes,i promise” he says peeking through his shoulders. and you just smile and nod.
you’ve been dating for 4 months by now and everytime you get into his studio you can’t help but awe at his love for his job. staring at his back. his sleeveless top showing a good view of his built back,his hair little longer than his hairline but shorter than his neck being ruffled,his eyes on the monitor as he steals few glances at your direction every few minutes.
“i’m done for a few” he walks onto your direction plopping onto the couch and pressing a small peck onto your cheek. you lean on him putting your head on his shoulder.
comfortable silence was what it was.
talking about your day he slowly pulls you on his lap,letting yourself relax comfortably as he rested his chin on your shoulder listening to you attentively,hands resting on your hips drawing relaxing circles. not until he accidentally got a peak of your chest from your loose white tank top. gulping he moves a little.
“are you okay..am i too heavy? i’ll get dow-“
“NO ! no i’m good i just..i was just making myself comfortable” he was lying. he wants to touch you so bad. so bad until all you can blabber out is his name. just his.
and you continue talking. not until his hands find your bare thigh. sliding his hands up and down in a painfully slow pace he got upper and upper unconsciously.
“woozi..”
“d-do you want me to stop” he removes his hand and you quickly grab it placing it where it was, nodding a no.
smiling he pulls you closer so your back is fulling leaning onto his chest,full weight on him.
his one hand sneaks inside your shirt and travelling from your waist to belly and finds your chest. unclipping your bra he teases your bud while the other still massages your thigh.
spreading his knee so he could gently spread your legs apart he kisses your neck gaining a whimper.
hands travelling up further he stops at the hem of your panty.
“tell me if everything is okay..” he slides his hands inside your panty,cupping your flesh and gently touching your nub twice he groans at the wetness.
scooping your wetness he spreads it onto your clit practically hearing it beat making circles around it.
not being very used to this your arch you back only for him to hold you against him with his free hand.
“you’ll feel great babe..trust me” and he slowly slides one finger into your pooling core. dragging his fingers in and out he adds another finger.
this sensation..this felt so good. so good that you want to run away,yet stay.
his fingers pumping in and out while his palm was moving against your clit you felt fuzzy feeling your head almost spin,stomach flip your legs automatically closes itself only for him to trap your legs open with his. he curls his fingers deeper and you could feel something up. gripping onto his arms,throwing your head onto his shoulder you cry out with multiple woozis and pleases,making sounds you never knew you were capable of making.
chest rising,lips plump,eyes teary and your back arching. god he felt hot. he felt hot about how much good he just made you feel.
“just like that..let it” and you do. making the loudest moan ever,thanks to his sound proof studio. jerking and panting onto his chest he kisses your forehead,your cheeks,your everywhere easing you as he gently tucks your hair in place.
“take a break until i get back from work,again?” he smiles against your shoulder and you chuckle knowing what’s about to happen next. god you’re crazy.
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tags : @aaniag
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thrasher-slashers · 1 year
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Slashers with a Thicc S/O
Basically, a few slashers with a plus sized S/o- some basic relationship HCs sprinkled in- kinda requested by a friend?
Some body dysmorphia
Mainly fluff :)))
Pronouns=They/Them (G/N reader)
I am a plus sized person myself- but I’m still not the best writer! Bare with me if something’s don’t make sense!
Kinda OOC
Bo Sinclair
Holy shit-
Loves your thighs- wether squishy or muscle, loves them
Will pinch your fat, thinks it’s cute
* Lays his head on your legs, a lot…maybe play with his hair???
* He definitely won’t complain…
* If your self couscous about your size? This man will go ham on anyone that says a w o r d.
* He will hype you up to the best of his one tracked southern mind-
* Chubby chaser!!!
* You have stretch marks? Nice! He likes tiger stripes!
* Bo doesn’t say words much to show how he feels, but he try’s his damn best- “Darlin’ I’ll love you, no matter how you feel about yourself.”
* Lots…. I mean… lots of hickeys.
* Your both pretty warm natured,, so summer cuddles are usually a no go- rip.
Lester Sinclair
* Type of mf to squish your cheeks
* “Sorry honey, you just look so cute!”
* Another chubby chaser!
* Pick him up and cuddle him- we know this man is a stick, and couldn’t even pick up one of his brothers if he tried-
* Thigh appreciator, amen.
* Will glow in pride with you by his side!
* Will fight a hoe if they make any comment towards you what so ever-
* Hopes you’d do the same!
* “LOOK AT MY PARTNER!” Lookin ass
* Shows you off, knows he scored big!
* Lots of kisses, all over your body, won’t stop- seriously, you think you have marks on your forehead from him.
* Secretly wants you to crush his head between your thighs… don’t tell anyone.
Vincent Sinclair
* Yet again, like his brothers- a chubby chaser.
* Yes, he draws you a lot, obviously- he thinks your fucking stunning!
* Will ask for you to pose for him, if your comfortable with that of course. If your not good at staying still? Don’t worry! He has a camera!
* Squeezes you- a lot, but he’s gentle-
* Loves how warm you are! His hands are normally cold, he enjoys when you hold them :)
* Will cry if you call him beautiful-
* Literally a whore for your attention, pay attention to him- please- he’ll do anything!
* Likes to touch and feel you a lot, it isn’t inherently sexual? But if that’s what it turns into…
* Makes you little trinkets to carry :)
* Will blush r e d if you play with his hair in anyway
* “I will cherish you will all my heart, Love.”
* Please- please- call him a pretty boy- he will d i e.
Thomas Hewitt
* Enamored. Loves you a normal amount… totally.
* Thomas, as a chubby person himself- actually appreciates the chub more on you then himself!
* Caresses you a lot, just likes physical touch- just being near him makes him happy.
* Likes the way your stretch marks feel under his fingers- odd fixation- but still.
* Not the best at showing how he feels- he just holds you and hopes you get the message-
* Actually will pummel Hoyt if he ever makes any derogatory comment towards you.
* Doesn’t let you near the ‘visitors’ very much, he deems them as a threat to your safety.
* The family likes you, your cool 👍
* Give this man a massage, he’s very tense all the time… he will greatly appreciate it!
* Not a PDA person, but in private- he’s all over you.
* Likes to play with your hair, no matter the texture, it’s you, and he likes that.
* Doesn’t say much, but when he does, he means it. “I Love You.”
Bubba Sawyer
* You??? Love him??? It still surprises him everyday!
* Dotes and fusses over you a lot, very worried about you- for no real reason- he just wants you safe and happy.
* Your bigger like him!!! Now he won’t crush you! :D
* like Thomas, he likes to caress and touch you a lot, he will mumble incoherent things to you, in hopes you get what he’s trying to say.
* Squeals at you a lot, thinks your the most beautiful thing ever, won’t let his brothers even THINK of being mean to you.
* Has actually hit Drayton over the head for an out of pocket comment.
* Kiss him, anywhere, he’ll be so happy!
* Tried to make you a mask at one point- realized you probably won’t like another persons skin on your face- so he used fabric.
* Will cuddle with you no matter the weather- freezing? Holding his arms open. 100+ degrees? Shut up and cuddle, you can sweat it out.
* Likes to sleep with you on top of him, like a weighted blanket.
* Very hyperactive! Wants to do everything with you!
* Excited when you want to do anything with him! Wether it be something like cleaning the house or something like taking a shower together!
This layout sucks- I apologize lmao
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dosie-dosie · 5 months
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THINGS TO DO WITH YOUR OCS
If you’re like me and you like to play around with your OCs a lot, here’s some things you can do with them!
ART & CRAFTS
Put your OCs in character scenario memes! Here’s some I found on Deviantart.
Do an art trade where you draw someone’s OC and they draw yours!
Use those "Draw The Squad" templates and draw your OCs.
Crochet/knit/sew/etc. a plushie of your OC.
You can also make a paper doll! You can find tons of tutorials on youtube.
You can also make a figure of them out of something like clay, cardboard, or another material.
You can build them out of Legos!
You can also create a hand or finger puppet of them.
Draw a comic featuring your characters!
Create an animation of your character.
Draw your characters as animals!
Create pixel art of your OC! Maybe even make it look like video game sprites.
Draw your characters as playing card designs.
Draw your characters as tarot card designs (Suggested by @ultragirl-parsley)
Create a coloring book full of your OCs!
Create a large cardboard cutout of your character. There are tons of tutorials online!
Put your OCs as designs on cookies, cakes, etc. (I kinda want to do this one but I know it won't turn out well for me 'cuz I suck at handling food T_T)
Design your OC's home.
Make a board game about your OCs and their story
Make Minecraft skins of your characters
INTERNET
Make your OCs in picrew or other dress-up things!
Create a character playlist on Spotify or other music site!
Create a Pinterest board with inspo for your OCs! Maybe outfits they’d wear, a moodboard, etc.
Reblog those “tag your OC as” blogs! They usually have a prompt and you can reblog it and tag which OC it describes. Here’s a few blogs which do this: Tag Your OC on Tumblr develop your oc on Tumblr Daily Asks for your OC (tumblr.com)
Take quizzes as your OC! You can find some on Quotev or IDRLabs.
Make a roleplay account as your OC.
Create a quiz on Quotev about your OC. Maybe something like, "Would my OC like you," "How similar are you to my OC," etc.
Put your OCs in the incorrect quote generator.
Find OC questionnaires and templates online.
Create a page on your Tumblr just for your OC! You can include things like a character sheet, general facts, your posts about them, etc.
WRITING
Do character exercises for them! You can find a lot of these on the internet, but here’s an example.
Write from your OC's perspective. It'll help you understand them better!
Create a list of media they enjoy. Maybe movies, video games, songs, etc.
Write a song (or just lyrics) about your OC or parts of their story.
Write a random story about their childhood!
Create an in-universe news report from your OC's world.
Write a poem about your OC.
OTHER
Put your OCs in character alignment memes! Here’s some from a search on Pinterest.
Create voice headcanons for your OCs. Here’s an example of Vivziepop’s for Hazbin Hotel..
Play as your character in video games! Like, maybe design your character in Miitopia or Sims.
Do some theatre improv games as if you were your OC.
Edit your OC on to pride flags.
Also, you could maybe make those like, Tiktok edits of your OC? (Y'know the ones I'm talking about?)
Create an AU version of your characters! (I’ll create a list of AU ideas soon! :D)
Have your characters solve the trolley problem and other moral conudruums.
Cosplay as your OC!
Create ship names for your characters!
You can also find baby names that your OC might like or something.
Create a visual novel/dating sim in Google Slides (or if you can code, you can do it like that!)
Create a crossword/word search relating to your characters and story.
Answer "Would you rather?"questions as your character.
Find poems that remind you of your OC.
Make family trees.
If anyone has anymore ideas, please tell me and I’ll add them to the list!!
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