#so hopefully me having drawn him here is alright

[tiny-cloud-of-flowers]

Trick or treat! 🎃 :3 (and good luck with the lab!!!)

Aaah, thank you! I.. have not done any work on it today, but talking to a classmate earlier did help a bit, and I have all day tomorrow so hopefully that will work out!!

With all that said, though- here you are!

I messed up the outfit details a lot on this one, I apologise. Still, though, even if it is now gone midnight here - happy Halloween!~

#heart of the void #creations from the void #of shards and crystal (FFXIV) #I was like ''wait drat do you have self-inserts??'' and then.. I just defaulted to s'ria for who to draw #so hopefully me having drawn him here is alright #he's supposed to be dressed like jacke #out of the inbox #feral-piano-rat #halloween

[cloudybarnes]

bad idea right?

Pairing: theodore nott x reader

Summary: after theo breaks up with you, he pledges to make things right and do anything necessary to win you back. however, you are determined to make him work if he wants to win you over again aka part two to new beginnings

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

a/n: LONG AWAITED PART TWO WOOHOOOO also this could be read as a solo instead of a part two if you really wanted, but here's part one in case you wanna read that as well ;)

✰  ✰  ✰

“Please don’t tell me you got back together with him!” Ginny groaned. She sat on the edge of your bed as Hermione braided your hair for the night. 

“No, I didn’t get back with him. I told him if he really wanted to prove it to me, then he could.” 

“So you’re thinking of getting back with him.” She said disapprovingly. Hermione chuckled from her seat in the bed behind you. She was working on doing dutch braids in your hair. 

“I think it’s fine, Gin,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if she’s going to jump back in bed with him.”

You waggled your eyebrows teasingly to Ginny. She gasped and swatted your shoulder. “That’s so not funny, (Y/N/N). Just because you think he’s sexy doesn’t mean you should get back with him.”

Theodore broke up with you very unexpectedly. He barely even had a reason for breaking up with you, which left you heartbroken and devastated. You were in bed for a few days, had a good cry, and then you were back. 

Theo had tried to mend the broken bond between your relationship, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to take him back that easily. Your ego was high, and you knew you would be kicking yourself if something like that happened again right when you took him back. 

“Don’t worry, Ginny. If he really wants me back, he’s gonna have to work for it. He knows that.”

“Alright,” Hermione said as she tied off the end of your hair. “All finished. Your hair’s gonna look so good tomorrow.”

“Theo better be drooling when you see him,” Ginny said, “if not, I’ll give him a different reason to drool.” She made a motion of punching her fists together, insinuating she would punch him in the mouth. 

You chuckled. “Hopefully there won’t be any blood drawn. I don’t think he’d really wanna go through all the trouble if it just got him a busted lip.”

“Oh no,” Ginny grinned, “it would be more than just a busted lip. I’ve got five brothers, I’m known to throw a mean punch or two.”

“Lights out girls!” The prefect yelled as she knocked on your bedroom door. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you guys at breakfast. But for real, if Theo tries anything you know I’m right there for you.” 

You smiled, grateful to have a friend as awesome as her. “Yeah, Gin, I know. Thank you.” 

She smiled, “night guys.”

You two said your good nights as Hermione moved from your bed to her own. 

“What do you think he’ll do tomorrow?” You asked Hermione as she shut off the lights. You pulled the covers close to your body, waiting for her response. 

“I’m not sure,” she replied, getting comfy in her own bed. “Hopefully something sweet. He’s got a lot of making up to do if he wants to get back on our good side.”

You smiled softly, “yeah, you’re right. Night, ‘Mione.”

“Goodnight.”

✰  ✰  ✰

The next morning at breakfast, the owl dropped a letter in front of you.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, his mouth filled with food. 

Ginny slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Honestly, you act like you were raised in a barn.”

“We were raised in the same house, you know.” He pointed. 

“What a shame that was,” she replied. 

You chuckled at their banter, and ripped open the seal on the letter. 

“What’s it say?” Hermione asked. 

You scanned over the words before you read them aloud. “It says,

(Y/N), 

I hope you know how much you mean to me. I was a fool to break things off with you. I only hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. 

Forever yours,

Theo”.

“Forever yours?” Ginny squealed. “That is so romantic.” 

Hermione raised her brow quizzically. “Weren’t you the one telling her not to get back with him?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I can have mixed feelings about this. He breaks her heart but then he writes her a love letter. It’s got me confused, okay?” 

You chuckled. “I think it’s cute. It’s not gonna win me back, but it was an alright effort.”

“Oooh, what a burn,” Harry chuckled. “Poor bloke must’ve forgot how stubborn you are.”

You shook your head with a smile, “nah, he didn’t forget. If I know anything about Theo, he’s just getting started.”

“So, (Y/N/N),” Ron said, “do you want to get back with him or what’s going on with this?”

You shrugged. “I mean, obviously I still love him. It just sucks what he did and I don’t think he should be able to get off the hook that easily. He shouldn’t be forgiven for breaking my heart just because he writes a little letter.”

“I love you for that,” Ginny said as she nodded her head. 

“Hey, (Y/N/N).”

Looking behind you, you could see Enzo give a sheepish smile and a small wave. 

You grinned, “Hey Enzo, how are you? Sorry about yesterday, by the way, Theo’s a little crazy sometimes.”

He chuckled and awkwardly rubbed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. But, yeah, no, Theo and I are all good. He apologized last night and told me all about his plans to woo you.”

You chuckled with a roll of your eyes. “Go figure.” 

“Yeah,” he smiled, “anyway, I just wanted to come by and resume how we were before, you know, the whole break up thing, and drop off this book I think you’ll like.” 

Enzo pulls out a book from his satchel and hands it to you. 

“Coraline?” You asked as you flip it around and skim over the synopsis. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of spooky and psychological which I think you’ll really enjoy.”

You grinned up at him, “that’s perfect. Thank you, Enzo.” 

He sent a tight lipped smile, and nodded before turning away and walking back to the slytherin table. 

“I like Enzo,” Ginny said with a dreamy look on her face. 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Go get him then. He’s a sweetie.” 

“You guys and those Slytherin boys,” Ron shakes his head with a scoff. “Not even that cute, I’ll tell ya.”

“Oh, what?” Ginny asked sassily, “like you’re cute?”

“I think Ron’s cute,” Hermione winked at her boyfriend. 

“Ugh, barf,” Ginny said. 

The bell rang. You all stood to gather your things for first class. 

“We’ll see you guys later,” you smiled as Hermione and you walked out to your shared first class. 

“That was a pretty cute letter,” Hermione said as the two of you started walking down the hall. 

“Yeah, I think it was sweet, but like I said, he can’t win me back that eas-“

“Excuse me?” Someone tapped your shoulder. 

Stopping, you and Hermione turned to see a younger Slytherin boy, presumably a first year, standing before you. 

“Uh, yes?” You asked confused, “do you need help with something?”

“Um, Theodore says I have to carry your satchel and books for you.” The first year stood awkwardly. 

“Oh, uh, that’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You blushed, a little embarrassed that Theo would make a first year cater to you. 

“I have to.” He said adamantly. “Theodore said he’ll set me up with this hot girl I like if I carry your books for you.” 

Hermione snickered from next to you. You turned back to her, a bewildered smile on your face as you tried not to laugh.  

“Well,” you said as you handed the young boy your satchel. “I can’t be the one to stop your true love, now can I?”

The boy grinned as he held on to your satchel as well as his. 

“Theodore is crazy,” Hermione remarks as you continue walking to your next class. The boy followed behind the two of you all the way to your first period. 

As soon as your classroom came into view, you could see Theodore standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. He grinned a devilish thing as he saw you approach. 

“I’ll meet you in there,” Hermione said with a knowing smirk. 

You walked up to Theo. He was beautiful as ever, but even he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

“Hi (Y/N).” He smiled at you then turned to the kid. “I’ll take it from here. I’ll have my guys put in a good word with Maizy for you.”

The kid nodded his head and smiled as he ran off. 

Theo threw your satchel over his shoulder and held out the beautiful assortment of flowers towards you. “For you, to say I’m sorry for being a douchebag and an idiot and a stupid motherfucker. All in the words of Draco by the way. Never knew how much he liked us together.” 

You chuckled and grabbed the flowers out of Theo’s hand. “Thank you.”

He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, have you thought about what I said yesterday?” 

You sighed. “Of course I’ve thought about it Theo. Just like I’ve thought about how much you broke my heart when you dumped me.”

“Okay, I deserved that.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah. Thank you for the flowers, Theo. And… I still care about you, I just need time to figure this all out. I can’t just forgive you that fast when you broke my heart, just  last week!”

Theo sighed, “I know. I know! Fuck! I know I fucked up, baby, but I am going to do everything I can to win you back. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes, baby, I swear it to do. The boys are down my back yelling at me for how hard I screwed everything up. They think I’m stupid, and I think I’m stupid too for letting you go. I promise you, I will do everything it takes for you to trust me again, mi amore.”

Your eyes softened. Theo knew exactly how to make your heart soar. 

“Theo…” 

“No, baby,” he shook his head. “You take your time. I’m gonna be here whenever you decide if you want to forgive me or not. Hopefully you decide you do want to forgive me.” He chuckled awkwardly. 

You matched his awkward laugh. “Well, thanks again for the flowers. They’re very pretty.” 

Theo smiled and nodded before turning around and walking away. 

✰  ✰  ✰

Later that night, you sat in the library studying for your Herbology final. Ginny and Hermione offered to help you study, but you knew you’d be here too late to want to burden them. 

As you flipped through the pages of your herbology book, you tried your best to take down any notes that you thought would be important. 

Your stomach growled. 

“Knew that was inevitable.” 

When you looked up from your textbook, you could see Theo sheepishly smiling as he held two trays from the cafeteria. 

“What was?” You asked with a smile. You cleared some papers to make space for Theo to sit down. 

He grinned and placed the trays on the table as he took his seat next to you. 

“Knew you would forget to eat while you studied for this exam.” 

You chuckled and peered over to see what Theo brought you to eat. Ham, potatoes, and stuffing from the dining hall. 

“Thank you, Theo. That’s really sweet of you.” 

He slid a tray closer to you, and you eagerly picked up the provided fork and dug in. 

Theo chuckled as you scarfed down your food. “Pretty hungry?”

You nodded as you finished chewing. Theo smiled to himself and started to take a few bites of his potatoes. 

“You’re being awfully sweet to me, Theo.” 

“Haven't I always been sweet to you, darling?”

“Well, yes. But that was before.”

Theo sighed. “I know I screwed up royally. I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. I’m still the same boy I was just a few months ago. I had a lapse in judgment and that cost me the best thing in my life.”

You frowned. “Theo…”

“Don’t you miss me, (Y/N/N)?” Theo shifted to face you straight on. He nervously leaned forward on the table, staring into your eyes, waiting for your response. 

“…of course I miss you, Theo. How could I not? You’re everything to me, and I’m just so scared of something like that happening again.”

“(Y/N),” Theo started. He tentatively grabbed your hands in his. “I promise you, with everything in me, if you decide to take me back I will never hurt you or disappoint you ever again. You have my word mi amore.” 

You were conflicted. You miss Theo like crazy. You couldn’t help it. No matter what you said to your friends about him having to work hard for you, it tore you apart every time you saw him knowing you still weren’t together. You missed being his. 

“Okay,” you said. 

“Okay?” Theo’s face lit up. “You-you’re giving me another chance?”

“Yeah,” you softly smiled, “I miss my boy.”

Theo grinned and yanked you toward him, engulfing you in a hug—one you’ve been waiting days for. You missed him. You missed being held by him. 

You held around his neck tightly, scared to let go. You never realize how much you craved his touch when it was gone.  

Theo buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

You smiled and pulled back. Theo smiled back at you. Slowly, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his in a warm, longing kiss. Your hands rested on his cheeks, his on your waist as you kissed with all the love stored up between you. 

When he pulled away, Theo stayed close with his forehead rested against yours. “I promise you baby, I’m here for good.” 

“You better be.” 

#I DID IT WOOHOO #now i'm gonna start working on the requests to the best of my ability #hope this lived up to the wait and thanks for putting up with me #its been a hell of a few weeks to say the least #i'm just glad things are getting back to normal and I can have some time to write again #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x y/n #harry potter #draco mafloy #draco malfoy x reader #theordore nott oneshot #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott one shot #george weasley #ron weasley #fred weasly x reader #ron weasly x reader #fred weasley #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire

[headkiss]

give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

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

word count: 17.8k

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

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

༄

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

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson story #tattoo artist!eddie #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ NAUGHTY GIRL. ❞

— minors dni, gojo x afab! reader, they’re both sassy, poly! stsgverse, he plays w/ your tits, sequel to “YOU LITTLE THIEF!”

A cool breeze awaits as you burst into mostly darkness. There’s a few headlights in the parking lot, other patrons coming or going. Glancing back, you catch sight of Gojo nearing the shoe rack. You curse his longer legs, and the color of Geto’s car which blends into the pitch blackness outside. You decide to run in the vague direction of where he parked, hoping it yields results that aren’t Gojo immediately catching up to you. Hopefully people don’t find you too suspicious, the way you’re ducking and weaving through cars to stay out of sight. Gojo’s nowhere to be found whenever you peep back to spot him. It raises the hairs on your arms, makes things a lot more suspenseful as if you’re trying to avoid some kind of knife-wielding murderer in a horror movie.

You finally spot Geto’s car, close to the back of the lot, and dive behind it so you’re next to the driver’s side door. Catching your breath takes a few seconds — you’re lucky his alarm isn’t activated to give you away. Approaching footsteps raise your heart rate, but it’s just some gaggle of teenagers walking by. Or a young a couple on their way inside. Not yet a white-haired man looking to do you harm (take his phone back).

Quietly, or as quietly as you can on gravel, you lift yourself up to peek through Geto’s dark, tinted windows. Despite being akin to a lighthouse tower, Gojo is nowhere to be spotted. It dawns on you that he might also be using cars as refuge. Perhaps if you looked underneath, you’d be able to spot him? Alright, let’s see, you think, lowering and regretting the idea as soon as your knees meet harsh rock. You look back, forth, back again. Nothing. What in the hell…?, you rise back to your feet, not noticing the looming, dark shadow approaching with abnormally quiet steps. Where the fuck did he go?

“Gotcha!” And Gojo muffles your terrified shriek with a large hand, other hand on your waist to pin you to the black car. “Aww, were you lookin’ for me down there, gorgeous?”

Brows drawn together, you inspect the place behind him, too concerned with how in the world he got behind you. He lets you strip his hand from your face to question him. “Where did you come from?”

Gojo grins, tilts his head a little to the side. “Can’t go around revealing my secrets now, can I?”

He takes delight in your unamused look, and your scoff. “What are you, a magician?”

“Nope, but you are. So make my phone appear, right now.”

“Or what? Are you gonna pat me down, Mr. TSA?”

Regret, immediately, as he rolls his eyes in thought. “Actually. Yeah, I am!”

You watch as Gojo pats your arms, waist, legs, one bold pat on your behind, before patting at your shoes. “You think your phone could fit in there?”

He looks up, and the sight of Gojo on his knees before you kind of makes you feel powerful. Like a deity. “I have to be thorough.” He pats you a little harder on the way back up, avoiding your chest, and pouts when he still finds nothing. “The hell? Where is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Brat, he thinks. Gojo’s hands squeeze over your waist, pressing you against the car again. He leans over you until your foreheads are almost touching. “Give it here. Crook.”

That only prompts your giggle in response, e/c eyes never leaving the blues of his. Your hands fiddle with the edge of Gojo’s shirt, and he opens his mouth for another word before there’s a vibration from your chest.

Both pairs of eyes flicker to the faint glow beneath your shirt, and the bravado plummets from your face. “O-oh…”

He looks back up to grin at you. “Found it. I’ll be taking it back now.”

Before you can complain, Gojo slips a hand beneath your top, working his way up until it rests atop your bra, where he finds his phone half-tucked inside. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip underneath, smoothing over your nipple as he pinches the phone and tugs it downward. His other hand glides upwards to take it, and Gojo slips the phone in his pocket, but leaves one hand resting against your bare breast.

“Naughty girl.,” he scolds, thumbing over the stiffening bud. “Why was it in there huh? Did you plan this out?”

You fumble for a response. “I–, no–“

“Because,” a roll of your nipple has you arching into Gojo, where he wraps an arm around your waist. “You could’ve just asked, if you wanted me touch you. Use your words next time, baby.”

His lips make a home on your skin, placing gentle kisses along your neck, jawline, cheeks. It drives a series of mewls and whimpers from you, causes your thighs to clench together around his leg. “G–et off m-me, I’m going back ins-side.”

“Tryna run away again?,” Gojo mocks you, nipping at the sensitive part of your neck. “Cute. Sure, we can go back inside.” He gives a hard suck on the skin, sure to leave a mark, before pulling away to catch your hazy eyes. “You gonna behave for me?”

Even though Gojo can see right through you, needily panting and pushing your chest further into his palm, you still choose to be a little difficult. “Behave? Like some puppy—“

You yelp, him having tugged at your nipple, pinching it between his fingers. “Yep, like my good girl. Play nice, no more stealing or it’s wraps, got it?”

There’s an underlying threat in his statement, one that prods at your curiosity. But you decide to play along for now. “Fine.”

He gives your face another kiss, close to your lips. “Don’t like the way you said it. Again, with less attitude.”

“I didn’t have an attitude.”

“Well, you definitely have one now, so do it again.”

You roll your eyes, catching his expectant stare. His hand twitches at the bat of your lashes, the jut of your lip, eyes widening in an adorable pout. “I’ll be such a good girl for you, Satoru.” The way you purr his name is like gold in his ears. Gojo can feel a throbbing within his pants, but his hands retreat for now to leave you be. You’ll be sure to act up again, and he’s gonna let you have it when you do.

tagz: @staryukis @anthoosies

#poly! satosugu #satoru imagine #satoru gojo imagine #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader

[moonstruckme]

Hello you wonderful, WONDERFUL creation of brilliance! I have another request for the 1k if thats alright.

I think it would be two ghosts?? But its reader x remus (again) where she know hes a werewolf without being told and uses halloween to tell/show him because she can see how guilty he feels for not telling her and scared to tell her.

How/why she knows and how she tells him is up to you love!!

Thank you love x (hopefully that's coherent, toddlers suck and ive only slept 3hrs 😭)

Thanks for requesting (and omg, I hope the toddler(s) become more manageable) <3

join the party

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus comes to the door looking endearingly rumpled. He’s wearing pajama bottoms and a wrinkled t-shirt, his hair is fluffy from lying in bed all day, and his pillowcase has left a faintly pink crease on his cheek. You gather all this from the split second between him opening the door and promptly shutting it in your face. 

“Remus?” you knock again. “Come on, let me in.” 

After a moment in which you can picture him sighing laboriously on the other side, the door cracks open just wide enough for you to see one eye, narrowed with displeasure. Were it anyone else or under any other circumstances, you’d really be quite offended. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

You hold up your bag. “I didn’t think you’d want to face the slew of trick-or-treaters bound for your house alone. I brought movies for us and candy for them. Or, well, the candy can be for both, actually.” 

Remus is silent for a moment, and you press at the door insistently. “Let me in, Rem.” 

He capitulates with a sigh, stepping back to let the door fall open. His apartment is dark, every curtain drawn, and it takes your eyes a second to adjust after stepping out of the sunlight. There’s half a dozen empty takeout containers strewn about the coffee table, and the space has the stale aroma that comes from lack of movement. 

Remus has that aroma, too, you realize as you step closer to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek regardless. He looks like he could use it. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he says dully. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Course you weren’t,” you wave him off. “How could you have been? You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

Remus closes his eyes as if this conversation is already too much for him, and you feel instantly guilty. 

“It’s okay, honey,” you say gently, stacking the takeout containers to clear some space for your candy. “You’re allowed to take some time to yourself. It’d be nice if you’d let me know in the future, but I’m not upset at you. I promise.” 

His features relax slightly, a tension you’d barely noticed around his eyes easing. “Thanks, love. Sorry.” 

“It’s really alright,” you promise, taking him by the hand to pull him down onto the couch with you. “Listen, you seem like you’re not feeling well, so I know you might not want company right now, but would you be open to just having a relaxing night? We can watch Halloween movies and eat sweets, and I’ll handle all the trick-or-treaters.” 

“Yeah?” Remus looks at you with something between hope and sadness, and your heart breaks for him. You squeeze his hand lightly, like your boyfriend is a sponge that you can squeeze all the woe out of and force to absorb your love instead. “That sounds really nice, dove. Thank you.” 

“Course,” you say brightly, and you’re unable to resist pressing your lips to his cheek again before you turn back to your bag, laying your small collection of movies on the table. “Okay, we have some options.” 

Remus hums. “Well, there’s Halloween, the obvious choice.” 

“But too obvious?” you muse. “I mean, we definitely have time to watch more than one, but we only get to watch these at a certain time of year, love. Let’s not be hasty.” He chuckles, and your heart flutters. “I know The Exorcist is a classic, but it might be too scary for me, honestly. Um…Dracula is good…oh! This one’s my favorite.” 

Remus looks to where you’re pointing. “The Werewolf of Washington?”

You pretend you don’t hear the slightly hoarse quality of his voice. “Yup! It’s so funny, and I like that it’s technically a Halloween movie even though werewolves aren’t really scary.” 

He pauses. “You don’t think so?”

You do your best to appear blasé, knowing you have to tread carefully here. “No, of course not,” you say, as if the mere idea is foolish. “I mean, they’re dangerous, sure, but as people, they don’t really mean any harm. It’s not their fault.” 

Remus is being oddly quiet, and you babble on anxiously. 

“If I were a werewolf, I’d hope my friends wouldn’t care about me any less. It’s not like it’s me, it’s just something I have to deal with once a month. I mean, would you stop loving me if I turned out to be a werewolf?”

“No,” Remus says slowly, eyes narrowed to the point where they’re just amber. The circles under his eyes look really dark, you note with concern. You wonder if he hasn’t been sleeping. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” 

You take a breath, gnawing on your lip. “I think it’s more about if there’s anything you want to tell me.”

He slouches into the cushions, features slackening in resignation. “Seems like you already know.” 

“I’m sorry to do it this way,” you say genuinely, grateful that he hasn’t pulled his hand from your grip as you run your thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “I know it’s your secret, and you should get to tell anyone whenever you like, but I’ve known for awhile, and when James told me how down you’ve been this week—”

“What,” Remus says sharply, “did James say exactly.” 

“He only told me that you were sick. I asked if you might like a visitor, and he said he thought you’d rather be alone.” Remus sighs, tipping his head back against the couch. You can see the strain of the upcoming full moon on his face, his features pale and gaunt. 

“He didn’t have to tell me, honey,” you say quietly. “I guessed on my own. I know it’s a big deal, and I’m sure it’s been a massive burden for you." You run your thumb tenderly over the dark circles under his eyes. “I just wish you wouldn’t assume it’d be a burden to me, too. Give me some credit here, Lupin.” 

You feel his cheek twitch as he resists a smile, however small. 

“I don’t care, you know,” you go on, emboldened. “I just want to be there for you. It’s killed me not being there for you every month. I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Remus opens his eyes, and your heart swells at the fondness in his gaze, even if it's mingled with wariness. 

“Would you watch some movies with me, please?” you ask enticingly. “Or we can nap, or just sit here. Whatever you want to do.” 

“You sure you want to stick around?” he asks, and you know he’s talking about more than just tonight. “This time of the month is not pleasant. I’m not pleasant.” 

You let your hand slide from his face down to his shoulder, rubbing delicately. “I don’t need you to be pleasant,” you tell him. “I just need you to let me be here.” 

Remus sighs. “Alright, but we’re watching Halloween. That werewolf movie is shit.”

#moonstruckme 1k celebration #remus lupin #werewolf remus lupin #werewolf!remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin fluff #the marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #maraders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-one — oh no, he’s hot! (💋)

You can’t believe you agreed to this.

Oh wait, actually you can. Your mind keeps deciding what’s good for you, but was your mind even in the right place anyway? It’s really hard to come to terms with this right now while you’re sitting in Scaramouche’s passenger seat.

Was the Inazuma party that great for him to offer on his own to pick you up? If it weren’t for your absolute mastermind of a plan, you’d definitely say no. Hopefully?

But the both of you nestling in the straw bed of silence wasn’t on your bucket list for said plan. “How much longer?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between you two like a thick fog.

“Thirty minutes.” Scaramouche’s dull tone was a true testament to the silence that encompassed them moments ago. It was kind of sad.

“And…how long was it when you started..?” You hesitantly drawled.

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Oh my god,” You muttered, sinking into your seat. You should have never agreed for him to give you a ride, it’s like his brooding broodiness was plaguing your lungs.

But for some reason! You kept trying. “So! Uh…what made you want to pick me up anyway? We’ve got…some interesting history for you to be making this kind of effort right now!”

“I don’t do small talk.”

“Look, you gotta give me something. I’m dying here.” You pleaded with your eyes, probably the only sort of manipulation tactic you could try and use on him.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh. His violet eyes briefly flickering to meet yours before returning to the road. “It was either that, or bartend.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow, cheeks puffed from your fight to keep a laugh in. “You didn’t just want to be a good Samaritan, or what?”

“Do I look like I’d do something out of the goodness of my heart?” Scaramouche’s expression turned sour.

“I don’t know! You’re alright, I guess.” You caught yourself staring for a lot longer than expected, “Uhh, in the way that a clown at kids birthday parties has an extensive knife paraphernalia…kind of…alright?”

You cringed. This is a horrible conversation, even more so now that Scaramouche was willing to ignore what you said.

But the quieter it got, the better it was to hear a small laugh come out of his mouth. Even if you could barely hear the humor he got out of it. You looked at him, catching a glimpse of his mouth turned upwards.

There it was. The butterflies roaming in your stomach, vicariously reminding you of your own carefree mind. A faint glimmer of his amusement was enough to make you nervous, even when he barely made an effort to keep the small smile.

The crack in his demeanor returned to normal, once again unreadable. "Is that all you got?"

You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of response, shoulder slumping. The awkward feeling was pretty much gone, but at what cost to your dignity? "Yeah, I guess so."

“You’re alright too, (Y/N).”

“Huh? I am..?" Oh no, he’s hot!

“Yeah. It’s unfortunate.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

[mooshywrites]

Would it be alright to request what Halsin would think of a sorceress Tav? There's custom dialogue lines from him if Tav is a Druid, so I've always wondered what he'd say and think related to her class specifically.

The Druid’s Sorceress

Fem!Reader x Halsin

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N - Here’s a few bite sized sorceress blurbs :) <3

Word count - 2K

Warnings - Fluff, lots of game spoilers, slight rewriting of plot points

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“I’m lucky to have met you, Sorceress.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~Tiefling Party~

Halsin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for most of the evening. At first, he tried to convince himself that he was only drawn to you because of how you saved him. But Halsin knew, behind that thought, was a desperation to get to know you. To spend even a second more with your magnetic aura.

When you finally danced over to talk to Halsin, he could’ve sworn his heart jumped into his throat.

“Enjoying the party, Druid?” You asked, your words slightly tipsy from the various flavors of wine being passed around the party.

Halsin chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am indeed. Are you also enjoying the party…” Halsin paused, realizing he had no idea what the Hero of the Grove’s speciality lied in.

“Sorceress.” You offered, throwing Halsin a charming smile. “I’m a Sorceress.”

Halsin smiled back, happy he had just another piece of your personality known to him. “Like The Blade. Wyll, was it?”

You scoffed, swishing the wine in your chalice, “He’s a warlock. And between you and me, I’m much better.”

Halsin laughed warmly, nodding his head. “I know not who is better, but I know you yourself are quite impressive.”

“I’m not the only one.” You replied, appreciatively.

Halsin didn’t miss the way the sorceress’s cheeks flushed slightly. He bit back his words, afraid he would come on too strong. He hadn’t known you for long, and well… he couldn’t bring himself to allow the kind of distraction you had become. Not yet at least.

“So tell me about the Shadowlands.” You questioned, taking a step forward to hear the Druid over the music better.

Halsin only offered a thin smile, trying his best not to convey how those words twisted in his chest. “You needn’t worry about those things until morning. Go. Enjoy your party, hero.”

Halsin was thankful that you took his advice, leaving with a genuine smile. He would’ve talked to you all evening if circumstances were different. Would’ve invited you to sit with him under the stars, somewhere more quiet.

He couldn’t though. Not while the knowledge of how nature rotted on the journey’s path. Something he should’ve tried to fix much much earlier.

No, getting to know the Sorceress would have to wait.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~Dancing Lights~

The camp was quieter than usual that night. The fight with Oliver was difficult, the fights along the way making the end battle even more so. Once you all finally made it back to camp, most went to their tent to lick their wounds.

You, however, trudged your way towards Halsin’s tent.

Halsin was whittling away quietly, hoping the movements would lessen his stress. Thaniel lay further in the tent, still completely unconscious. It was almost as if Thaniel was in a deep peaceful sleep, resting upon Halsin’s bedroll. He wanted to go with you to find Thaniel’s other half, but he couldn’t tear himself from the boy.

Halsin startled when you cleared your throat, too entrenched in his thoughts to hear your approach.

He dropped his whittling looking up to you hopefully. “Did you find it? Will Thaniel be whole?”

You sighed and plopped down next to him, picking up his unfinished wooden duck. You rubbed the shavings off idly, your voice weary when you spoke, “Yes, I found him.” Your eyebrows furrowed together. “Oliver said he’d come back to Thaniel. I’m never playing hide and seek again.”

“Oliver?” Halsin started.

Before he could continue, there was a stir in the corner of Halsin’s tent. Halsin’s hand shot over to grip yours as he stared at the bundle, his eyes wide.

Your own eyes widened as you saw a small boy sit up off of the furs, yawning and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Thaniel's other half, whom you had only heard stories of before, now sat before you both. His small horns sat delicately on his forehead, and his eyes sparkled with mischief as he blinked away the remnants of sleep.

Halsin's grip on your hand tightened, a mix of awe and disbelief etched across his face. "Is this... Is this truly him?" You whispered, your voice barely audible.

Halsin nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes. This is Thaniel wholly put together, In the flesh."

The young horned boy blinked up at both of you and tilted his head curiously. "Who are you?" he asked towards you, his voice melodic and excited as he pointed.

You giggled softly, giving the boy a shy smile. “I’m a friend of Halsin’s. I helped him save you.”

“She’s a sorceress. Quite a good one.” Halsin added proudly.

Your cheeks heated slightly, not sure how to take the compliment.

Thaniel narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “A sorceress, hmm? Cast something then!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again at the childish pout the boy gave you. Who could say no to that face? You took a breath and whispered the incantation, circling your finger in the air to cast ‘Dancing lights’.

Beautiful blue orbs blipped into existence, shining gentle light over everything below it.

Thaniel's eyes widened in wonder as he watched the dancing lights float around the tent. His excitement was infectious, and soon both you and Halsin found yourselves smiling at the sight.

But as the lights swirled and twirled, something peculiar happened. They began to take on different shapes—a miniature dragon, a cascading waterfall, a blooming flower. The lights had a life of their own, responding to Thaniel's imagination and bringing his fantasies to life.

Thaniel clapped his hands in delight, his laughter filling the tent. "This is incredible! Can we make them do more?"

You nodded slightly, in awe of how the boy could manipulate someone else’s spell so easily.

“He acts as if he’s never seen magic before. Even though he can use it in such an incredible way.” You murmured, turning to Halsin.

Halsin’s chest filled with warmth when your eyes met his, “Maybe he hasn’t seen magic from one so beautiful.”

Your cheeks blushed brilliant red, your eyes unable to break away from the man.

Thaniel‘s voice cut through, making the two of you look towards him and realize the dancing light’s had completely disappeared.

“Miss Halsin’s-pretty-sorceress?” He asked, tinged with sarcasm, “Can you bring the lights back?

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~Owlbear Cub~

Scratch and Owlbear cub played loudly, running through the center of the camp. You watched on, the display a nice distraction from the long day.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the camp, you couldn't help but feel a swell of warmth in your chest. The playful antics of Scratch and the Owlbear cub had brought a much-needed respite to the weariness that had settled upon your companions.

With a contented smile, you leaned back against the rough trunk of an ancient oak tree, observing the camaraderie forming between Scratch, a stray pup you had taken under your wing, and the Owlbear cub, a gentle baby with fluffy feathers and curious eyes. Their chase carried them further into the camp, weaving through tents and scattering supplies in their wake.

Laughter echoed through the air as your weary companions watched on, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Even Astarion with his unyielding glare, couldn't suppress a chuckle at the sight of the unlikely pair's boundless energy.

As dusk began to deepen, Halsin bumbled over to sit next to you. He carried his whittling tools, starting his next project as soon as he was on the ground. The two of you had grown much closer in the past days, now comfortable enough with each other to sit together in silence. It was nice, being able to unwind after the stressful days. You didn’t feel the need to make endless conversation, content to just appreciate each others presence.

Scratch and the cub quieted in the distance for a split second before the little Owlbear squeaked in pain. Your head shot up, concern rising in you as you looked towards them.

The Owlbear rounded the corner, limping to you with a whimper. Scratch followed close behind, barking as if he was trying to get everyone’s attention.

Halsin stood up, “Give me just a moment to see to Scratch and I’ll see to the cub.”

You watched as the cub slinked over, crawling up into your lap as it let out pitiful chitters.

You gathered the creature into your arms as much as you could, cooing over the poor thing. You couldn’t see what had hurt it, only that it was favoring its back paw.

You gently examined the Owlbear cub's injured paw, careful not to cause any further pain. It seemed like a sprain, and you sighed with relief that it wasn't anything more serious. The little creature nestled closer to you, seeking comfort and reassurance.

Halsin returned with a concerned expression, crouching down beside you. "How is the cub?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

"It's just a sprain, nothing too serious," you replied, giving the cub a gentle stroke. "I think some rest and healing magic should do the trick."

Halsin nodded, reaching out his hand to cast a spell. A small green glow started to radiate outwards before it fizzled.

“Oak Father Preserve me,” Halsin muttered. “It seems I’ve been rendered empty of mana.”

You shook your head, smiling at him. “I’m not. I can do it.”

Halsin leaned in as you cast your healing spell, a warm glow shining against the cub’s feathers

As you channeled your magic into the sprained paw, a soothing warmth enveloped the Owlbear cub. Its beady eyes stared up at you with an almost grateful expression, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at being able to help your oversized baby.

The Owlbear crawled out of your arms, much more sure footed than before. It tentatively tested its weight on the healed paw, Scratch standing close by as if he felt protective of his oddly shaped little sibling. A delighted squeak emanated from the cub’s throat as it realized the pain was completely gone.

Halsin watched in awe, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "You truly have a gift," he murmured, his voice filled with reverence.

You gave him a modest smile before turning your attention back to the cub, gently nuzzling its soft feathers. It nuzzled back against your cheek affectionately, expressing its gratitude in its own adorable way. It’s funny, how quickly this cub changed from wanting to eat you to wanting to be coddled constantly.

As you continued to sit there, Halsin leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against your own.

“You’re able to do so many different kinds of magic. You’re so powerful.” He murmured.

His hand reached over to stroke the owl bear softly before it rested on your own.

“I’m lucky to have met you, Sorceress.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Halsin's words, his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. With a soft smile, you turned to him, your eyes meeting his. "And I am lucky to have met you too, Halsin," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

The setting sun cast an ethereal glow upon the two of you, enveloping you in a moment of quiet intimacy. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the gentle rustle of leaves and the beating of your hearts. It felt as if time had come to a standstill, allowing this connection between you and Halsin to flourish.

As you sat there, hand in hand, the camp around you bustled with activity once again. Companions prepared meals, shared stories, and tended to their duties. But in that small pocket of serenity beneath the ancient oak tree, it was just the two of you.

A Druid and his Sorceress.

#halsin #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 halsin #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x sorceress #halsin blurb #halsin fluff #halsin fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fluff #baldurs gate 3 fluff #halsin fanfic

[cuubism]

part two of 'two times hob ran into dream outside their regular meetings and one time dream called on him intentionally'

WWI era, discussions of war, and past loss of children

--

Hob is in a somber mood. Funerals will do that. Hob may never be taken by death himself, but that does not mean he is not touched by it—if anything, death sometimes seems to sting harder for knowing he is fortunate enough to avoid it.

Especially the death of a young person.

He steps out of the church, steps slower and quieter than normal. The heavy church air slips off him like a cloak dropped to the floor, the scent of incense gives way to motor oil, to horses, to nearby bakeries’ yeast and flour. The father of the young man killed—a work associate of Hob’s—hurries off with his wife to a waiting car, hat held low to avoid the show of tears. Hob doesn’t follow, but he’ll drop by later or some time tomorrow, see how they’re doing. Commiserate.

There wasn’t even a body to bury, the boy blown to pieces over in France. Hob can’t imagine it.

He’s making his quiet way down the bustling London street, hands in his pockets, trying to pay attention to everything around him to avoid remembering, when a man strides briskly out of a passing doorway and nearly collides with him.

Hob catches him by the arm to steady him. “Easy there, mate.”

The man whirls to look at him, and Hob finds himself staring into the face of his stranger. He startles back, dropping his arm. 

He’s spent the last two-and-a-half decades wondering if he’d ever see the stranger again, after the way things had fallen apart at their last meeting. Hob doesn’t know if he’s still angry with him, still hurt, if he intended to show up at their next meeting or not—but Hob can’t be unhappy to see him now. He’s never unhappy to see him. And he’d gladly take another look, any look, over never seeing him again. 

“Hob Gadling,” says his stranger, seeming taken aback. But he doesn’t immediately sneer down at Hob or storm off, so Hob will take that as a win. 

“Stranger,” Hob greets. Normally, he can’t resist a smile upon seeing him, but it’s hard to muster one today. Whether because of their fight, or the somber circumstances of Hob’s presence here, is hard to say. “Fate seems to keep throwing us together.”

His stranger frowns, looking up and down at Hob’s all-black attire, his no doubt drawn expression. It is, admittedly, out of character for him—more the stranger’s style than Hob’s own. “You appear troubled.”

Hob grimaces. “Funeral,” he explains. “Young boy killed at the front.”

“Ah.” His stranger’s face tightens. “Yes, there have been many deaths of late.”

Hob finally takes note of where he’d been coming from—the entrance to a hospital. He gestures to the doorway. “You alright?”

“Merely accompanying my sister in her work,” explains his stranger. “She is skillful and resilient, but these times have been trying.”

“She a nurse?” Hob asks. It seems too mundane a profession; any sister of his stranger must share some of his supernatural powers, whatever those are. But perhaps her talents lie in healing? It would explain the hospital.

His stranger’s lips tip up in a wry smile. “Something of the sort.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment. Hob summons his courage, buoying himself on the fact that his stranger hasn’t run off. “If it’s not too presumptuous, could I ask you to join me for tea? I… think I might have some apologizing to do.”

It’s hardly the day for this, but like hell is Hob going to waste the chance.

His stranger deliberates, his light eyes catching the weak London sun as they search Hob’s for… something. 

Then he says, “Very well.

--

The café is light and airy in jarring contrast to the serious mood hanging over London these past many months. Hob has hope, he knows the wartime will pass eventually—hopefully without the utter destruction of all combatants—but sometimes it feels that each war is only worse than the last. More horrific, more vicious—and the steady stream of news in the papers, reminding them all every day, hardly helps. Hob remembers a time when any news beyond the most local of happenings was sparse. He never thought he might think that was better.

They get tea while, hundreds of miles away, countless young boys die in trenches far from home.

Hob kind of wishes he had something stronger than tea.

“You are troubled,” says his stranger, again, the tiniest line creasing his brow. Is he worried about Hob? That would be funny considering how he behaved when Hob merely tried to say they were friends. 

The thought sparks something hopeful inside him, though. Lord knows Hob spends enough time worrying about his stranger, ridiculous though it feels to do so. He worries about him being alone. He worries about him feeling the loneliness Hob himself is sometimes struck by, stuck in time as he is while others age and die. Only it must be magnified a hundredfold for his stranger—Hob, at least, is still human. His stranger is other. Who does he have to keep him company across the centuries?

It's sort of a nice thought, to get a bit of that worry in return.

Hob raises his hands in surrender. “Fear not, dear stranger. I haven’t been disabused of my love of life. It’s just a sad day, is all. We all have them. Reminds us to be grateful for the life we do have, eh?”

His stranger relaxes, slightly, into his chair. “Not all share your outlook.” 

Hob sighs. “Eh, can’t blame ‘em really. It’s not exactly been the best year. People are losing kids, lovers… and for what, more pointless squabbling? Not everyone has several centuries of life experience to put things into perspective, either.”

“I recall you saying to me that you did not think you had changed,” says his stranger, consideration in his tone, and wow, he’s really going to bring that up, huh? Even remembering what Hob had said right after? “But I do believe you’ve become quite wise.”

Hob can’t help but preen internally at the compliment, but he grimaces and says, “Yeah, about that, I’m not so sure it was wisdom on display last time we spoke. I’m sorry for, well, how I approached that.”

“But not for your words?” questions his stranger, seeming more curious than angry. 

Hob’s never been able to lie to him, nor would he want to—his stranger is the only person he knows he doesn’t have to lie to to stay safe. “I don’t believe I spoke falsely, no. But nor was it right of me to— to put you on the spot. To put words in your mouth. For that, I am sorry.”

His stranger studies him. He looks very handsome today, his suit simple and dark but perfectly cut as always, hair a bit longer than last they’d met and ruffled up by his hat. The appreciation is not quite at the forefront of Hob’s mind as it might usually be, given everything going on, but he never fails to notice. Not that noticing will lead to anything—well, not for another two thousand years, at a minimum, given how they’ve gotten along so far.

At last, his stranger says, “I forgive you.”

Hob lets out a long breath, carefully held for years. Now are you going to apologize for storming off instead of talking things out? he thinks drily, but of course he won’t. Hob has long accepted the fact that he cannot expect normal human behavior from his stranger—his friend, he will be so bold as to say in the safety of his own head—who is so very inhuman.

“This funeral,” his stranger continues, changing the topic before Hob can decide whether he wants to continue or close that conversation. His eyes narrow on Hob, considering and… sympathetic? “It has reminded you of your son.” 

Hob leans back in his chair, breath catching raggedly in his chest. He’s been trying so hard not to think it, but of course the thoughts have been there, anyway. 

“You see everything, don’t you?” he observes, and his stranger merely inclines his head. “Even if you don’t speak it. Yes. You’re right. I think of Robyn whenever I see a young man die. I think of him when I see a father standing over the casket of his son who was lost to senseless, stupid violence, yes.”

“It is not a loss… that one gets over,” says his stranger, haltingly. Hob thinks that for all his friend is oblivious about normal human life most of the time, sometimes, sometimes, he understands it better than anyone else. It’s like he draws from a deep well of feeling greater than his body.

Or.

Wait.

The weariness of his shoulders as he says that. The look in his eyes, that banked, ancient loss that ages a man fifty years in a day.

Hob recognizes that look from his own mirror.

“You—” he starts, then forcibly stops himself. Instead he tries to convey, the way his stranger does, through looks, through implication and feelings shared outside of words. Speaking from experience, my dear, sad stranger?

His subtlety is rewarded by the barest tilt of his stranger’s head, the brush of his lashes over his cheeks as he looks down. And, well.

God.

“It’s not,” Hob says. “No.”

His stranger taps the side of his teacup with a slim finger. Thinking. “You are resilient, Hob,” he says at last, “to continue on so boldly after such a thing.” 

“I was brought low by it,” Hob admits, “but loss also puts things into perspective. At one point, I had lost everything—everything, but my own life. Why would I give that last thing up? That, and the opportunity for better, which is ever present.”

“I repeat that you are uniquely resilient,” says his stranger. “I am glad of it.” 

Hob smiles, then, despite the cold loss of the day. “You always ask me if I would give up my immortality. There was only one time when I thought of it.” 

His stranger looks at him sharply, tension creeping into his shoulders, but Hob continues, in the same, soft tone—

“Not because I had grown tired of my own life. No, it was when Robyn was born. I held him and I thought that I would give it to him if I could, to spare him the touch of death, to let him see the long beauty of life that I had seen. Then, again, after he died, I thought, if I had given it to him, I would have saved him. Would that it were possible.” He still thinks it, sometimes, on certain days. “It is what fathers do for their sons, is it not?”

“Some, perhaps,” murmurs his stranger, watching him fixedly. “You did not ask, upon our meeting in 1589.”

Hob rubs at the back of his neck. “Is it a request you would have granted if I had?”

“That is not my request to grant,” says his stranger. Not quite regretfully, but not happily, either. A neutrality born of conflicting feelings rather than indifference.

Whose, then? Hob wonders. So you truly are not the devil, then? You are not Death?

“I do not know if it will help you to know,” continues his stranger, “but I will say that I do not believe it would have been granted. Not for lack of sympathy, however. Not at all.”

Hob offers him a pained smile. “Who am I to understand matters of life and death?” he says. “I wouldn’t claim to. Thank you, though. It is a kindness, I think, to know that it was not in my power to save, or to fail him in that way.”

His stranger nods. 

“I suppose when I think about it,” Hob continues, “immortality that could be so easily passed around may invite more danger than protection.” 

“Indeed. Humans do love to pursue it, for all that it is a foolhardy pursuit.” He tilts his head and looks at Hob slyly. “For most, anyway.”

“You just have to be stupid enough to do it,” Hob says, and his stranger hums with amusement. “And have a chance meeting in a tavern, hm?”

“Chance, yes,” says his stranger. “Speaking of. I’m afraid I must depart. I have elsewhere I must be today.”

“I won’t keep you,” Hob says, though with disappointment. He reminds himself that he was never meant to have this time with his stranger anyway, it’s a gift— a chance.

His stranger’s lips twist, just slightly, as if he himself is not so happy to leave either— and that itself is a gift, too.

“But I would see you in ’89, if you still meant to come,” Hob adds.

“I believe I did,” says his stranger, meeting Hob’s gaze. And what a better parting than their last. “I will meet you then.”

--

As Hob lets him go at the door to the café, his stranger hesitates on the threshold. “I am… glad that I ran into you today, Hob,” he says, the words foreign in how personable they are. The closest, perhaps, that Hob’s stranger has come to speaking to him like a friend. “It is good not to let another seven decades elapse on such terms as we last left them.”

Hob tucks his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, the warmth he feels at such a small, but meaningful thing breaking out on his face despite his best attempts at moderation. “I feel the same, stranger.”

His stranger hesitates again, deliberating on something. Then he says, “Dream.”

Dream of… what? Hob thinks, perplexed, and his stranger keeps looking at him with that bottomless expression of his. 

Then the order of the conversation hits. “Wait— is that your name?”

His friend—Dream—nods once. “Friends should know how to call each other.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Or so I have heard.”

“Well met, then,” Hob says, holding out his hand to shake, a proper grin on his face now, no moderation about it, “Dream.”

Dream takes his hand, squeezes it with that same tiny, almost shy smile on his face; they have never properly touched before, and oh, Hob is grateful for this moment.

“Until we meet next,” Dream says. And between one blink and the next, he’s gone.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #dream so proud of himself accepting friendship in 1915 and then getting kidnapped a year later lmao rip #literally i wrote this chapter a year ago. u know when you have THOSE wips 😂

[kadextra]

More thoughts about the stream & me just noting the information I picked up on :3

Reset q!Bad overall seems to be taking the situation in stride, he knows he died and was like oh alright I guess there are these egg things I live with? but he’s also understandably confused and overwhelmed, multiple times he didn’t believe anything happening was real, he doesn’t wanna be on the island. he’s curious, and still has the little guy silliness that feels familiar, but it’s not the same

Some notable new behaviors are that he’s scared of bodies of water like rivers (bc we know he was trapped under one, but he didn’t show such fresh trauma like this before..) and he always picks the bow first as a weapon. while he’s been hungry before he’s way more than usual now. there was a ton of attention drawn to this new social anxiety of his today too. plus he keeps talking about something being missing

also um the guy ate his own dead corpse

There’s a threatening aura to him because of stuff like… that, which is heightened by the glowing eyes. q!Bad is also meaner and doesn’t seem to like the ghosties much, he set a nuclear creeper right on top of pomme and dapper without realizing they’d get hurt, he’s keeping secrets from them and maybe he’s keeping them from us too… and it’s concerning how he took a liking to Cucurucho and Cucurucho took an interest in him

But I think its too early for me to get a hard read on his morality yet. So while some things are worrying it’s a really good sign that he started to show some care for the eggs by the end, he didn’t want to murder them like at the beginning of stream & showed dislike at the idea of selling them. he was touched by their generosity. now he’s gotta grapple with the idea of being a parent again

Rn he’s at a stage of it being possible for him to go down a bad direction, but hopefully the kids would be able to stop that from happening

My biggest worry here is the q!Bad in the nether- which I’m gonna call q!Halo. who is that guy? did his soul somehow split, and that’s why the version of him we have now feels like something is missing…?

#qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp pomme #qsmp dapper

[xxlady-lunaxx]

I love youUuOUuUoU ❤ | {SabiGiyuu}

Theme: Fluffy sillyness!!

Note: That's got to be one of my fav sabigiyuu pictures i love them so fucking much i can't.

Sabito lived past final selection AU bc i said so (sorta basing this off of the picture)

Before Kyojuro became a Hashira i think :> After Sanemi did

No certain plot just silly SabiGiyuu scenes

Sabito grinned as he ran off with Giyuu's haori, tiptoeing away from his room as he went. He found some scissors and cut through the middle carefully, praying with all his might he didn't fuck up.

He got his and did the same then quickly started sewing together the two sides, as well as he could. He did the same with the remaining ones then held up his work proudly. 

Just then, the door opened and he looked up. 

"Sabito? I can't find my haori, do you know whe-" Giyuu started. He paused as he saw what Sabito had done and he frowned. "Sabito... what did you do?"

Sabito grinned nervously, pulling one of the haori's on and giving the other to Giyuu. "Just put it on!!!"

Giyuu sighed but slipped it on, deciding he had no other haori to use anyways. "Why..." he grumbled.

"We match now, Giyuu!!" Sabito insisted, twirling around. 

Sabito laughed and shook Giyuu until he smiled. 

"Fine, I guess it's alright," the ravenette hesitantly agreed. 

"Yayy!!"

~~~

Sanemi raised an eyebrow at the two as they spoke to each other in the corner of the yard. They were at a Hashira meeting—there were two Water Hashira's, Giyuu and Sabito—and it hadn't yet started yet so they were simply talking to one another. 

"Since when did you have matching haori's?" Tengen asked, who was closest to the Water Hashira's. 

Giyuu rolled his eyes but Sabito smiled wildly. "I sewed them together!"

"Without my permission," Giyuu added with a scowl.

"You love it though!" the peach-haired Hashira insisted, bobbing his head.

Tengen grinned. "It's flashy, I like it."

"See???" Sabito said, as if to make a point.

Giyuu huffed. "Whatever."

~~~

Sabito was drunk. Not on purpose, no, the Hashira—and hopefully anyone else in the demon slayer corps—usually refrained from drinking so they could be clearheaded through their missions. He'd only been given a drink by someone who had mixed up something with alcohol with what he'd originally bought and now... Giyuu had to deal with him.

Unfortunately, Sabito apparently got really drunk even with just a little...

"Giyuuuu!!" Sabito whined, shaking the said Hashira. "I wanna go hoommmee!!"

"We are at home," Giyuu said, sighing.

"No we aren'ttt!! This is Madagascarr," he grumbled. (credits to my sister for the random country <3)

"Madagascar...?" Giyuu asked, raising an eyebrow. "Since when?"

"Since... december," Sabito decided, slumping down to the floor. "I'm tireedd..."

"Alright, let's take you to bed," Giyuu said, going to pick him up. 

"Nooo I want to sleep on the floor!" Sabito said, crossing his arms.

"Why?"

"It's comfy," he replied simply, laying down and curling up in a ball.

"For fucks sake, your room isn't that far!!" Giyuu said, promptly picking him up and marching off to Sabito's room. 

"I wanna sleep in your room," Sabito decided, once he was on his own bed.

"Seriously?" Giyuu asked impatiently. 

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because..." Sabito considered the question for a moment, looking as if he was thinking hard. "I love youuuu!!" he slurred, grinning stupidly up at Giyuu. 

Giyuu sighed. "I love you too but you can't sleep in my room you drunkass. You're sleeping here tonight," he said, turning to leave.

Sabito grumbled. "But you love me too!"

"Doesn't change anything." Giyuu went to the door and said, "If I come into this room later and you aren't asleep I'm going to throw you out of the house," before closing the door.

Sabito blinked in the darkness that filled his room; Giyuu had closed his window and drawn down the curtains. "Fine," he huffed, grabbing his pillow and using it as a blanket. 

~~~

"Giyuu!"

"Hm?" The Hashira looked up as his name was called and he stopped on his way back home.

Sabito was running up to him happily. 

"Sabito, you're alright?" Giyuu asked, for his boyfriend had just been at the Butterfly estate due to an injury. 

"Yeah!! Kocho-San finally let me out," he said, laughing. "And her little sister, uhm, Shinobu? She kept telling me that I couldn't overwork myself so much."

"Well you shouldn't!" Giyuu agreed.

Sabito shrugged. "Anyways, since you were on a mission I took the liberty to walk around some and I bought you a gift," he said, grinning. 

"A gift? You needn't have to-"

"I wanted to!" Sabito interrupted. "Now, here." He shoved a small box into Giyuu's hand.

Giyuu looked at him curiously then opened the box, his eyes widening as he saw it. "A ring?"

Sabito nodded. "I heard of things called 'promise rings' or something, and since I know there's not really a high chance we'll have any time for any marriage I bought these which are supposed to be, like, promising to be together forever and stuff," he explained, his voice faltering at the end. "Sorry, I dunno."

Giyuu gave him a small smile. "It's cute, I like it," he decided, slipping the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly.

Sabito smiled then, almost relieved, and said, "I have one too!!" He took out of his pocket (idk-) an identical box and opened it, pulling the ring onto his own finger. "Now we match!!" he declared.

Giyuu gave him a look. "We already have matching haori's, and now matching rings- What's next? Bracelets and headbands?" he joked. 

And that was how Sabito decided to make matching bracelets and headbands for them. 

"What the fuck Sabito!!" Giyuu groaned, eyeing the homemade bracelets Sabito held out proudly to him.

"What?!" he said, huffing. 

"Why do we need bracelets? And headbands?!" Giyuu exclaimed. 

"Because you said bracelets and headbands," Sabito deadpanned, dead serious. 

Giyuu rolled his eyes. "That was a joke!"

"Oh? Now it's not!"

~~~

"Okay, the haori's were sweet and the rings were nice but..." Tengen said, raising an eyebrow. "No offense but are you two little girls?"

Giyuu sighed heavily. "Just so you know, this was all Sabito's idea."

Sabito put his hands on his hips defiantly. "No it wasn't!"

"Fuck you mean 'no it wasn't'?! It definitely was," Giyuu said, glaring at him. 

Sabito rolled his eyes in a mocking manner. "Whatever," he said, tossing his hair back. 

{Word count: 1077}

YOU ASKED FOR SABIGIYUU CRACK SO I PRESENT TO YOU SABIGIYUU CRACK

I'M GIGGLING I DIDN'T PLAN ANY OF THIS I JUST MADE IT UP AS I WROTE (i mean i do this lots but this more so) 

i think i'm in a silly mood today i'm writing sm silly stuff

#sabigiyuu #sabito #giyuu #sabito x giyuu #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #sillyness #demon slayer #fluff #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #kny giyuu #kny sabito #silly comfort #silly fluff #sabito hashira au

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

#ExR #Enjolras x Grantaire #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #Les Amis #fanfiction #Les Miserables #modern AU #5+1 things #developing relationship #established relationship #and because it's me #former relationship #mild angst

[gffa]

It has been a whole entire week since I posted my previous set of recs and guess who is still hip deep in BATFAMILY fic and really wants to cry about feelings about all the Bats and Birds, but most especially my beloved Dick Grayson? I enjoy fic of all the characters, there should hopefully be something for most fans here, I eventually spread my wings a bit (ha ha) through the fandom, but absolutely I feel I should warn you all that I play favorites and I’m not subtle about it. In my defense he’s really annoying in the most delightful way, how could I not love him the most? So, here, have week #2’s recs where I dump 60+ more fics on you because this fandom is on fucking fire with how good it is and how much I love everyone here. God bless fic writers, you are all doing the lord’s work of giving me three novels worth a week to read and knocking it out of the park while you do it. BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ The Painful Truth by RascalJoy (DarkQuill), dick & bruce & wally & artemis & m'gann & conner & dinah, 6.2k      In a mission gone wrong, Robin finds himself being forcefully interrogated under…influence. “Now, you’re probably wondering why we haven’t just yanked your mask off and been done with this whole thing, hmm? It’s because this way is so much more fun.” ✦ a home not yet a home by Mayarenerose, dick & bruce, 1.1k      Dick just likes climbing to the roof sometimes. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t. He just needs to be high up sometimes. He likes looking at the stars. Stars are hard to come by in the city and you need to be high up to even see them properly. ✦ Friends That Say (You’re Not Alone) by ProsperDemeter, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 3.5k      Richard. The kid. Richard Grayson. Clark didn’t feel ready to meet the child that Bruce took in. What if he was a mini-Bruce? What in the world would Clark do then? ✦ Taking Flight: A Tragicomedy in Four Acts by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 48.7k      John and Mary Grayson die; Dick becomes Robin. This is everything that happens in between, a/k/a, how Gotham City ripped one family and identity from Dick and gave him another. An origin story in the Rebirth spirit, weaving together threads from Tec #40, Dark Victory, Robin: Year One, New 52, and more. ✦ Motion Sickness by Arwriter, dick & bruce & cast, 4.2k      A routine patrol is interrupted when Robin realizes he’s being followed. There’s no attack, no ambush, no weapons drawn. Dick doesn’t understand what this man wants, or why his gentle touch hurts so bad. But Batman seems to know, and Dick just wants someone to tell him what he did wrong. ✦ do as I say (not as I do) by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, 1.1k      “Don’t be mad.” Bruce has been raising Dick long enough to know that that sentence never bodes well. Especially when it’s the first thing to pop out of the twelve-year-old’s mouth when Bruce answers the phone. ✦ Burn Rubber by HoodEx, dick & bruce & roy, 3.5k      Roy couldn’t help but feel out of place like his presence was keeping Bruce from acting like himself. Whatever “himself” looked like. Bruce had always been a bit of a cold asshole anytime Roy had been around him. Even when Bruce talked to Dick, there was a barrier there that made their conversations seem strictly business. Some part of Roy had always wondered if Bruce was the same way with Dick at home. For Dick’s sake, he sure hoped not. OR the one where Roy gets to see Bruce act like a dad. Also, there are cars. Lots of cars. ✦ Surprise, You’re Adopted by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce, 1.8k      Dick gets kidnapped. Bruce gets worried. Things turn out alright in the end, though. ✦ without you i am surely the last of my kind by nosecoffee, dick & bruce & clark & j'onn, 6.6k      (Bruce Wayne also knows how it feels to be a scared little boy who just watched his parents die, telepathic mind meddling aside, and has had his eyes fixed on Dick Grayson since his parents fell, so of course he’s going to get him. It’s all he can do.) (Or, Dick Grayson is a traumatised alien empath with bad timing, and Bruce Wayne still needs to learn how to verbalise his emotions.) ✦ The Bone Road by scpnightwing, dick & bruce & alfred, 63.8k wip      By night, Robin was his partner in crime, but once the sun rose, all Dick could be was a mirror of his tragedy, haunting his halls and asking for more than Bruce had in him to give. (The early days of Batman and Robin, and the many mistakes therein) BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ The Shape Of You (Was Jagged And Weak) by WinterSky101, dick & bruce & jason & tim & slade & cast, 40.6k      Six months ago, Nightwing died. They never found the body. Last week, Deathstroke arrived in Gotham. He brought a partner with him. ✦ We Were Built to Fall Apart by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & tim, 1.2k      Dick is hurt, tired, and ready to let go. Bruce doesn’t seem to be ready to let him. ✦ It’s a Wonderful Earth-218 by BeatriceEagle, dick & bruce & past dick/babs & cast, 7.4k      As Blüdhaven burns, Dick makes a wish that he’d never been born. He wakes up in a world where that’s true, being followed around by a supervillain who just really wants to get back to taking over the world. ✦ the higher fidelity by birdsofthesoul, dick & bruce & damian, 3.6k      Bruce goes sheet-white, looking like Dick’s just cut him to the quick, and Dick can’t help but think they should have booked a flight, discretion be damned. This — this is why they don’t do road trips. Cars are like confessionals, cramped spaces built for coercing confessions, and neither of them are good with words. ✦ Theory of Relativity by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & jason & cast, de-aged!dick, 2.2k wip      In which Dick Grayson gets de-aged and everybody freaks out ✦ hold the fort (for i am coming) by deargalileo, dick & bruce & jason & tim & duke, de-aged!dick, 3.6k      Jason’s jaw dropped. The tiny human child toddled in front of him, gripping at his pant legs. Automatically, he bent his knees slightly. The child lost its grip, and fell flat onto its ass. They both froze. The child’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. “No no no, don’t cry,” Jason rushed out. He leaned down and scooped the child into his arms. “Don’t cry, okay?” The child grabbed onto his shoulder as Jason settled it (him?) onto his upper hip. Big, blue eyes blinked up at him, shining with unshed tears. When the fuck did B have the time to adopt a new kid? ✦ There’s Always Another One by lapsedpacifist, dick & hal (& bruce), 2.5k      After Bruce kicked Dick out, there was a very particular place Dick decided to visit. Well, visit, hide in, it was all one and the same. He could do it without Bruce! Just a shame Hal was finished with his assignment a week earlier than anticipated. ✦ The True Sons of Batman by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & damian & jason & talia & cast, 10.8k      What if Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne’s biological son? ✦ Hey! He Attempted a Coup! by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & clark & justice league & zod, 3.1k      What if Dick Grayson was a Kryptonian? ✦ Unsteady by 60sec400, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cast, 14.8k      Nightwing is 22 when he’s hit by, well, something. They haven’t actually figured that out yet. But now he’s ten years old and a child and Damian struggles to see the man who he had looked to as a father forget who he ever was. De-aged fic. AU. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Mirage (What I See In You) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, dick & damian, 3.4k      Grayson’s gaze flicks upwards to meet his, and suddenly his expression softens. He smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, the movement of his lips clear even if his voice sounds like it’s coming through a broken radio. Suddenly, he’s pressing a rebreather to Damian’s face. His own rebreather, whole and unbroken. ✦ The Dog Days Are Done by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & cast, 3k      Dick is a good guy. He is. He knows that. Just like he knows that bribing your wayward, animal-loving, emotionally-traumatized brother to come see you with a puppy is exactly what all good guys do. That was a fact. ✦ To the Moon by theLiterator, dick & damian, 9k      A newly resurrected Damian Wayne does not believe Dick Grayson is dead. Spyral has been quietly helping to deal with the aftermath of Leviathan’s reign of terror and is wary of clones. Dick Grayson does not believe Damian Wayne is alive. (Together they fight crime, but’s always been true, hasn’t it?) ✦ Redemption Lies Plainly in Truth by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, dick & damian, 6.2k      Damian tries to pull his wrist out of his grasp. Any other time, Dick would let him go without hesitation, always careful to make sure his personal space is respected. This time, he catches his other wrist as well, gentle but firm as he crouches down to make eye contact. “Hey,” he says, smiling gently. “Do you trust me?” ✦ whether you’re high or low by Anonymous, dick & damian & jason, 1.9k      Dick’s first visit back to Gotham in a while ends with a shattered TV screen and more questions than answers for Damian and Jason. ✦ wrap myself in a thin sheet of ice by emavee, dick & damian, 3.3k      Damian falls victim to a witch’s curse, giving him a week to live before his heart turns to ice. There is a cure, but there’s no way someone like Damian would ever receive a kiss of true love. ✦ as love carries its strength, but not its labels by AlterHarpia, dick & damian, 2.7k      Bruce is on a trip beyond Earth’s Solar System for longer than he intended, making Dick and Damian fall into an old pattern. “I’m not Batman.” A mere reminder, perhaps, but when said to Damian it always sounds like an apology. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Say Uncle by Megaerakles, tim & jason & bruce & dick & steph & cast, 46.3k      Tim is prepared to take the steps necessary to ensure that Bruce will not feel obligated to adopt Tim when a comatose Jack Drake inevitably dies. But what could be better than preventing Bruce from ending up with a son he doesn’t want? Bringing back the one he does. Jason agrees to the Replacement’s stupid, stupid plan to invite some strange adult man he’s never met to come live with him, if only to keep the idiot alive long enough for him to serve his purpose in the Great Red Hood Revenge Scheme. Might this new roommate situation have an impact on either of their worldviews? Surely not… ✦ Ain’t No Compass, Ain’t No Map by ebjameston, tim & jason & dick & cast, outsider pov, 51.8k      A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood’s lieutenant, and an intern who’s promising to fix the IT systems at his office. It’s a weird day for Theo. ✦ The Longer You Stay by emiv, bruce/selina & dick & jason & tim, 64.3k      Bruce Wayne was never meant to be part of Selina’s clean slate. Then again, neither were a circus boy, a street rat or a rich kid. For a girl who didn’t like strings, Selina found herself getting attached. ✦ Falling, Catching by Freezer7, dick & jason/roy, 4k      The call comes in at two thirty-four am, on Dick’s first night off in three weeks. ✦ Piñata by Maximum_Quinn, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & steph & duke, 2.2k      “I found… something weird today.” “Weird how?” “I was checking out that half-destroyed apartment building today, and there was, like… papier-mâché everywhere? In Robin colors.” (Duke learns about an odd tradition between the Bats and the Rogues.) ✦ Five Times Dick Was Tim’s Safety Net and One Time Tim Was Dick’s by PrinceJakeFireCake, dick & tim, 5.2k      “Tim forced his gaze away from his phone, took a moment to breathe deeply, then tried to figure out the best way not to die anytime soon. For Bruce. For Alfred. For his friends. For Dick.” Dick has always been there for Tim, even before they knew each other. ✦ wet teeth, shining eyes, glimmering by a fire (who will i be tonight?) by lifetimeoflaughter, dick & jason & cast, 2.3k      They’re standing on a rooftop. It’s not very high up; only about ten floors, give or take. The moon isn’t out tonight. It’s dark. It’s too dark to tell if it’s blood that’s dripping from Jason’s gloved fists. ✦ smeared with oil (like david’s boy) by call_me_steve, bruce & dick & tim & damian, de-aged!damian, 2.1k      Dick’s leaning over the edge of the couch, watching a tired Bruce stare lovingly down at the baby cradled in his arms. The baby’s swaddled in soft green blankets, probably procured by Alfred at some point or another. It’s hard to believe that this is actually Damian- Damian, and his big, bright, brown eyes; his soft, baby hair; his pudgy cheeks and small fingers. Clear of a snarl and frown and, instead, reduced to soft babbles and the occasional giggle. In his chest, Dick’s heart flutters. He feels his breath stop for all of a moment- God, this kid already has him wrapped around his finger. “Can I hold him?” ✦ There in the Sudden Blackness by CamsthiSky, dick & tim & damian, 1.7k      Tim and Dick argue, and at the end, Tim’s not actually sure if either of them actually won. ✦ The Mechanics of a Hug by incogneat_oh, dick & tim & damian & bruce, 4.1k      “So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.” ✦ Taking Care of Business by Nokomis, dick & tim, 1.7k      Tim (only somewhat reluctantly) accompanies Dick on an undercover mission at an Elvis convention. ✦ where were you when I was king in this part of town? by Cerusee, dick & jason & bruce, 4k      The teen sitting next to him had mostly polished off his pork noodles, and he was eyeing Nightwing’s. Nightwing handed them over without a word. “Why,” he said, more to himself than the kid, “why, oh, why do I feel like I know you?” Because you do, came the unbidden thought. ✦ head in the clouds by Alienu, dick & jason & tim & damian, 4.7k      “Hey,” Tim says out of the blue. “Has anyone ever noticed that Damian has, like, weirdly sharp canines?” Dick makes a face. “What?” he asks. Then seems to think about it a little more, and says, “Oh, I mean… kind of? I don’t really pay attention to his teeth.” He turns to Damian. “Robin, let me see your teeth.” The kid growls. “I’m not afraid to bite you, Nightwing.” “Furry,” Jason coughs. Damian throws a batarang at him. ✦ A little more heart and soul by ruesyblues, dick & jason & damian, 2k      What do you do when the brother you raised and loved and left now seems to be withdrawing and you want the best for him but you’re not sure if you did the right thing and oh fuck what if you made a mistake?? (Dick wants Damian to be happy. He just has no clue how to accomplish that.) ✦ To Reconcile by CasualDanger, dick & jason, 2.4k      “Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?” ✦ damian clone triplets!!! by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & damian, 2.1k      Bruce finds and rescues three baby Damian clones~!!! babies~!! ✦ fear toxin (◡‿◡✿) by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & jason & tim & cass & steph & damian & alfred, 3.6k      six drabbles about batkids crying and screaming after being dosed with scarecrow’s fear gas~ (⊙‿⊙✿) ✦ Two Birds, One Stone(d) by MichaBerry, tim(/kon) & bruce & dick & jason & alfred, 5.8k      After a drugs bust gone sideways, Tim is a very high little bird. Cue shenanigans and family bonding. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Trust fall by Ididloveyou_once, tim/kon & damian/jon & dick & jason & bruce & cast, nsfw, 22.4k      Damian was… here. At Kent Farm. Dressed in the too-big Batman pajamas that Dick had bought him last Christmas as a joke. And- And- Tim was wearing Kon’s t-shirt and his hair was messy and his lips were swollen and- He wasn’t ready for this- He wasn’t- He couldn’t- BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Hard Truths and Other Realities by CKBookish, dick & bruce & jason & clark & wally & cast, 113.6k wip      Clark shifted his weight making the floorboards creak and groan under his feet. “Dick I hate to see you–” He paused searching for the right word. Dick snorted. “Wallow?” Clark sighed. “That’s not what I was going to say.” “I know. I can go to the barn and hang out there if I’m bothering you and Lois.” Dick pushed himself up. Of course he should have thought of that. Lois didn’t want some random teen laying around her home on Christmas Eve. ✦ You Won’t Wake Up Alone by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & damian & jason & tim, 5.2k      Dick’s captured and drugged and probably about to die. The last thing he wants to do is die in front of his family, especially not his baby brothers, all he wants is to be with Bruce and feel safe again. ✦ The Robin Manual by lurkinglurkerwholurks, dick & bruce & damian, 2.3k      Bad days were nothing new. Most of the time, he could feel them coming the way a swimmer could feel the approach of something huge beneath the surface of the water. The pressure would start to build, tugging at him like undertow by the shore, and it was always a gamble to see how long he could tarry before the pull yanked him under. ✦ the world is ending and i’m still numb by Arwriter, dick & bruce & jason & tim & alfred & cass & stephanie & damian & barbara & duke & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 20.7k      She’s gone, and he’s home, but Dick doesn’t know how to move on. He isn’t alone, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to ask for help. ✦ Up High by CamsthiSky, dick & damian, ~1k      “Grayson, what are you doing up here?” Dick shrugs, a sad smile pulling at his lips. He’d stopped asking that when his feet first started to take him up here years ago. “I like the view.” ✦ here comes the rain again by pocketofsky, dick & jason & tim & damian, rape aftermath/read the tags, 14.1k      Dick doesn’t patrol when it rains. Not since Blüdhaven. And everyone knows that, but they don’t know why. Or: Dick slowly but surely confronts his trauma. Now featuring: a train, pain, and a lot of rain. ✦ Happy Little Bluebirds Fly Beyond the Rainbow (Why Oh Why Can’t I) by honeycombclaire, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass, 26.9k      After being subjected to the Mad Hatter’s dream machine, Dick gets stuck in a dream world where he finally has everything he wants. His parents are alive, his family is together, and he still gets to be Nightwing. Everything is perfect. Using the machine, the Bats invade Dick’s mind to bring him back. They don’t expect to find out just how much Dick has been hurting. ✦ Maybe, just maybe, he should call Bruce…Nah. by memearchive, dick & bruce & jason & tim, rape aftermath/read the tags, 5.8k      “Yeah, 34 deaths, 35 including Blockbuster, is a lot. Yeah, his home and everything he owns is gone. Yeah, his safehouses and everything in those are all ash, too. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he gets it- but he’s dealt with loss before, and maybe 34 is a bit high, and maybe he could have stopped Tarantula, but he’s never been like this before. Not even after his parents’ deaths, and that’s a terrifying thought. Was this really the thing that broke him?” ✦ right through my walls by wingdingery, dick & bruce & barbara & jason & alfred, 6.6k      Sure, yes, Bruce and Jason attacked Dick and left him injured—but they were under the effects of fear toxin, so it wasn’t really them. Dick’s gone enough rounds with fear toxin to understand that. He’s perfectly fine with what happened. Now if only the rest of the family would believe him. ✦ gray by iselsis, dick & bruce, 1k      Grief demands to be felt, but Dick doesn’t have to be alone. ✦ How Far Love Goes by BeatriceEagle, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & barbara, comics violence as child abuse/read the tags, 99.5k      Plenty of family reunions end in fighting. Not that many end in explosions. A mass Arkham breakout brings all of Bruce’s children home, and with them, all the drama, secrets, and anger they’ve been keeping for years. Amidst rising tensions and a mysterious new threat in Gotham, the family has to work together to round up the rogues—and confront their feelings about each other. BATFAM FIC RECS - THROW BABY DICK AT BATTISON, C'MON DO IT, IT’LL BE HILARIOUS: ✦ romanticize a quiet life by lwbones123, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.7k      it’s parent teacher conference day for battinson and his robin ✦ when i call you come home by lwbones123, dick & bruce & alfred & jim, 3.2k      ummm battinson and his robin and angst and hurt/comfort idk how to summarize this one so you just have to trust me ✦ Dark by Cant_Smoke_Eggs, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.9k      aka Baby Dickie thinks Bruce is a Vampire. Bruce thinks he’s figured out he’s Batman. Misunderstandings and Identity reveals ensue. ✦ Just Two Dads Having a Chat by red_jaebyrd, dick & bruce & clark & kon, 1.5k      “I’m not giving you an interview, Kent.” “You always say that, and I always tell you that I’m not here for an interview,” Kent laughed, not at all bothered by Bruce’s aloofness. “We’re just two dads at soccer practice having a chat.” ✦ I Don’t Think Like I Should by shipNslash, jim & barbara & dick & bruce & cast, 13.2k      Featuring unmasking vigilantes as a father-daughter bonding activity, awkward small talk between two dads (both at crime scenes and PTA meetings), and Babs and Dick’s natural progression from classmates to besties in the name of chaos. This is a direct sequel to I’m a Good Pretender but can be read as a stand alone.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #clark kent #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post #feral gremlin length post

[behindthesoul]

Mistletoe - Johnny Cage x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary - Johnny gives you a Christmas gift.

Word Count - 842

Warnings - not proofread, not my highest quality work

A/N - I wanted to post more this month but life got in the way. ‘Tis the life of little ol’ me. Hurried to get this one out. It’s 11:32 so Christmas isn’t over yet!

The fireplace provided comfort to all that passed by, almost as if it were a blanket. It stands tall, its dancing flames within cast a warm, flickering glow that paints your face in hues of amber and gold. The crackling of burning logs adds a beautiful soundtrack that accompanies the sound of Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You blasting from speakers across the room. Loud chattering mixes into the already existing sounds. You listen, the flames in front of you commanding your full attention.

Shoes clacking against the hardwood floor break the trance the fireplace had you in. There’s no need to turn your head to the person who approached you; you already know who it is.

“You outdid yourself with the Christmas decorations this year, Cage,” you say, voice in awe.

“Surprised you even noticed them,” Johnny replies. He takes a spot on the floor next to you before continuing, doing his best to make sure you see how hard he’s rolling his eyes. “You’ve been drawn to this stupid thing since you walked in.”

You finally look at him, confused. “I’ve been paying attention to them!”

“Really? Then you would’ve noticed the stocking I got for you,” he points to a large stocking hanging on the fireplace. It’s a classic red and white stocking, but you notice your first initial stitched into the fabric. How did you not notice that?

“Oh…I somehow didn’t see that. Thank you, Johnny.”

He laughs before taking the stocking off the mantle and throwing it into the fire. Your eyes widen in bewilderment as the fabric melts on top of the logs. “Actually, it belonged to my ex-agent. Hated that guy.”

You let out a small huff of amusement before standing up. “I guess that’s my cue to go walk around.”

“Shit - wait, wait, wait,” he quickly scrambles up to his feet, placing his hands on your shoulders to make sure you don’t move away. You shoot a quick look of curiosity as Johnny grins.

“You’d really think I’d let you walk away without giving you a gift?” his grin shifts into a small smirk.

“Oh! I didn’t expect a gift from you. Where is it?” you look around, as if you’d spot where he presumably hid it.

“Easy there,” he drags out, chuckling, “it’s nothing major, but hopefully you’ll like it…hopefully.”

“You notice how Johnny’s voice got quieter at the end of his sentence, avoiding your gaze for a swift moment. His eyes hold a glint of something negative. Uncertainty? Insecurity? He returns to his normal and lighthearted self before you could fully decipher his emotions. Johnny just pats your shoulder before grabbing your wrist. He leads you outside to his patio, quiet and away from the peering eyes that were likely to ruin this moment for him. Breathing in the fresh air, you feel a slight chill run down your body.

Johnny lets go of your wrist and gains your attention. He takes a deep breath, “close your eyes.”

“Hm? Why?” you hold back a laugh which would let Johnny know that you’re teasing him.

“So I can give you your gift, stupid,” Johnny gives you a massive eye roll, and you laugh as you close your eyes. You hear him shuffling around in his pockets for a quick moment and you wonder just how long you’ll have to keep your eyes closed.

“Alright,” you could almost hear him grin, “open.”

Your eyes flutter open to see Johnny holding a mistletoe in the air. It’s cheap and made of plastic; it would most likely break if he dropped it on the ground. You stare at it, unimpressed, and your expression made him deflate a bit.

He sighs, “look your actual gift won’t be here until next Saturday. I panicked trying to find something nice.”

“And cheap mistletoe was your definition of ‘nice’?” you tease, but you change your tone when you see him cringe at himself. “I - I was just joking.”

Johnny shakes his head, letting you know there was no need to apologize. “Nah, you got me. I just found this in a random box of decorations.”

Silence consumes the two of you - but only for a minute. Johnny’s always been allergic to it.

“My arm’s getting tired here…”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. You lean over and kiss Johnny on the cheek. A faint, pink tint decorates his face. One that wouldn’t have been noticeable if the dark night wasn’t there to contrast it. He tosses the mistletoe to the ground and cups your face in both his hands. He then leans over to kiss you on the lips. His lips burn more than the fireplace. It could keep you warm for days.

He pulls back just enough for him to breathe and studies each detail of your face. The tender moment is dead when you notice the mistletoe on the ground, missing a leaf. It’s hard to hold back a smile.

“I knew it would break,” you mumble. Johnny shuts you up by kissing you again.

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage fluff

[superlarva]

Much needed cuddles!

Raising Dominoes has reached double digits!!! I've never been this committed to a project before and I can't wait to share more!

Here's Chapter 10 - Reunited.

Prologue: 00 Previous chapter: 09 Next chapter: 11

Summary: Rex and Fives visit Echo at the hospital.

CW: Implied/referenced child abuse, food insecurities, hospitals, missing limbs

Chapter 10 – Reunited

Fives bolted into Echo’s room before Rex could even think about stopping him. One second the boy had been holding his hand, the next the door was beginning to swing shut after him.

In the split second that Rex had been able to see into the room, he caught sight of a familiar figure in a long white coat standing next to a bed occupied by a small boy. The shades were not drawn this time, and there were less machines beeping away. From the fleeting image it looked like Echo was doing better.

Rex followed Fives into the room and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the kid climbing up onto his twin’s bed. Worried that Fives was going to accidentally hurt his brother, he quickly covered the distance between them and reached for Fives, ready with a lecture about proper behavior in a hospital, but faltered when he heard a deep chuckle.

“It’s alright, Rex,” Kix said, smiling as he finished hanging a bag on an IV pole.

Rex frowned, worry etching creases in his brow.

“He’s being careful. He won’t hurt him,” Kix reassured. He walked around the bed to Rex’s side and lowered his voice so the boys would not be able to hear, “Trust me, they need this. That was the first time I’ve seen anyone get near the kid without him flinching.”

Rex nodded, but his frown deepened. Echo weakly shifted over in the bed to give Fives more room.

“See if you can get him to eat anything,” Kix whispered before turning on his heel and starting for the door. When he reached the door, he looked over his shoulder at the twins and waved, “Okay, Echo, I’m going to go now. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you, alright, trooper?”

Echo made no response, but Kix did not seem to expect one since the door was already clicking shut behind him.

Rex should not have felt uneasy being left alone in a room with his twin boys. It was ridiculous, really, but the way Echo stared put him on edge. The boy’s eyes never left him, not even as Fives snuggled up next to him, close but not touching. Not even when Fives called his twin’s name.

Echo’s eyes were cold and evaluating. Sizing him up as if he were a threat. Rex supposed that was probably what he thought he was: someone else that would hit or yell, someone else that would poke and prod with needles.

Rex really only had one move. He backed away from the edge of the bed slowly and sat in the chair pulled up beside it. Echo’s eyes followed him.

It was Fives who broke the silence, “Are you better now?”

Echo blinked, his eyes slowly pulling away from Rex’s to settle on his brother, “…yes.”

His voice was so small and though he wanted to sound brave for Fives, it was more than clear he was lying. His face was pale and gaunt, his voice hoarse and dry, and he was still surrounded by bags of meds and beeping machines.

“So, we can take him home now?” Fives asked hopefully, lifting his head from the pillow to address Rex.

Rex shook his head, “We have to wait for Kix to discharge him.”

Fives let out an exasperated sigh and let his head drop back into the pillow dramatically. After a minute of silence, he turned to Echo, his voice soft, “I missed you.”

The corners of Echo’s thin lips quirked up into the image of a smile, but an image was all it was. There was no sincerity to the motion and the smile dissipated quickly, face contorting in pain, or grief, or sadness.

The boy’s mind was elsewhere, his sad eyes darting around the room before drifting back over to study Rex. Rex smiled, though he was afraid his was as empty and meaningless as Echo’s had been, “Uh, Echo, it’s nice to meet you. I’m… I’m Rex.”

Rex cringed at his awkwardness, but he forced himself to gauge the boy’s reaction. There was none. Echo remained still, eyes locked onto his.

Rex broke eye contact, dropping his gaze to the gift bag still clutched in his hand, “Oh, um, Fives, do you want to give your brother his present?”

“Oh, yeah!” Fives jumped off the bed and retrieved the bag, crinkling it around loudly as he climbed back up, kneeling at Echo’s side. He held out the present in front of his brother, “I saw this at the… the gift shop and- and Rex said I could get it for you!”

Echo reached out slowly and took the bag, letting it rest on his chest as he used his remaining arm to attempt to fish out the gift.

Fives watched his twin struggle for a moment before his excitement won out, “It’s a book!”

Echo finally pulled out the book and turned it over, looking at the cover.

“It’s a- a guide book. For Kamino- no, um- Coruscant. That’s where we are!” Fives exclaimed, excitement and his difficulty remembering what Rex had said about the book causing his words to come out breathless.

In Rex’s eyes the book was worthless—a cheap tourists’ guide to Coruscant—but it had been the only book in the gift shop, and Fives had insisted Echo would like it. Who was Rex to dispute his claim?

Echo turned the book over one more time to look at the back and set it down at his side. “Thanks,” he said quietly, looking at Fives before turning his attention to Rex, voice now so soft Rex had to strain to hear it, “Thank you, sir.”

Rex smiled, and this time he was sure it looked genuine, “You’re welcome.”

“Do you like it?” Fives asked, beaming at his brother and bouncing a little on the bed.

Echo nodded, his eyes flicking over to Rex and shoulders tensing.

He was lying.

He was lying and he thought Rex was going to what? Punish him for it? Call him out on it? Make both of them upset?

“Wow,” Fives breathed, flopping back down onto the bed, seemingly oblivious, “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I’m so happy to see you,” Echo repeated, tearing his eyes away from Rex to face his brother.

“Does- Does it hurt?” Fives asked, looking at the places on the sheets where the lumps ended.

“Not really, I’m just tired.”

“Can I see?”

Echo shifted to sit up a bit higher on the pillows and pulled the blankets down. The stumps where his limbs used to be were wrapped up in bandages. His right arm had been cut just above the elbow, his right leg above the knee, and his left leg below the knee. It was a miracle the paramedics had been able to arrive in time to stabilize him before he bled out.

“Not much to see,” Echo rasped, letting out a strangled laugh that quickly morphed into a coughing fit.

Rex rose from his chair instinctively, “We should get you some water.”

Echo flinched back at the sudden movement, screwing his eyes shut, coughing subsiding for a moment to allow a small whimper to escape his throat.

“Okay, okay, I’m sitting down,” Rex slowly lowered himself back into the chair.

Fives hovered over Echo, hands twitching like he wanted to touch him, but he was not sure he should. Instead of offering any sort of physical comfort, Fives opted for verbal, “It’s okay, Rex is nice. He’s nice.”

“He’s nice?” Echo managed weakly, eyes opening a crack.

“Mm-hmm! Nice,” Fives answered cheerily.

Echo began coughing again and it took all of Rex’s strength not to get up from the chair for a second time. There was a glass of water on a tray full of food next to the bed and Rex pointed to it, “Fives, can you get that water for Echo?”

Fives turned and grabbed the cup, pressing it into his twin’s hand. Echo took it and brought it to his mouth, arm trembling under the small amount of weight. Much of the water spilled down the front of the boy’s papery hospital gown and onto the sheets, but Rex was relieved to see him take a few gulps.

Echo passed the glass back to Fives and relaxed back into the pillows, giving out one final cough.

“That feels better, huh?” Rex asked, relaxing back into the chair himself.

Echo blinked, “…feels better?”

“Yeah, doesn’t it?”

The boy slowly nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“You know what else would help you feel better?”

Echo swallowed, his eyes darting over to where Fives sat next to him before returning to stare blankly at Rex, “No, sir.”

“Some food in your tummy,” Rex nodded to the tray of food by Fives.

Fives pushed the tray over to Echo, who shook his head, “I’m alright, sir.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Rex questioned, concern written across his face.

“A bit,” Echo confessed after a moment. The boy dropped his eyes to the bowl of stew and looked at it like it was a cup full of bugs.

“Are you allergic?”

Echo shook his head, still watching his meal with disgust.

“You just don’t like it then?”

The boy shrugged.

“Okay…” Rex mumbled, wracking his brain for a nicer what to ask what the problem with the food was.

It turned out he did not need to.

“So then why won’t you eat it?” Fives asked.

“I…” Echo started, his voice barely audible, “I don’t deserve it.”

Everything stopped for a moment: the beeping of the machines, the little particles dancing in the waning light, even the beating of Rex’s heart. The kid thought he did not deserve hospital food. Hospital food. It brought Rex back to the first night he brought home Fives, when the boy had cried because he was “being too nice” to him.

Vaguely Rex wondered if Echo thought he did not deserve the meal because it was nicer than whatever type of sustenance he was used to, or because he was accustomed to having to work for his food. Neither option made Rex very happy.

In fact, he was angry.

No, angry was not quite right.

He was livid.

Rex gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before his heart exploded with rage. When he opened his eyes he was met with twin sets of chocolate colored irises staring back at him.

His heart melted, “You deserve it, Echo.”

The boy kept his face unnaturally still and Rex wished he could read what was going on under that carefully maintained mask.

“You deserve it,” Rex repeated, louder this time. He looked down at the floor, hoping to hide the sadness in his eyes, “Everyone deserves to be able to eat when they’re hungry.”

The room was silent again. Rex did not dare look up from his shoes. He did not know if he could bear looking into their innocent faces after everything they had been through because of him. Because he had done everything he could to not look back.

If only he had, then he would have found them earlier, before-

“I can eat it,” Echo’s quiet voice cut through Rex’s thoughts.

He snapped his head up to see both boys looking at the tray of food with downcast expressions.

“I’m sorry, sir” Echo muttered, his shoulders tensing, “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“What? No, no, I’m not upset,” Rex said, waving his hands around as if that would prove his sincerity. The last thing he wanted was for his boys to be tiptoeing around him and worrying about upsetting him.

The twins looked up at him skeptically.

“Not upset,” Rex reassured, giving them a small smile, “Not upset, just- Hey! I’ve got an idea.”

Echo’s head tilted to the side, one eyebrow cocking up in interest.

Rex turned to Fives, “Hey, bud, are you hungry?”

“Uh-huh?” Fives’ brows crinkled together.

“Why don’t we go down to the cafeteria real quick and get some dinner to bring back here? Then we can all eat together.”

“Okay,” Fives agreed easily, sliding off the bed. Once his feet hit the ground he turned back to his twin, “Okay?”

Echo nodded, “Okay.”

The rest of the evening was spent answering Fives’s one hundred and one questions about the hospital and watching Echo slowly pick at his food long after both Rex and Fives had finished. When he finally pushed it away, he had only gotten through around half, but when Kix came in to say goodbye at the end of his shift, he seemed ecstatic that any of it was gone at all, so Rex counted that as a win.

At around 8 pm both boys were exhausted. Rex was about to suggest that he take Fives home for the night when the boy passed the Coruscant guidebook to his twin, “Can you read to me?”

Echo smiled softly and took the book, sandwiching it between his chest and his hand so he would be able to keep it steady as he read.

There was no way Rex was interrupting this. He leaned back in his chair and listened to Echo rattle off facts about the Bureau of Ships and Services Heritage Museum.

After a few minutes Fives shifted in the bed next to his brother. “Cuddle?” He asked, looking at Echo hopefully.

Echo put down the book for a moment to pat his shoulder, “Here.”

Fives smiled sleepily and inched closer to his twin to rest his head on his shoulder.

Echo resumed reading and in no time at all Fives was asleep. Rex watched as Echo carefully set the book down so as not to disturb his brother. He then pulled the covers up around Fives’s shoulders. As he did, he noticed Rex looking at them and frowned in a silent question.

“You take such good care of your brother,” Rex said softly.

Echo looked down at Fives, a real, true smile spreading across his face, “I love him. I’d do anything for him.”

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @tearfulsolace @rndmpeep @brokenphoenix99 @nerdy-valkyrie @xylionet @tazmbc1 @eyayah123 @the-bad-batch-baroness @sarcastic-nebula @ihaventpickedausername @sexysmeagolshitposting @emma-1409 @marcadamia

#Fives takes care of Echo just as much as Echo takes care of him #but we'll get there #eventually #the clone wars #tcw #clone wars #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #captain rex #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #domino twins #baby dominos #superlarva

[fragileruns]

oops hehe sorry i got super excited i forgot to give a plot line!!! as for plot, could we get smthing where reader is the complete opposite of tangerine (shy, timid sweetheart) and yet he’s still so drawn to her so he starts to routinely visit the place she works at (book shop, cafe, wtvr u want) and she has a bf who’s not the best to her n takes advantage of her kindness and trust, so tangerine helps her n talks her thru standing up for herself and even teaches her self defense just in case. tan starts to fall for her more n more and sees her as smthing precious, and reader is so captivated by this sexy intelligent man. n then one day tan is chilling at the cafe drinking coffee and reading (basically guarding her bc he’s protective hehe) bc she decided she was gnna break up w her bf and then when said bf comes in and she tries to end things, he starts getting aggressive and causing a scene so then our sexy tan just steps in all casually and shuts him down real fast and then that’s when reader’s heart skips a beat bc she realizes she likes tan (and tan may actually like her too) and so tan kicks ex’s ass to the curb and then checks on reader and calls her his “little badass” since she used her self defense on her ex when he tried getting handsy with her.

basically just some cuteeeeee fluff with some witty banter and unrequited love at the beginning but watching it grow into smthing more <3 thank again love

hi! sorry this isn’t exactly what you wanted but i didn’t feel patient enough to make it into a long fic, and i didn’t want to trigger anyone by adding actual abuse in here so i switched it a bit! let me know if you want something redone but hopefully it’s still good

tangerine x reader. content warnings: mentions of violent tones & the guy pushes tan but that’s it, cussing, female!reader, i didn’t realize how off i had written this until it was almost done so i’m sorry please rerequest if you’d like me to retry!

Tangerine was currently sitting in his usual seat, one right to the side of the counter you were working at. It granted him the best possible view (you) as he drank small sips out of this coffee cup, ‘reading’ the book in front him. Really, he was much more focused on watching you work.

He had been here for well over two hours and usually, he would have forced himself to leave by now. There was only so long he could stay without causing suspicion. Even when it was you - poor, oblivious you who couldn’t seem to realize that the only reason he ever came in was to see you.

However, after finding out about your asshole of a boyfriend from eavesdropping on your conversation (you were standing right beside him on your break, and how was he meant to ignore the insults being thrown at you when they were so blatantly untrue?), he had decided to make a bold step and tell you that you needed to stand up for yourself. Ever since then, you seemed to continuously have new questions about how to go about it since.

You opened up to him once, just a few days ago, about how you wanted to leave your boyfriend, how you were tired of feeling torn apart everyday, but you were scared. He had never been directly violent to you, but he was a strong guy, and you weren’t sure how he would take it. You didn’t want to become a victim. So, Tangerine had quickly suggested doing it in a public place where there were more people around to make sure you were alright. When you still didn’t seem sure, he asked if it’d help if he was there. You said yes.

So, he was spending the day at the cafe, the both of you waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the doors. You were nervously glancing up everytime the bell rang, and Tangerine desperately wanted to rub soothing shapes onto your back and tell you it would be alright. But, sadly, it wasn’t his place to do so.

After another few minutes of rereading the same sentence, the man Tangerine recognized from the last time he saw him in the shop with you walked in. He seemed in a fairly okay mood, or at least, he showed no outward signs of being upset.

Tangerine was instantly more alert, noticing the way you sucked in a breath and told your coworker that you’d be going on break, and he watched both you and the man as discreetly as he could. He could vaguely hear the conversation going on, and nothing seemed wrong at first.

You had given the man what seemed like a sympathetic smile, and from the way you were moving your hands around while you spoke, and from the way the man’s expression shifted to one of anger, Tangerine could assume you had told him it was over. He didn’t move though, smart enough to know that going to be by your side wouldn’t help matters any, not until he saw your now ex-boyfriend’s eyes flash with something ugly, hand raising.

That was when he jumped up. Reasonably, he didn’t think the guy would do anything even slightly violent in such a public space, but he didn’t want to take the risk. He wedged himself in the space between the two of you, his back facing you as he reached a hand back to grab onto your arm.

“You alright, love?” He asked, head tilted slightly back to look at you as you nodded, though he could feel how tense you were.

“Who the hell are you?”

Tangerine finally turned to acknowledge the man in front of him at the question, and his face hardened from the soft expression he had with you.

“None of your business. You should really get away from ‘er, if you know what’s best.” You were still hiding behind him, eyes filling with concern as your boyfriend only got more angry.

“She’s my girlfriend. Our conversation doesn’t concern you.”

“Ex. Ex-girlfriend.” You finally spoke up, your voice still soft and timid despite the spite that your words held. Tangerine felt proud, and he squeezed your arm to show as much.

“See? The lady doesn’t seem to want you here, so why’re you still hanging around? Go on.”

“Stay out of this.” The man was only getting more riled up, nose flaring and stepping closer to Tangerine. Clearly, he didn’t know who he was talking to. The thought made Tan smirk slightly, but it made you (who vaguely knew of Tangerine’s strength and abilities from the stories he had told you, though he still changed them as much as he could as to not scare you off) shake in place.

As soon as your ex boyfriend tried to push Tangerine out from in front of you, failing at even making him budge, you reached out to grab your friend’s arm. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, and you didn’t want to cause a scene - or more of a scene - in your place of work. Luckily, the few customers that were there had mostly filed out onto the street and your co-worker only stood close by enough that she could break it apart if anything should happen.

“Tan, it’s okay. I can handle this,” you spoke in your sickly sweet voice, and that and the feeling of your tender grip on his arm was the only thing holding him back from throwing the man against the nearest wall.

“Can you just - please go? I’m not going to change my mind, and it’s not going to be good for either of us if you stick around. So just go. Please?” Your attention turned to the other man, less kindness in your eyes now, and he only scoffed with an eye roll.

“Whatever. You’re not worth this shit anyway.”

What an idiot. Tangerine thought as the man walked out, and he only calmed down once he was out of sight and he could turn to you.

“I was handling it, y’know. You didn’t have to come in all… you-like. I would’ve been okay,” you sighed and Tangerine would’ve thought you were upset with him if it wasn’t for the concern in your eyes and the fact that you were still holding onto his arm. He made sure not to draw attention to that, not wanting to risk you pulling away.

“You think I was going to even slightly risk him hurting you?” Tangerine questioned as if you were insane, using one hand to reach up and brush a stray hair out of your face, needing any excuse to touch you. “Are you okay? D’you want me to take you home or anything? I’m sure if you explain, they’ll let you clock out.” He threw a glance over to your co-worker, who was kindly pretending not to notice the almost disgusting lovefest that was going on between you two (not that either of you could really view it that way, since you had just become single.)

“Um - actually, yes. Please. I don’t want him to come back after you leave.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving, but of course. Get your stuff, I’ll wait outside.” He gave you a small smile, squeezing your shoulder right before you walked off as he gathered his own things, and went to stand outside by his own car as he waited for you.

Once you come out, he turned to face you, frowning at the expression on your face. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I just - thank you. For intervening. I know I said I could handle it, but thanks anyway. You’re a good friend.”

“I’ll always protect you, love. You’re my favorite girl,” He grinned and stepped forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, reaching down to grab your bag and throw it over his shoulder.

“I’ve just never really had someone on my side like that, and it felt nice.” You admitted, appreciative that he chose to ignore the flush of your cheeks after his innocent kiss.

“Well, now you do. And, since we’re being honest here, I really wish you would stop telling me what a great friend I am.”

“What? Is that - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” you rushed to apologize, even though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. You were friends, right?

“No, don’t - I didn’t mean it for you to apologize. I mean, I like you. I thought that was obvious?” Tangerine seemed genuinely confused, as if everyone knew this fact, but you were almost jaw-dropped.

“It - uh, it wasn’t. You like me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, choosing to open up the passenger door and gently set your bag in the floorboard to hide away from the rejection he was about to face. He was such a confident man, yet was reduced to nerves just by being around you. “Sorry, I just thought you knew. I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“It’s not. I just didn’t know,” you say quietly, looking like you were off in another world as you thought over things. Was that connection you felt with him shared this whole time? Did the way your stomach fluttered around him mean you liked him, too?

“Do you still want me to give you a ride home? I can call you a taxi, if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“No, no - I’m sorry, I-” you shake your head quickly at his offer, reaching out to grab his arm and then dropping it like it’s burned you. “I think I like you, too.”

He grinned, then, and his head tilted slightly. “Think?”

“Yeah, I mean - I don’t think I want to be with anyone right now, seeing as I did just get out of a relationship with-”

“The most vile man alive?”

“A not great person.” You finished, and Tangerine only chuckled. “But, I do like you. And maybe, if you’re willing to wait a little while, we could… you know. Be more than friends.”

Tangerine looked down right merry, and when his hand reached up to cup one side of your face, you leaned into the warmth almost embarrassingly fast.

“I would love to be more than friends with you. But, by the way. We’re going to have to talk about you having more of a back bone. Like - all those please go’s to him? Babe, I know how much of a fucking badass you are, you should’ve kneed him in the sack.”

“Maybe next time.”

#tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine #tangerine x y/n #tangerine fic #tangerine fluff #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine blurb #tangerine drabble

[circe69]

Hello, hello!

I was wondering if the prompt

20.) hand massages - "let me practice on you please? i just need to make sure i'm good at it." *ends massage* "well? how was it?" *takes a deep, shaky breath* "you have to promise you'll only do that for me." Was already taken.

If not, could it possibly be a Simon Riley x fem reader (or gn) ?

He deserves so much affection…

If not, then thank you for reading. I hope you have an awesome day

Stay safe 🤍

hi! yes of course! another sweet nonnie also requested this specific scenario, but i wasn't sure how to put that on here. anyways, thank you for participating in my special!

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 #𝟐𝟎 - 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 - ❤︎

You walked down the dim-lit hall with wet boots clanking on the ground, lotion in one hand, and the other being bandaged and empty. Coming home from a mission was never easy, but this one in particular really made you question your entire career.

It was storming outside, and your head was killing you from all the guns that went off right next to you ear, but you knew someone else that was having a harder time than you.

Ghost never let things get to him, it took a lot to shake him up, but after tonight, you weren't sure if he'd ever be the same. There was a little boy, probably not much older than 5, who had died due to casualties, and those very same casualties would be the cause for Ghost's guilt for the rest of his life.

People died all the time, Ghost being the reason, but kids were different.

You took a deep breath, finally nearing the Lieutenants metal door and preparing yourself to hopefully make his night a little better.

What am I even doing here? There's nothing I could do that would help, you thought, wondering if you should just turn back around. You took a minute to observe your surroundings, the loud and shaky AC harmonizing with the rain pouring on the window at the opposite end of the hall, the few lightbulbs hanging only a few inches above your head, and the thunder that shook the entire base every few minutes, leaving you restless and yearning for someone to just be with.

Raising and clenching your fist, you hesitatingly knocked on the door, 3 times, just like you always did. It was quiet, but you hoped it was enough for him to hear.

Seconds went by, and your pride was already too deep in a ditch to knock again. You started to turn around and head back to your room when the door swung open.

You stopped in your tracks, abruptly turning to face him, the man who you had once been terrified of, but now see him as someone who's just sick of everything he has to do, but does it anyway.

"Y/N." His voice was deep, like fire crackling and splitting wood. It sounded the same as it always did, except for the slight turn his words took at the end of his sentences.

"Sir."

His eyes grazed over you, they looked tired and black around the edges, most likely due to the face paint he feverishly tried to rinse off.

"Do you need something?" He eyed the lotion sticking out of your pocket, resulting in you pulling your tank top over the edge of your pants to hide it.

"I was actually just coming by to make sure," You stopped for a second to scan over his face, "make sure you were alright."

Ghost stood there, leaning against the doorway and eyebrows furrowing so deeply, you could see it through the fabric of his mask. His hands were tight, muscles still tense from events that had happened hours ago.

"I'm alright," he started to close the door right in your face, but you placed your hand against it just in time. "Lieutenant." You were known as somewhat demanding, but always gentle simultaneously. Ghost was confused by it, and how your demeanor always contradicted itself, but it intrigued him nonetheless.

His eyes were drawn to your hand, veins popping out and knuckles turning white due to the amount of strength you were pushing against the door. Due to how hard you were trying to just be with him.

"Get in." He turned around and let you into his room, turning on the singular light as he walked past the switch. He took a seat on his cot, causing the metal springs to groan under his weight, and you pulled up a chair right across from him and sat down, scooting in slightly to be closer.

You bit down on your lip to conceal the smile you so badly wanted to show, but was scared Ghost would kick you out immediately.

"Hurry up and do what you came here to do." His knees were touching yours, but neither of you moved; you felt your stomach jump just at the feeling alone.

You held your hand out, signaling to him that you wanted to see his hand. He hesitated, his eyes shifting from your hand up to your eyes than back down again. Ghost finally caved, his hand outstretching onto yours, and letting the weight of it slowly relax.

"People say I'm really good at it," you paused to watch his eyes widen at the vague statement, "Hand massages, I mean." Your mouth stretched into a smile as you saw a tiny one show through his mask but quickly disappear.

"I'll be the judge of that." His words were quiet, seductively quiet.

You slowly removed the black, leather glove from his calloused hands, and through it over on the bed behind him. Uncapping the coconut scented lotion, you squeezed out a tiny bit on your middle finger before screwing the lid back on the placing it on the carpet below you.

Spreading the cream on his hands, you slowly worked with every one of his fingers, trying to ignore the pleased noises coming from Ghost's throat but never leaving his mouth. There was a particular spot on the webbing between his thumb and finger that made his eyes close in delight, and you pressed there for a little longer to relieve any tension he was holding.

It was all the guns he held, all the triggers he had to hover above for hours at a time before moving. All the salutes and punches he had to swing, it all piled up on his shoulders and the pressure worked its way down his arms and onto his poor hands. Hands that had held his dying family, dying dogs, dying boys. Hands that wiped blood off of himself, not all of it even being his own.

As you finished massaging both of his hands, and hearing him breathe deeply in and out, relishing in the soft scent that reminded him of you, you patted his palm to tell silently tell him you were finished.

"Well? How was it, Lieutenant?"

His eyes slowly opened again, pleased to see that you really were sitting in front of him, and it wasn't another dream.

"You have to promise me something," Ghost said, sliding his fingerless gloves back on and cracking his knuckles.

"What is it?"

He stood up, hovering almost 3 feet over where you sat and crossed his arms as he looked down at you. You tried to disregard taking in his body in its entirety, but your eyes found it hard to stay in one place.

Ghost finally broke the silence that felt like hours but somehow seconds at the same time, "You'll only do that for me."

You smiled, and nodded in fast agreement, you knew from the minute his eyes locked onto yours that he would be the only one you'd ever want to do anything for.

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