#Knicks tape

[freshthoughts2020]

SHOP: gettothecorner.com/welcome/guardingnewyork

[thesmokinpossum]

You know, I used to be one of those person who believed that we should not shame people for their individual habits when it comes to climate changes but focus on the industries and I still believe that it's a more pressing issues in many ways but like…

Ever since I started working at the post office, I just cannot feel the same. I'm genuinely disgusted by the amount of people who will return 10, 15, shit even 20+ parcels on a weekly basis. There's people I see doing this every saturday like clockwork.It's pretty clear that they had no need for any of the bullshit they ordered, they just wanted the little rush of getting some parcel in the mail.

It's also almost always from the same 3 website (Amazon, Shein and Temu) so they're not only actively destroying the environment (and seriously, I think it's hard to realize how much plastic and fuel all those returns take if you haven't seen it first hand -just the amount of tape we use on them on a daily basis is enough to make me sick-), they also contribute to horrible working conditions for so many people so yeah, at this point I do think we need to start applying some shame to all that bs tbh

[gomzdrawfr]

Omgogmkmg wait Sian this reminds me of this post

ghost almost always has at least one knife hidden on him for ‘just in case’ purposes, and while soap has found it actually proves pretty useful—not even just for combat, but also stupid, minor things like cutting stubborn loose threads off clothing—it becomes a small pain when soap has to wait for ghost to shed himself of various knives before climbing into bed every night. just when soap thinks there couldn’t possibly be another one on ghost’s person, there most certainly is, and half the time before ghost finally lays down soap is already falling asleep

[jeanmoreaue]

i know it’s already been said but i love that pre-tsc a lot of people thought jean was going to be broody and isolate himself from the trojans but then in actuality jean tapes up knick knacks in his room and saves postcards and notes and he likes sitting in big windows to look outside and he cares about both his old teammates and his new teammates and wants love and attention like a scared dog lol

[flowerxbunnie]

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Follow us! @LoveBuzz on IG!

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

[octopiys]

Lost and Found

Prev | Next

iv. creekwater eggshells

Six hours. You have six whole hours to put together a meal for Simon, and who you think is his best friend, along with said best friend's....wife? You weren't sure. You hoped that was the case.

Six hours. You can do this, right? You've made pasta, at least some variation of it, at least a few times a week since you've made yourself a little space here.

Slowly, Simon noticed, you were acclimating. Your room was still bare, but he could fix that. He just needed to make sure that you knew that it was, well, safe here. He wouldn't force you to stay, that's not what he's trying to do. He's seen that, and swore he'd never bring that upon somebody else. His house would be safe.

You had a small bag, shoved in between the blankets in your closet, of your personal belongings. The clothing that Simon had gotten you sat in a very empty dresser, made of old stained wood. He bought it off the woman up the street who wanted to paint it like.... grey or something. He couldn't bear to see that happen, so he knicked it off of them for a tenner to her husband.

Maybe this weekend he'll take you to a furniture shop. Help you decorate.

You're covered in flour the next time he spots you, as he was walking in to figure out how he could help. You've noticed he never asks, just silently assumes the nearest task, and finishes it just as fast.

You look like a doe caught in headlights when you spot him. Nothing that lives in this house was spared by the wrath of this now open bag of flour. Sweet Barrow was a different color completely, and not at all phased by this change, as she sleeps right through it.

Scraggle, however, does not take this transgression lightly. No no no, this is deepest insult to Scraggle, you try and give Scraggle color? You try and give Scraggle fur? No, this is an attack, Scraggle does not take lying down. Scraggle is-

Simon pats off the yowling cat who was weaving in between his feet and clawing at the hems of his pants, brushing it free of flour.

Scraggle rolls around on the ground, before seemingly getting over itself, and wandering back into your room.

He hears you giggle, and looks up. The sound makes his chest ache in a way he doesn't know how to describe. "Wot is it?"

"You an' that cat." You say, still laughing minutely to yourself, before turning back to the mess on the counter. You crack in egg in the center of the flour ring, and begin mixing it in slowly, before kneading the dough as it forms. You've printed out a little sheet of instructions that you have taped to the cabinet in front of you.

He watches you from the archway, crossing his arms as he leans against it, taking you in, breathing the scene like the flour that puffs up as you move your hands. Your tongue peeks out from your lips as you focus in concentration. There's flour smeared on your cheek, egg caked on your hands.

He's getting used to this, he realizes, as almost a month had passed. Used to the domesticity of it all. There's peace in his chest, the ugly thing, taken root deep inside. He's not sure what would happen if it fizzled, burned out.

You had gone out to the back garden. There were a couple wild herbs you had spotted out here.

You liked how they had bundled in your small hands, of only a few years. These ones didn't sting your palms like the ones with the pokey leaves, or did they itch like the softer flowers. Your momma liked these ones. Said they made good tea. Spiced up what needed to be spiced, and sweetened what needed to be sweet. Just like you.

"You can find it anywhere," she had told you, calling your name across the hills. It's abundant as water, flows as common as grass. The air is smoky, you wonder if someone is cooking.

You shocked to the present the second you stepped into the creek, the cold water soaking up your long socks.

The basket trembles in your hands, and you swallow, just out of view from the house, just inside of the trees. This is Simon's land.

You're safe, you tell yourself, you're safe, you're safe–

There's a soft piddle against the soft of your lower leg, a little peep. You almost hop out of the way in surprise before you see it.

There's a little duckling brushing up against your inner ankle, newly hatched by its size. It peeps and *wecks* and you swear right then that you may not be it's mother but you are now, no other bird in sight. It's a fuzzy little creature with dark eyes that possess no thoughts whatsoever, and it is yours.

"Don't take what does not belong to you. Greed is unbecoming of you. You aren't behaving poorly now, are you?" His accent wafts through the air, stifling like a too humid day. The grip at the base of your hip tightens.

There's a soft *weck* as you pick up the tiny bird, cradling it into your hands. It's shivering, trembling, looking for warmth.

You'd found enough herbs today, you decided. Needed to get out of the woods, like Little Red should never have gone down the path, lest the Wolf catches her scent.

You pick up your basket and hurry back to the cottage, calling for Simon to find a lamp.

You miss the tall grass, disturbed by boot prints much too big for you, planted in the center of a squashed nest. The yellows of the inner egg have dried into the earth, parents nowhere to be found.

"Simon! Get me a lamp!" You shout, slamming the back door open, your hands bundled around the small creature.

It was in no life threatening danger, in fact, it looked quite content to just stay curled in your palm, but you were determined to get it better warmth.

Simon shoots out of his bedroom, concerned— a familiar expression of his, whenever you reenter your home– before spotting the little wriggling mass in your hands. He blinks once, twice, before closing the door on Scraggle, who wanted to see who dared disturb it's slumber.

"That's a duck." Simon says shortly, and you stop, slowly turning around and looking at him.

Said duck peeps in response.

Apparently, your look said whatever Simon needed to hear because he disappeared down the hall and returned with an old shoe box, and a reptile lamp you recognized from the old tank in your room.

Duck in hand, you leave to the kitchen to find a spare hand towel, tossing it at Simon who puts it into the box, and he plugs the lamp in.

The buzz fills the working silence.

"So... where'd ya find the lil lad?" He asks after a moment.

"By the creek. Couldn't find his parents. Didn't wanna leave him alone out there, he looks too small-" You stop yourself short as sweet Barrow lumbers in through the dog door, sniffing the air curiously, before deciding to lay down right there. "You're- You're provably gonna make me put him back- I'll- I'll, uh-"

Simon hushes you, brows furrowed at the sight of your watery eyes. "I ain't say that, honey."

"B- but-" You don't mean for it, but tears well up in your eyes anyways, your lower lip trembling. "You can't take in any more animals-"

"Says who? Y' challengin' me or somethin'?" He huffs, and you panic, shaking your head as a tear slides down your cheek, frantic. The duck deeps again.

"I got 'nough stuff, honey. A duck ain't gonna send us over the edge. Here, can I-" He reaches for the peeping mass of feathers, but you surprise yourself by jerking back, holding it out of his reach.

"Don't-!"

He blinks, before you burst into tears, tugging the duck to your chest, apologizing profusely. "I- I'm sorry, I just- I trust you- I- I don't wanna give up on him-"

"Honey, nobody's givin' up on him-"

"Cus he's so small, an' he doesn't deserve it, I don't want anyone to hurt him, Si, he doesn't deserve it-" You sob to him, or to the duck, who isn't comprehending anything that's really going on right now, because the lights are on and everyone moved out.

Simon tugs at the carpet, for once unsure what to do. He chews his lip, thinking. He doesn't fault you at all, he's not upset, the duck is yours. You're protective of it,that's nothing to be ashamed of. There's a pain in his chest when you cry, and he's not sure it's completely uncoincidental. "Honey...? How 'bout you put him in the box, then we'll set him up on the counter so he can watch us cook, okay? Promise I won't touch him."

You sniffle, nodding, feeling horrible that you snapped at Simon in the first place, though he doesn't think you even did at all.

"Are you still up for dinner, do you wanna have a night in? We can reschedule, I'm sure they won't mind." Simon asks, his voice softer than you've heard in a while. You feel embarrassed.

"W- we can keep cooking, it's- I'm sorry, I just...." You hiccup, bowing your head.

"The duck'll be safe, hon. Ain't nobody else I'd trust more with somethin' that fuckin' small than you. Ain't nobody's gonna hurt it, and if they do, then I'll sic Barrow on em."

You're both pretty sure Barrow is snoring with her eyes open, bless her sweet little heart.

"N- no, you'll have to send Scraggle, we'll n- never see the poor bastard again, that's for sure, it'll slice em to ribbons..." You giggle slightly, the sudden pressure in your chest lightening as you gently set the duck into the box on the counter.

The cat yowls behind the door, it's paws peeking out from beneath it, trying to grab at one of Simon's socks in the hallway. This is an ATTACK on Scraggle, attack of the greatest degree, curse to Father and curse to Mother-

You sniffle again, and Simon offers you a tissue. You hesitate, before wrapping your arms around him instead, burying your stuffy nose in his shirt.

He tenses at first, before slowly relaxing into it, and he puts an arm around you too.

He was warm, warmer than usual, a little soft around his middle, but built enough like a country man. He vaguely reminded you of a warrior, well fed and strong. The warrior of this little farm. He smelled of cedar and campfire smoke, with something else richer underneath.

You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you had been holding, and Simon's arms tighten. When was the last time you'd hugged someone?

The duck is safe, and so are you.

Nothing can take that away, not if Simon has anything to say about it.

And he has many, many things to say.

masterlist

[carolmunson]

8✨ with virgin Eddie cos he’s the loml

'I look you in the eyes, I try to read you thoughts. I ask you to go with me, to a far off place.' virgin!eddie (well, not so virgin anymore) from the 'the nerve' one shot. (18+, references to drinking. implied stancy wedding.)

Eddie didn't really love to dance. He always felt awkward, never really getting the beat to anything that wasn't related to a guitar slung across his chest. His hips always moved too jerkily, he never knew where to put his hands. When Mrs. Mitchell from across the park tried to teach him to waltz for prom he stepped on her toes so much she needed a brace.

It didn't even matter for anything, he didn't go to prom. That's another reason he doesn't like dancing, or dances. Couples nuzzling close while they hold their partners -- what was the point when no one was gonna dance with 'The Freak' anyway?

He drums his fingers along the white cloth covered table to the beat of the DJ's thumping music, sipping his third glass of pinot noir. You had stepped out to run an errand for Nancy and Steve after the ceremony, 'maid of honor' duties you called it. Something about fashion tape and bandaids for blisters. While the music slows down he feels his heart sink, another dance where he sits alone in the low light. It comes back to him in a haze, two months before his senior prom -- He woke up early to take a shower and shave the little facial hair that had started to grow on his upper lip and chin. Painstakingly finger coiling every wave on his head with gel he knicked from the five and dime down the street. He asked Wayne if he could borrow his smart black button down and Wayne even pressed it before he left for work the night before -- hanging it up in the living room by the mugs. He wore he least ratty jeans and cleaned his Reeboks with a toothbrush and bleach. Eddie had never felt more together, more sure, and if he would say so himelf -- more handsome than he did that morning.

He cracked open his campaign notebook to the last page where he'd scrawled a script he'd been working on for at least two weeks:

Hi Chrissy What's up, Chris? How are you, Chrissy? Hey Chrissy.

I know you might not be expecting this but This might come as a surprise, but I was wond It would be an honor if Would you want to go to prom with me? Prom?

It was the first time he was ever at a loss for words. Tripping over himself any time she'd ask for a pencil in Bio or walk by the drama room on her way to cheer practice.

He stopped at Melvald's for a small bouquet of daffodils -- it was all they had that morning, and made his way to school, stomach full of butterflies while he played the potential outcome in his head over and over. He knew he had to have caught her looking every now and again. Giggling at his jokes in class. Always asking him for a pencil or a ruler when she could ask anyone else.

He parks in the spot furthest from the school, using the brisk walk to calm his nerves. With a few rolls of his shoulders he pushes through the main doors to his locker, only four down from Chrissy's. She'd be there any minute, ponytail bouncing, lips glossed.

He leaned against the wall, checking his watch and each end of the hallway, a flurry of students making their way in and out. The humdrum of the morning making his heart beat faster, the slamming of metal, the sneakers on the tile.

And there she is -- a blonde beacon of something special. She's smiling -- grinning. Looking right at him. He gets up off the wall, heart racing -- This is it Munson, he thinks, you're gonna ask her.

Chrissy's smile turns into a jump, a celebration of sorts -- and from behind him, another cheerleader appears, running up and jumping with her. They hug tight, screaming the way girls do when they're excited about something.

"He literally made a sign for the whole team to hold on the field!" she titters, "I can't believe he asked me!" "You're going to prom with Jason! Ahhh!" her friend screams back.

Going to prom with Jason.

Jason Carver? That asshole?

The hallways spins, his heart has never dropped so fast before. He'd never felt something so fast before. Dissappointment? Embarrassment? Rage? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that Chrissy was going to prom with Jason Carver, and everything he planned was for nothing. Just standing there in the hall way with --

"That's a pretty bouqet, Eddie," Chrissy voice floats by, bringing him back to himself, "Whose the lucky girl?"

Coulda been you, he thinks.

His face sours, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Eddie's heart breaks again when she backs off, making her way to class when the bell rings. He chews on the inside of his cheek the whole way out of the school and back to his van -- making sure the shove the daffodils in the trash on the way out.

Right now feels the same, the only young guy sitting around while couples get up and jump around to Whitney's I Wanna Dance with Somebody when the music switches. He finishes his glass of pinot, sighing while he stands up to get another at the bar. He knows better, but something his gnawing in the pit of his chest -- that ache. He wishes you'd come back so he didn't have to keep putzing around like a lost puppy. Even Dustin had Suze out on the dancefloor.

Another ten minutes pass and he's settled back down at the table, the speakers rumbling down to a slow beat again, Luther Vandross's gentle croon floating over the room. Eddie swallows.

'Always and forever, Each moment with you, yeah Is just like a dream to me That somehow came true, yeah...'

It's then that he feels a warm hand on his back, sliding up to his shoulder, nails gliding comfortingly into the back of his hair. "Hi handsome," your voice like salve on his heart, "Did you miss me?" He turns, entranced by the way your dress hugs you and the scent of the perfume you have on tonight. There was no denying he picked right, no denying that he was right to wait for you this long.

"Of course, sweetheart," he smiles, smiling into the kiss you lean down to give him.

"You've just been sitting here while I was gone?" you furrow your brow, "C'mon, get up. Come dance with me."

He flushes, "No, no I'm...I'm not good at it..."

"Neither am I," you shrug, offering your hand, "C'mon."

He looks at your manicured nails, the bare finger that he wants to put a ring on now more than ever, then up at you. That little smirk you give him has never sold him quicker. With a deep breath he takes your hand, letting you lead him to the dance floor.

"Y'know, I've never slow danced with anyone," you say quietly, guiding his hand to your waist while you hold the other close to his shoulder. Eddie pulls you close, nose to nose, toe to toe. He can handle the gentle sway you start him with, a slow two step, winding bodies.

"Not even your ex? Seriously?" Eddie asks, mesmirized by your glossy lips.

"He never wanted to dance at the weddings we went to," you shrug, "Always thought it was lame. But I like to dance."

"What about prom?" he asks.

"I um," you look down and back up at him, "I didn't go to prom."

"No? How come?"

"Uh," you offer a tight smile in rememberance, accepting it, "No one asked me."

Eddie stops moving, hand holding yours going to your cheek. "No one asked you?"

You shake your head, "It ended up being okay, had a movie night with some other weirdos."

He remembers his own anti-prom with the guys, pizza and beer that he got Rick to buy for him.

"But it's okay," you reassure, "Cause now I get to have my first slow dance with you."

"We're doin' a lot of firsts together, aren't we?" he teases.

"Yeah," you nod, "And this is like, y'know, kinda like prom." "Sort of," he laughs, pulling you tighter, two stepping again to the rhythm. You give him a mischevious smile, teashing.

"Are you going to the after party? I hear they're gonna have winecoolers," you joke.

Eddie grins, boyish, "Oh yeah, yeah, I'll be there."

"Good 'cause uh," you lean to to whisper, giggling at your own bit, "They're gonna play seven minutes in heaven."

"No way," he gasps in fake astonishment, "Is there uh -- is there anyone you're hoping to land on?"

"Well um," you flick your eyes as him flirtily, "There's this one guy."

"This one guy?"

"Yeah and I was hoping like, after the dance." you continue in an exaggerated Valley Girl accent, "We could like, make out after."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, voice deepening, smoky.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, we can um," he leans in to kiss you, deep and slow, "We can definitely make out after."

[hbyrde36]

Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mine had to cancel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that he was one to pout. 

“I’m not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, it couldn't be.

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

It was unthinkable.

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

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

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

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

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

Get it together, Munson!

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

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

“Eddie?”

Fuck. 

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

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

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was… interesting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was…

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s great.” Steve said. 

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

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

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

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

“Ready to get started?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

He shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t right.

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

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked. 

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

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

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

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

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

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

“For?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you need to take a break?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

Steve hummed in understanding.

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

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

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie’s mouth went dry. 

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

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

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie froze. 

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid! 

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

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

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

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

[jtl-fics]

Gooof Wednesday can I ask for some more TBD?

10/9/24 WIP Wednesday (Closed) | TBD AU

He finds more carefully wrapped knick knacks from any number of apparent tourist traps. More shot glasses, random figures, keychains, and miniatures of the attractions.  He finds himself losing about an hour reading all the various things on them, even looking up one or two.

“Seriously?” he lets out a soft puff of laughter as he finds a delicately wrapped replica of the world’s biggest ball of yarn.

AKA a normal ball of yarn.

He gets through the box until he finds the final piece of the box wrapped and taped up with a note from his cousin written:

Do not throw this out! I mean it! Don’t do it Andrew

Love Nicky

Andrew rolls his eyes at his cousin’s demand and starts to pull apart the packaging. He eventually has to result in getting one of his knives to cut through all of the tape and the additional five letters from Nicky he finds all telling him to seriously not even consider throwing whatever was contained away.

His curiosity and irritation only grows stronger when he finishes finally ripping through all of the packaging to find…

Nothing.

His brain instantly does the math for what time it is in Germany and knows that Nicky would not be awake for Andrew to bitch at. He also doesn’t want to give his cousin the satisfaction of knowing that years later his stupid prank worked.

He breaks the box down swiftly and puts it in the pile to be taken out with recycling.

[1u11ablues]

All I Have Left Of You (Simon Riley X You)

WC: 900+

Warning: Angst, Character Death, Mourning

You received a box of Ghost's belongings.

"This was what he'd left for you."

The object of said statement; a presence pounding its fist as if it was begging for your acknowledgement. Two weeks had gone by after Price had dropped the box off into your lap, with a bullet-marked dogtag belonging to Simon Riley lying mockingly atop it; the one news you had begged Simon to never let reach your ears.

You weren't strong enough to mourn. The day before he went out on his last mission, you were begging on your knees for him to reconsider going. He knew it'd likely end this way, but he went anyway. Your last day together, spent fighting.

The box had remained sealed and hidden under your bed for the two weeks you'd spent in it, keening until your throat was raw. Until there were no tears left to cry. A fuzzy emptiness was all that was left as you stared at the brown cardboard taped neatly down the middle. 

Simon's dog tag, unmoving from the top of your dresser, right next to the picture of you and him together, in bed; one of his rare smiles captured in that flimsy piece of rectangle. A memory, now. One you'd sooner cease to remember even if you tried to make your favourite expression of him last.

Price had offered to comfort you when he'd brought Simon's belongings to you, in case you wanted to open it then and there. You told him you were too busy to be grieving that day.

Now, you're alone, sitting on the edge of the bed, pieces of Simon strewn all over the bedroom, untouched. His shirts. Packets of cigarettes. An iron lighter with your name doodled on the bottom in his handwriting.

And the box. Pieces, still, for you to remember him by. It can't stay buried under your bed forever.

You leaned down, your knees parting so you could drag the box out from its shelter. With not much effort, you lifted the box and placed it by your side, at the foot of the bed—its size as big as those moving boxes.

The pocket knife glides smoothly through the tape. Another of Simon's belongings. The lid popped open ever so slowly as you took a bracing breath. You reach into it with knowledge of what it contained already; Simon Riley was a man of few needs.

His skull balaclava greeted you first. Washed, thankfully. You don't know if you'd be able to go on if you spot dried blood crusting over its fabric, knowing it was likely his.

There were still tears to be cried, after all. The balaclava hugged tight over your chest, you let yourself finally start mourning his loss, inhaling the scent of him from the headwear at every sob. Your lips trembled as you whispered a quiet 'why', as if the universe would be there to answer you. 

Why did you have to go? Why did you have to die? Why do I have to fall in love with you?

Until you're hoarse. Lost your voice in the song of the grief-struck spirit.

You placed the balaclava aside gently after you'd gathered yourself again, sobs still wracking your body as you reach back into the maw of the cardboard before you.

Some of his clothes, which was expected. Some Simon-related knick-knacks: combat knife, a journal full of tactical notes, two trusty pens bearing ink both black and blue. And then, a small box. A small, velvet box.

You managed a brief huff. Stunned. Aware that—if you were right in your assumption of its content—the object you're staring at was now a possibility frozen in time, for the path your life had taken would not permit you to choose 'yes' to its question ever again.

Under it, a letter. Crisp, white paper, folded in half, black ink ghosting on the other side.

Without opening the velvet box, you reach for the letter. Simon's voice is clear in your head as your eyes move to his script.

Love, If you receive this, it means I'm no longer here. Thank you for keeping my head above water, you're my reason for everything. All of mine are yours. Even my heart, however dead it may seem.  I have plans for us. Should I retire from life before those plans are realized, I want you to still find yourself there, even with the changes. Keep your head straight, like we practiced.  I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting. If we part sourly, I don't want that to be your last memory of me. Remember me when I was trying my best at loving you. You have permission to yell as much as you want at my tombstone, as long as you promise not to linger. Do whatever you want with the ring, it's yours. A shame I didn't get the chance to see you in white. I love you. Knowing you love me makes it all worth it. S.R.

A droplet, two. You wiped the tears from his letter quickly in case the ink was not waterproof.

The velvet case stood lonely at the center of the cardboard box. Your ring. An unrealised proposal. Like an axe cleaving you in half; his death took pieces of you with him even if he didn't intend it to be that way.

You place the ring box by his dog tag. Cleaned everything up on autopilot before settling in your bed with his balaclava in your arms.

There will be many nights like this before sunrise comes.

Buy me a ko-fi?

[al-the-remix]

WIP Wednesday

Buck finds the box when he’s helping Tommy pack up his stuff, slouched pathetically in the back corner of the closet in Tommy’s spare room, caked in dust and buried under a pair of old motocross boots. 

It took them less than a weekend to divide the contents of Buck’s loft into a neat truckload of tightly packed boxes. Tommy’s house is a whole different story. Junk collects in the bungalow the same way cobwebs shroud barn rafters; teetering stacks of brittle yellowed paperbacks cover low tables, rolling metal drawers filled with odd tools and bits of machinery are shoved into corners at a slant, and other assorted knick-knacks cake every other spare surface in the house. 

Actually, just about everything Tommy owns looks dated by at least a decade. Buck wouldn’t be surprised if he found something from the precambrian era fossilized beneath Tommy’s hoard of physical media. There are magazines and DVDs and–how do people even listen to CDs anymore? Buck thinks as he pushes another pile to the side to get at the box. 

Buck’s elbow deep in beige fabric before he realizes what he’s stumbled across. Pulling Tommy’s old fatigues into his lap, he runs his fingers over the shallow ridges of Kinard embroidered across the chest tape. The fabric is soft with wear but crisply pressed, Buck kneads it between his fingers, finding the inconsistencies where it has been patched and stitched. 

He digs a little deeper. There are two pairs of boots stuffed in there as well, a tan pair that looks like they have seen better days, and a black leather pair that might have been shiny with polish once but has since dulled from lack of attention. 

Buck rubs his thumb over the hard toe of one of the leather boots. It’s clear Tommy hasn’t touched this stuff in a while. He wonders just how much Tommy held onto over the years; if the rest of his house is any indication, most of it.

“What you got there?”

Tommy’s leaning against the doorway, a smile playing at the edges of his lips as he watches Buck poke through his personal belongings. He knows he’s just doing what he’s been asked, but he still feels like he’s been caught red handed digging through Tommy’s old military stuff. 

“Ah, you found the digies,” Tommy says, coming to hover at Buck’s elbow. Up close he looks pleasantly flushed and serene like he could spend all day moving around boxes and never get fed up with it. 

“Do you ever wear these?” Buck holds up the uniform he’s been swaddling in his lap. Aiming for curious but not too curious. 

Tommy frowns. “Not really. If there’s something ceremonial going on I’ve got my blues, but it’s been a long time since I got invited to something like that.” He reaches down and pulls one of the leather boots out of the box. “Oh, cool, my jump boots. I’d forgotten where I put these.”

No kidding, Buck thinks, eyeing the various sports equipment unceremoniously piled on the floor of the closet. If he'd ever been worried that digging through two decades worth of Tommy’s baggage–both emotionally and literally–would dull Buck’s interest in him, he shouldn’t have been. If anything, getting a chance to inspect Tommy's junk (ha) fanned the tinder of his curiosity till the point of ignition.

Tommy has both jump boots in his hands now, eyeing the dullness of them regretfully. “Twenty-five-year-old me would have been so embarrassed, I used to love these things.”

“How’d they end up in the closet then–so to speak?” 

Tommy snorts and drops them back into the box, causing a small eruption of dust to tickle Buck’s nose. He barely avoids sneezing.

“Sorry–I don’t know, I think I just packed all this stuff away when I got the job at the 118 and the house and forgot about it. Tried to make a clean break, you know?”

Not really. Buck had sort of bulldozed through his twenties with a brick on the gas. No stopping. No slowing down. Whatever snagged and held got dragged along in the turbulence of his life as long as it could cope: people, jobs, places, they all blurred into one and other in an unending train of flashes of light and color. 

“I see why you liked them,” Buck says, switching tangents. “They’re pretty cool. Very punk rock.”

He flashes Tommy a grin and the sign of the horns, pleased when Tommy rolls his eyes, amusement clear in every line and upwards curve of his face. Buck can smell the sweet powdery edge of his deodorant and see the sweat blotting at his temples right where he’s started to go gray. He weighs the pros and cons of yanking Tommy down by his belt and wasting fifteen minutes making out on the floor between islands of miscellanea.   

“Don’t even joke, the only punk rock going on in the Idaho panhandle was of the Boots & Braces variety.” Buck pulls a face and Tommy continues. “They’re more of an honorary thing anyway, you get ‘em after you pass your paratrooper training.”  Tommy nudges the box with his toe. “They’re not exactly practical.”

“They could use some buffing up,” Buck admits, taking a boot in hand, inspecting the scuffed heel. 

“Don’t start,” Tommy huffs. “You’re going to give me war flashbacks. Literally.” Buck stares shamelessly as he pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow, making hot, implicit eye contact when Tommy drops it again.

“None of that, we’re on a tight schedule.” Tommy sticks a finger in his face like he’s warding off Buck and his nefarious intentions. 

“Fair enough, where do you want them, Sir?” He quips, all tongue and cheek.

Tommy shakes his head in defeat, grabbing a random collection of items from the floor before making his retreat. The nape of his neck is flush pink. “You can stick all that stuff in the keep pile.”

Buck salutes his back. He figured that would be the answer.

[elliespeach]

you belong to me | part two

 

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: ellie’s crush seems to spiral out of control one day on patrol and now she’s left to face the consequences.

warnings: 18+, strong language, sexually explicit descriptions, ellie and reader smoke weed together, possession and jealousy, david bowe? sandra

wordcount: 3k+ (periodt)

author note: thank you guys for so much love on the first part, i appreciate it more than you know that people enjoy my writing! i saw a tiktok about how moonage daydream is probably one of ellie’s favorite songs and i HAD to jump on it (i dont know who made the tt im sorry) i love that song and personally, i totally see ellie loving it so u know i had to incorporate it somehow. i hope you guys like this one! w loveeeeee

ellie held open the door for you once you reached her garage behind joel’s house. the small but cozy little apartment was familiar to you, the smell of weed and ellie was pungent but delightful as always. a small smile appeared on your lips as you glanced around ellie’s room, you’ve seen it a hundred times but it just screams ellie and you loved every knick-knack. ellie couldn’t help but stare, twiddling with her fingers ever so slightly but when you caught her eye she dropped her hands and her eyes darted to the wall. 

“uh– dina and i smoked my last blunt, gotta roll a new one.” ellie stammered, suddenly really aware of her movements. she made her way to her small couch, gathering her supplies to make the perfect blunt for you. she could roll with her eyes closed, but you made her so nervous and she was worried her shaky hands would spill her stash. 

normally, ellie wasn’t like this around you but given the circumstances, she couldn’t help it. 

fuck oh my god ellie just fucking roll like you’ve done a thousand times. she made the mistake of glancing at you, seeing you looking around her room. her heart nearly lurched from her chest, you fiddled with her paint brushes, leading your finger to the comic book she had open on her desk. rollrollrollrollroll.

“what’s this?” 

“my amazing-spiderman comic, i read it like a thousand times already.” ellie had regained control of her shaky hands, putting all of her focus into it. you let out a small laugh, causing her to lose focus and look up at you.

“nerd alert…” you said under your breath in a joking tone, locking your eyes on her stereo. 

“excuse m–” 

“what tapes do you have?” you searched through her tape box, landing on david bowe, you let out an exaggerated gasp “oh, perfect!” 

ellie scoffed lightheartedly, “i have the blunt ready, when you’re done bullying me.”

“oh please, i could do worse,” you skipped to moonage daydream and pressed play. the music erupted through the speakers and you turned it down to a reasonable volume and turned back to ellie, who was watching you diligently. “thank you.” 

ellie held out the blunt for you and you took it while settling in on the couch, the song vibrating throughout the small garage. “don’t sweat it, anything for you.” 

keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe, put your ray gun to my head

“no, really thank you, for everything.” you said, taking a hit from the blunt. feeling what little nerves you had left diminish into thin air. being around ellie had calmed you down a lot more than you had anticipated, and this was noticeable to ellie as you got more comfortable on her small couch. she watched your every move, fuck you look good hitting the blunt. 

press your space face close to mine, love, freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah

“like i said, anything for you,” you reached out, offering her the blunt next and she took it with ease. “can i ask you something?” ellie asked, her confidence coming back with the high creeping up on her. 

“shoot.” you responded.

“what did you see in her?” along with her question, she passed the blunt off to you, and you hit it while contemplating your answer. 

don't fake it, baby, lay the real thing on me

“i don’t know, if i’m being honest. she asked me on a date and we had a good time,” you took a beat. “it was nice, for a little. i guess.” 

“she didn’t deserve you, you know?” ellie remarked, taking the blunt back. “i’m not saying that because i kissed you, im saying it because i really mean it.” and because i kissed you. because you deserve someone like me. 

not someone like me. just me. 

“yeah, i know.” you answered softly. 

the church of man, love, is such a holy place to be

a silence fell between you and ellie, and she took the time to inhale the smoke into her lungs and back out. it was nearly out now and she ashed it into the tray. you loved the way she looked when she smoked, her hair in a messy bun, eyes red. your mind raced to the thought of her hands on you like they were a few weeks ago, aggressive but polite. the way she treated every curve of your body like it was a piece of artwork, you’d never admit it but you yearned for that feeling again. 

“well, can i ask you a question?” you asked her and she nodded bringing the blunt back to her lips, which somehow gave you small flurries in your stomach. “why did you kiss me?” 

she raises her eyebrows slightly, cocking her head to the side with a smirk. “you kissed me back you know? didn’t we just vow never to speak of it again?” she said in a mock accusatory tone. 

“i asked you a question,” you demanded, half joking. “and we're high, so it doesn’t count.”

make me, baby, make me know you really care, make me jump into the air

she looked down to the blunt between her fingers, choosing her words carefully. “heat of the moment, i think.” lie.

“c’mon ellie, i was honest with you.” you persisted with a laugh, knowing she was keeping the truth from you. 

she breathed out your name and her red eyes bore into yours, “why do you think i kissed you?” ellie spoke softly, as if anyone else would hear. 

she wanted to kiss you again and images of you on your back and your arms wrapped around her neck flooded her mind. it clouded her to say the least, as if the weed wasn’t doing that already. the way your body felt against hers, the electricity she felt when she kissed you and above all, you moaning in pleasure by ellie just simply touching you made her weak in the knees. 

keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe put your ray gun to my head

“i wish you would’ve done it before i went out with her,” you stated, unsure if that was the right thing to say. ellie’s eyebrows raised and you admired her eyebrow slit and how it suited her face well, even if it was an accident. 

“i wanted to ever since you got here,” ellie remarked, thinking about the day you arrived in jackson, she smiled at the memory. “but you were so…you, it made me nervous.” admitting that to you made her cheeks flush bright red and she could feel the heat she was radiating off. 

“oh, wow. i make the infamous ellie williams nervous?” you flaunted, theatrically throwing your hair over your shoulders. 

“shut up.” she playfully pushed your upper body.

“you shut up!” you laughed, pushing her back which resulted in her dropping the small blunt on the floor. you both immediately went to go pick it up, your hands touching as they reached the blunt. you were leaning further over than ellie was, face close to hers and you could swear you felt her breath on your face. 

press your space face close to mine, love, freak out in a moonage daydream, oh

the feeling that came over her the day in the woods was back again, this time in fuller force. every nerve in her body was heightened and her mind was screaming, kiss her you idiot! over and over again until she couldn’t fight the urges anymore.

swiftly, she cupped your face in her hands, pulling you into a deep kiss. it wasn’t hungry or lust filled, it felt sweet and you all but smiled as she did. your hand involuntarily moved up to grab her forearm, desperate for her touches again. and as if she could read your thoughts ellie gently pushed you down so she was over top of you on her small couch. 

the song in the background faded out slowly, the only sound was the heavy breathing of both of you. your legs went around her waist and she lowered herself into you. she pulled away from the kiss, staring at you longingly. a small smile splayed across her face and she reached up to brush away a loose strand of hair from your face. she pushed it behind your ear, following your hair down to your neck with her finger, just looking as if she was committing you to memory. and she was. 

“els?” 

“yeah baby?” she cooed, still hovering her eyes all over you a new found confidence in her, knowing you were just as crazy for her as she was for you.  

her green eyes found yours, “i have patrol in the morning,” you all but whined and ellie groaned playfully, burying her face in the crook of your neck. “i should try and get some sleep,” ellie kissed your neck, sucking on one spot below your ear which made your body twitch. “williams!” you laughed and her face was in front of yours again. 

“stay here tonight?” she asked, almost begged, her puppy eyes nearly bulging out of her head. 

“course,” you replied and she very hesitantly got off of you to go to her dresser. as you sat up on the couch, you noticed the blunt still on the floor. picking it up and seeing it was definitely ashed by now you looked around for her trash can. 

when you went to throw it away you saw crumpled up papers in the bin, ellie wasn’t one to waste and when you reached down to investigate she yelled from across the room, “don’t!” but it was too late, the paper was being unfolded in your hands and when you saw what she didn’t want you too, you understood why.

she had drawn you, on your horse looking out over jackson from the patrol look-out. ellie came up behind you and snatched the paper away from you, replacing it with a large t shirt of hers. “you’ve been drawing me?” you asked sweetly. 

“maybe,” she tried to deflect, “cmon, change. you need your sleep.” you obliged, letting her take the picture which she flattened out on her desk instead of throwing it away again. she was embarrassed about it but you adored it and wondered if that was the first time she had done that. it wasn’t. 

ellie often found herself sketching you, even if she didn’t mean to. she was practicing eyes and thought they looked familiar until she realized they were yours. those were crumbled up as well, probably long gone by now and she cursed herself for it. 

you changed and despite the moment(s) she had with you, she turned away as you did letting you have some privacy. she was waiting patiently, looking at her old books on her shelf when you came up behind her and took her hand in yours. she felt electricity in her hands as you touched her, the feeling not going away as you pulled her into her own bed. 

you fell asleep listening to ellie’s heartbeat in her chest, her arm wrapped tightly around you. there wasn’t much said, the high putting you both to sleep and when morning came ellie was alone in her bed, her clock reading 9:06 am. 

for a scary moment, she thought she had dreamed the whole thing. she got too high and hallucinated you flirting back with her, kissing her sweetly and wearing her t-shirt. she rolled over and noticed a small indent in the bed and could still smell the springy smell that belonged to you. not a dream…

right, you had patrol. but why wouldn’t you wake her? ellie groaned and sat up in her bed, regretful she wasn’t able to say a simple goodbye before you left. she knew from previous trips you’d be back in about an hour, so ellie got up and got ready for the day and set out for the front gates. it was the middle of spring, she decided to wear a short sleeved blue button up with ripped jeans and her converse that desperately needed replacing.

as she approached the gates, the familiar sound of bustling jackson townies filled her ears. she could smell the breakfast from the only restaurant in town and her mouth filled with water, but she was determined to make sure you got back safely first. 

she was approached by dina, who looked tiresome. “thank god we have the day off, im exhausted.” normally, she would agree. patrolling could get boring as often as she did it, the same routes she’s always taken, fighting small groups of infected here and there. but today she wished differently, her eyes darting from dina and the still closed gates, she wished she could have come with you. 

“yeah,” was all she said at first, contemplating telling her friend about the events of last night. sandra breaking up with you, taking you back to her place, how you kissed her back passionately. it made ellie think about how you could have ever been with sandra, and if you ever kissed sandra like that, felt her the way you did with ellie. a feeling of jealousy swarmed over her, glossing over her thoughts and destroying them. had you done all of that with her? did you think about me when you were with her? were you with her like that?

she decided against speaking about it, scared that she would burst into flames on the spot. “i’m switching back to morning patrols next week.” ellie announced to dina who raised her eyebrow in question before coming to her own conclusion about why. 

“so things are good with you guys again?” dina asked, biting into a sandwich and the sight made ellie’s stomach grumble. 

ellie looked everywhere but her friend. “yeah, i guess so.” she figured dina had no idea what transpired last night being so enveloped in jesse, but dina knew something was off even if ellie had stated you two were okay. 

“so, what happened? all the gritty details, please.” dina said in between bites, ellie’s eyes still wandering to the gate. 

“where’s jesse? shouldn’t you two be off, i don’t know, making babies?” ellie said defensively, having no effect on dina being as she's used to ellie’s snarky remarks. she glanced back from the gate to look at her friend whose mouth was agape. 

“oh my god, ellie williams what did you do?” 

ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “i didn’t do anything!”

“tell me right now, ellie. malcom owes me some favors and putting your name on horse clean-up will be no problem.” dina threatened. 

she sighed, looking to the ground in defeat. “sandra broke up with her and i made her feel better, okay? that’s all.” 

“you boned her the night she got broken up with?” dina asked, astonished at her friend. 

“jesus christ,” ellie sighed. “no, i didn’t bone her, asshole. we just smoked and talked for a while and…” 

“and what?” dina cut her off quickly. 

“she may have spent the night.” dina’s shocked expression changed into a soft one and ellie immediately huffed, looking back to the gate. still not opening. 

“dina!” they both heard jesse’s voice behind them, dina turned to see her boyfriend waving her on. 

“i have to go, but i want details when i see you later!” she stated swiftly before patting ellie on the shoulder and sprinting to jesse. ellie said a quick goodbye before hearing the familiar sound of the creaking gates, indicating you had returned. 

before she knew it herself, her legs were moving her towards the gate as the horses started to stride in. she waited anxiously, scanning faces of all the morning patrols before landing on your beautiful face, but when she glanced over to see your patrol partner, her hand clenched into a fist by her side. 

it was sandra, her horse keeping the pace next to yours as if on purpose. ellie’s face went red, feeling the heat burning her cheeks she thought she would have burn marks from it. she watched as you looked at sandra, laughing. that laugh you had been blessing her ears with the night before. “the fuck…?” ellie said to herself in a low whisper. 

you made eye contact with a disturbed ellie, quickly glancing back to sandra as if to say bye. and as ellie approached you and your horse, she helped you dismount without a word. “hey els,” you said happily, hoping to see her face relax. it didn’t, but ellie handed off the reins to a stable keeper before taking her hand in yours. 

she basically dragged you away from the stables, taking a quick look back to see sandra looking at you two with an unrecognizable expression. “ellie, she was already scheduled–” 

jealousy pouring out of her, ellie responded, “i don’t care about that, what i do care about is her playing with your feelings.” she said in a huff. her hand was still firmly in yours, leading you away. 

“she’s not playing with my fee–” 

“what was that, then?” she turned to you, stopping both of you in your tracks. “did she even apologize to you? does she even know how much she hurt you?” 

“well– uh… not really.” you responded shyly.

“exactly,” she let out a deep breath, she had stopped you in a small alleyway between unoccupied houses, the sound of the town around you seemed to drown out behind ellie’s heavy breathing. 

“i know what this is,” you said with a playful smile. “you’re jealous.” you pointed a finger at her chest and poked her jacket. 

“what?” she asked, half listening. her mind was racing with the thoughts of you and sandra on patrol together, laughing together, being together. 

“you’re jealous,” you said simply, reaching your hand up to her chin gently, redirecting her eyes to you. “its sweet really. but you don’t have to worry about her anymore.” you planted a small kiss on her burning cheek. 

ellie’s eyes closed in comfort at your touch. you pulled away, your intoxicating scent leaving her swiftly before her eyes opened again, peering at yours intensely. your faces just inches from her’s, ellie pulled you into a kiss. wrapping her arms around your waist to bring you even closer.

“okay,” she breathed, finally feeling herself relax with your reassurance. suddenly feeling a little self-conscious of her actions she cleared her throat. “let’s get some breakfast, yeah?” you nodded before wrapping yourself around her arm and continued walking further into town.  i don’t have to worry about her anymore, she repeated to herself. you belong to me.

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ɪɴꜰᴜʀɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅɪᴇꜱ || ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ! ᴀᴜ ||

a/n: guess who procrastinated and ended up writing a thing :) 

In all seriousness I’m a complete and utter simp for Cole Brookstone and he is unreasonably attractive in looks personality and everything in between, especially for a goddamn lego man.

Playlist reference: https://youtu.be/j45ogZNaCis

Soulmate AU: Everyone has a soulmate designated to them since the moment they’re born. The tell-tale sign to single them out are the fact that you can hear what songs the other is listening to at any moment of the day.

Ugh. Not this again.

You groan, sitting up as the all-too-familiar sound of soft rock starts playing in the back of your mind. You shake your head slightly to rid the grogginess threatening to lull you back into comforting sleep.

You grab your headphones, immediately sliding them onto your ears as the soothing sound of chill pop music quickly drowns out the soft rock. On the bright side, it means that your soulmate exists.

On the other hand, it also means that whoever they are, they get up at ungodly hours of the day.

You stare blearily at the digital clock.

Five AM. 

You'd gotten used to the routine by now, but the days when your soulmate slept in were few and far between. Nonetheless, it's surprisingly boosted your productivity since the music started playing a couple months ago. 

"Stop it already!" 

You grumble, grabbing a pillow and covering your face with it. You press your face harder into the soft material, willing with all your might for the music to stop.

It'd been three days since it had started, and you abhorred every second. 

It was annoying, repetitive, and not your preferred genre at all.

You'd seen many compatible couples with similar music tastes, so why was your soulmate so adamant about having such lousy taste in tunes? Feeling bitter, you decide to drown it out with a playlist of your own. It was custom-made by you, and it took you ages(half a year, to be exact) to put it together.

It was a compilation of your favourite songs and the exact opposite of your soulmate's preference. You knew it annoyed them because every time you played a specific song they hated, they'd play something else you usually shut out in the first three seconds by aggressively playing the music they disliked on repeat.

It took a while, but you had finally called a truce(for now) with your soulmate by playing one of their favourite songs, and they begrudgingly did the same for you in return. 

Your friends were weirded out when you first revealed that you hated your soulmate's music taste. Obviously, they had never faced that issue. You were met with confused questions, your friends clueless and oblivious that people could dislike their soulmates. 

It was a foreign concept, but it was one that you were living. 

At first, you were excited that you could finally hear the songs your soulmate liked to listen to. 

That same excitement soon morphed into disdain for the genre they listened to. 

Now, you survey the bedroom you're in, taking note of all the scattered cardboard boxes. They were filled to the brim with various items of yours, some containing knick-knacks you've picked up randomly off the streets or in night markets. 

"Are you ready to go?" You turn your attention to your mother entering your room. She eyes the mess with a disapproving gaze, and you smile weakly. "I'll clear it up before the moving vans come?" You negotiate, hoping to escape an earful after getting out of bed so early.

She sighs. "Fine, but make it quick." She leaves the room with a pointed glare, shutting the door behind her. You sigh in relief, grabbing a roll of duct tape from your dresser and taping the boxes shut. You grab a marker and label each box with the contents inside.

 It took a while, but you were finally done. You wipe the sweat off your brow, glancing around at the now neatly packed and stacked boxes, arranging the last one in front of you. You grab the bag you had packed the night before, all the necessities inside. By now, the music from your soulmate had stopped playing(thank god for that), and you were halfway through your playlist. 

"Ready to go?" Your dad calls from outside. 

"Yeah, coming down in a sec!" You yell back, standing in the doorway. You look back at your room. The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath. 

Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your parents are waiting.

"Are your friends not seeing you off?" You're immediately greeted with a question as soon as you shut the car door, sitting in the back. You look up to see your dad looking at you with a raised brow, waiting patiently for your answer. You pause the music, and the sweet sound of silence greets your ears.

"Yeah, we already said our goodbyes yesterday." You reply with a shrug. Alicia and the rest of your friends brought you out for dinner at the pizza place you often frequented, and you spent the night giggling and reminiscing past memories. 

They dropped you off at two AM, and you snuck into the house without anyone noticing. Your friends had made you promise to text often, and you'd definitely update them as soon as you reached Ninjago City. 

Your dad seems satisfied with your answer and starts driving off. 

Your phone beeps and you pull it out to see messages from your friends. 

'Send souvenirs! Or face my wrath when we meet up again.' - Alicia

'Brooo' - Brenden, image.jpeg attached.

'Call when you reach! And make sure you drink plenty of water, you dehydrated fungus.' - Nico

You giggle at the messages, opening up the group chat to see a short video they filmed in the morning before school. You slide your headphones onto your ears, pressing play.

"Yo, have a safe trip or whatever!" Brenden's black hair is frizzy and unkempt, a clear sign that Alicia had probably dragged him out of bed for this. He's shoved aside, and the phone is grabbed, a familiar face coming close to the camera. 

"Nico, she can't see your face properly if you hog the camera!" Alicia complains, grabbing Nico by her coat and snatching the phone away. A head of red hair comes into view, a stark contrast to the shy brunette beside her. 

"Bring souvenirs!! I heard that the candy over there is to die for." Alicia demands with a bright grin, and you roll your eyes. 

"Guys, Ms. Fergurson is coming!" Nico warns. 

Alarm is apparent in all of their eyes. "Oh god, okay, we gotta go now, or we'll get caught! Bye, Y/n, love you stinky three thousand." The video is cut short, and you stifle a laugh at the sudden ending.

'Thanks guys, love you stinky three thousand.' 

You quickly type out the response and continue to scroll through Instagram for the remaining time it takes to get to the capital city. 

You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you. 

You're here. 

Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. 

"That's the school you'll be attending tomorrow." Your mum points out from the passenger seat, and you follow the direction she's pointing to. You stare at the large school on the right. 

‘Ninjago High School’

You hum in thought, already filled with anxiety for the following day. It didn't help that you were from the outskirts and had a different(and probably lacking) curriculum. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush. 

You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and your mum instantly turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything. 

She turns back around, choosing to let it pass. 

You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. "Dad, could you drop me off here?" He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk. 

You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront. 

'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'

"There's a Chinese takeout nearby if you wanna grab dinner before meeting us at the new house." Your dad has a GPS pulled up on his phone, texting you the address of your new home. 

"Yeah, I'll grab some food on the way back. Gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow." You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back. 

"See you later then, kiddo. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around." 

Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. 

"...Ninjas?" You mumble in confusion before shrugging it off. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent. Your mum usually just went along with his whims. 

The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him. 

"Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?" 

"Well, right here, of course!" You cringe at his response, realizing how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you. 

"Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?" 

"Uhm, I'm Y/n. I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man.

"Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too." 

Your brows furrow, wondering why everyone around you knew what these ninjas were, but you had no clue. "Ninja?" 

Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips, and he waves off your question. "You'll find out soon enough." He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating. 

"It should be fine then…." He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up. 

"Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics." He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over. 

The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.

Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze. 

He’s kinda cute.

You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gave you. It wasn't a good one; it was more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.

You finally find the issue you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair. 

After all, what would you be if not cursed with bad coincidence?

You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Rude.

Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. 

"She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first." Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.

"Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay." 

Damn.

You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pant’s voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier. 

Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.

"I trust Rufus. He's a good friend." 

"...Maybe." 

"Is that…? OMG! It's them!!"

You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past fifteen minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago.

You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you. 

"Oh no." You watch all the color drain from Greenie's face while Mr. Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression. 

"Not again…" You hear him mutter.

The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realize that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both. 

"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.

"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.

At least now you know Mr. Grumpy Pant's name. 

You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the Chinese Takeout store and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.

You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from the Chinese Takeout, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost fall. 

A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier. 

His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, punching his chest weakly. Unfortunately, your body's affinity to whatever created muscles in your body was little, making you regret not going to the gym after years of procrastination.

He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. You hear the gradual approach of his fangirls and realize that he had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.

"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your punches slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist. You allow him to do so, your mind blank and realization slowly dawning on you. 

Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.

Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.

Your soulmate's a celebrity?

You'd think that being a celebrity would mean that his music taste would be of at least adequate quality.

"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.

"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. 

Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you. 

"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seemed to display. "And what do you mean nauseating song? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily!"

You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper. 

"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants. 

You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realizes the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory. 

"You really gotta get more variety." Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line. 

"Speak for yourself." You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd definitely mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you actually are.

He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. "How on earth are we even going to get along…." You mutter to yourself.

Cole looks up, seemingly having heard your quiet mumbles. "I could say the same thing. I can't be with someone who can't tell the difference between good music and bad!"

How insufferable.

But you can't help ogling his arms when he props his hands on his hips, the muscle ready to tear through the thin material. You tear your gaze away, crossing your arms. Unfortunately, he catches your eyes wandering, a cocky smirk tugging the corner of his lips up. 

Your cheeks instantly warm, and you look away in embarrassment.  

"Well, whatever. Just find me when you want to learn what real music sounds like!" 

"Fine!"

"Fine then!"

With that, the conversation ends, and you both turn to face opposite ends of the alleyway, walking away from each other with flushed faces and burning cheeks.

'Wait, I didn't give him my number.' 

You realize, turning around.

"I'll find you!" Almost as if he senses your hesitation, he answers your unasked question.

You turn with a huff, “Didn’t ask!" You yell back. 

To drive home your point, you place your earbuds back into your ears and hit play on your playlist.

Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated sigh, but surprisingly enough, the tune didn't sound as vexing as before. 

It might even be a little bit endearing.

[lunar-years]

I LOVE thinking about royjamiekeeley's future home together and how all three of their styles would come together to create a living space that is so very them :)

I think it's especially important to Jamie because he's never really had a space of his own as an adult that he's actually considered home before. Like, he bought his place in Manchester when he was just coming into having actual money--and a lot of it--for the first time, and he was spending it not just on himself but also on updates and renovations to Mummy's place and eventually on a home for his dad as well. So for himself he bought his car and a house but then didn't quite know what to do with the rest of it. As a result, for years his home there is just sort of an un-curated mix of the random shit he bought on a whim because he suddenly had the money to do so. Like the painting he walks past everyday and thinks "do I actually like that?" and the foosball table and the garish furniture he picked out because it looked dead cool in the showroom but really doesn't go together at all in his house.

Then when he moved to Richmond, he didn't really want to be there anyway, did he, so it was easier to just hire someone to furnish it for him. And he was on the outs with mummy, so even having family photos up made him feel weird and sad, and there were a couple of things he slowly acquired (like his balloon dog and his lavish headboard), mostly when shopping with Keeley, that he does love, but the house itself is sleek and modern and sterile, and it never really feels quite like his. By the time he comes to think of Richmond as home, he's spending most of his time at Keeley's or Roy's anyway, so he never bothers to make it more his own.

Then they all buy a house together, and Jamie is thrilled but also so overwhelmed, because he's never felt like he had such free reign before in a space since he was hanging up those posters in his childhood bedroom. Thus: his grand idea, presented with great enthusiasm and pride, of framing up his and Roy's England kits side by side in the living room, to which Keeley says absolutely fucking not. But then Keeley brings in her pink chandelier and her neon wall art from the moving van and Roy says absolutely fucking not, and Roy tries to hog all the shelves in the bookcase for his mystery/thriller paperbacks, to which Jamie and Keeley are both like, absolutely fucking not!! Eventually the living room (where they spend most of their time) becomes the perfect mashup of all of them. The furniture is neutral enough for Roy, but accessorized with a ton of throw pillows courtesy of Keeley, and one of Jamie's transformers is next to Roy's books and Keeley's knick-knacks on the shelves, and they've got a gallery wall with photos and framed bits and pieces of all of them.

They have a two-floor home but the main bedroom is of course on the first floor (Roy can't do stairs), and a giant ensuite with a spa tub for Keeley (and for Roy when his knee is acting up), and a shower big enough so that Jamie rarely has to shower alone, if he doesn't want to. Then there's Roy's office and a media room for all of Jamie's gaming consoles and for the boys to watch match tapes that's filled up with all of their medals/trophies/awards. Keeley rarely goes in there, but when she wins like, Boss Ass Bitch of the Year or something (a real award TO ME), Roy and Jamie insist it goes up right alongside their premier league medals, and ceremoniously place it there in a way that has Keeley giggling kicking her feet in love with them <3

Roy's more set in his ways from years of living on his own, so Jamie and Keeley distract him as they decorate the rest of the house by giving him full control of the kitchen, because he's the one who's going to be using it most often, anyway. He gets all the appliances and everything configured, top-grade, with Simon's helpful input. And most importantly, he also makes sure there's a big island he can work at with stools for Keeley and Jamie to sit in and sip their wine prettily or "help" him by aimlessly chopping vegetables as he goes about all the hard work of actually cooking their meals. This is secretly his favorite part of being in the kitchen. He makes sure the stools are very comfortable for them. Also, the fridge is always covered in Phoebe's report cards and drawings and homemade cards :)

Then the upstairs is used for the guest bedrooms for when any of their parents or friends come to stay, plus Phoebe's bedroom/bathroom and Keeley & Jamie's overflow closet and Keeley's home office (she likes to be a floor above to help drown out the noise and help her stay focused when Roy and Jamie are home and screaming at the television about sports on the main floor, or else shagging each other senseless in their bedroom while Keeley still has emails to attend to, thank you.)

And there's a half pitch in the backyard because of course there is, when you're that rich you've got to have a least one thing that lavish. And a garden that Roy really takes to tending, surprisingly, and loungers for Keeley and Jamie to suntan as Roy hovers over them menacingly with a bottle of sun cream.

Ultimately it's theirs and it's home and it's wonderful and even though they all keep a hold of their former houses for financial and media purposes, they rarely ever go back to them. ❤️

[angel-liftr]

a masterlist for lifting UK shops 🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️

thought id give some love for fellow UK lifters (i will update this regularly)

Sup3rmärķets (TESCO, Aldi, Lidl etc): easy pickings, great for beginners. often LP and beeping gates. cart walk outs are quite difficult because they tend to have the exits blocked off to only if u buy stuff 🏋‍♂️

br@ndy mel1ll (covent garden): mayhem. so busy. workers dont even care so do it on shop floor because they THOROUGHLY check changing rooms. they have LP. nothing is tagged so just sneak it in your shopping bag.

f0rb1dd3n plan3t: slipped a manga under leather jacket EZ

gl0ss13r: impossible because all items u have to ask staff to get from the back. only stuff out is testers and alot of LP. dont even try.

bandai namco camden store: quite easy got so much japanese stationery and figures. the figures were tagged but the alarms didnt go off. got at least 100 in there and staff didnt give a damn! sleeve conceal most and hust drop in bag for rest (i was beeping in other shops LOL)

muji: quite easy, some lp and stationery is just a sleeve conceal!

Sûp3rdrug and Bóöts: multiple LP on medium alert but SUPERSUPERR easy as long as u conceal in a blind spot. my first lift was here 😭👍 sleeve conceal for small items like lipsticks and eyeliner but i like to kneel and pretend to look at products then shove one in my tote for bigger items like shampoos and hair gels!

ĥ&M: easy. most cheap clothes aren't tagged and fitting rooms are only monitered on busy weekends. staff are pretty chill.

Prîmãrk: slightly chill staff, tons of LP and fitting rooms HIGHLY monitored. they search through clothes super thoroughly and will get mad if u try to hide anything. however, their makeups accessories are sooo easy great for beginners.

Süp3rdrỳ: all clothes is tagged, multiple LP around the store and unmonitored fitting rooms but the fitting rooms tend to be near the checkout. only lifted once from here because its not normally busy but staff was definetly suspicious of me. dont reccomend for newbies.

ĥmv: multiple LPs and staff but the staff are so chill someone saw me and did nothing. i normlly sleeve conceal small blind bags or knick nacks and just stuff it in my bag at a blindspot for bigger boxed figurines and manga. some items have rfdi. sliipped a cd under armpit under jacket so EZ

wâterst0ņes: never busy, normally no LP and only staff are at the till or shelving. some items have rfdi.

sp0řțs dîrêct: unmonitored changing rooms and busy staff helpinf customers 24/7 most items have tags. always prettu busy

uřban oûtfittēřs: monitored changing rooms, LP and staff. all items are tagged so bring tools. some have magnet detectors. always busy

urban outfitter tag: (no clue what this is but my magnet wasnt strong enough, howver someties their buzzing machines dont work so u can just walk out with it)

Lûsĥ: no rfdi, pretty busy. lots of staff who will ask to help you out. no LP. no buzzing machines

Tỳpö: no LP, rarely rfdi, few staff, pretty easy to sleave small items like washi tape and pens.

The flying tiger: really easy, no LP, no rfdi and few staff. however normally busy and its full of millenials who WILL rat u out if they see.

miniso: quite easy but lots of staff. just drop in bag and come when its early.

[fiddlehead-soup]

Astarion Helping Reader w/Chronic Hand Pain!

A more in-depth headcanon about applying the kinesiology tape!

He starts by shaving your arms: Your hands ache and doing one more strenuous task with them should be avoided. He moves the razor in slow, sweeping glides, sure to catch every last hair so you won’t be irritated by the adhesive when removing the tape later.

You know it would be opportune for him should he ‘accidentally’ knick you with the blade, it happens when you shave yourself all the time, but he would never: you are in enough pain as is and he’d hated to see you in any more, especially at his own hand. You trust him. He trusts you to trust him.

When you’re smooth as silk, he holds your arm tenderly in his hands, placing kisses from your elbow up to your wrist, all the way to your fingertips; admiring the part of you that you disdain the very most. Watching him eases the pain, just a little.

Then he cuts the tape with a knife he keeps sterile just for this. You watch as he’s meticulous about the length of each strip, and the curves on each end. He lines them up with your arms and makes adjustments, and you can’t help but think he looks so very adorable when he’s so concentrated like this.

When you laugh, he pouts, and asks, “What?”

You couldn’t help it. You were so happy, it just came out. And then he smiles, because he realizes that was the first time you’d seemed in higher spirits since your latest flare up began.

It’s time for him to remove the backing and adhere the strips to your skin. The patterns he makes with the tape are like art on your skin, and you can only sigh in relief once it’s all over and done with. Your muscles already feel worlds better, there's a weight off you now, and it’s all thanks to him.

Astarion gives each palm one last kiss, and you thank him with a hug and a cuddle at the riverbend you were sat at, watching the water rush by and talking about all the little nothings that came to mind.