#custom ribbon with logo

[ribbonfactory]

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[shybunnie20]

BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute. 

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bittersweet 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Your startup business catches the eye of a powerful rival.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

It’s baking day. Your kitchen is stolid with the heat of the oven and the treats cooling on the counter. Your apartment has been converted into a pseudo chocolate factory; though you wouldn’t claim Wonka’s glory. You are certain to keep to food-safe standards however and so your morning began with sanitization, another two hours on top of a long day. 

It’s a few weeks out to the next show; a local festival that hosts all sorts of local shops, though the biggest attraction are the musical acts. Even so, you’re hustling as best as you can. You spent a portion of the baking show profit to get a kiosk in the mall for the holiday weekend. It’s a big deal, you expect a crowd and now you have an idea of how much you’ll need to bring. 

You sigh as you tally up what you have so far. You’ll be in the kitchen all week at this rate and you don’t think even then you’ll meet your set quota. You’ll still do well but you can’t help the echo of that man’s words. You’re hitting a wall on your own. 

And you’re running low on red cacao. You frown at the slack canvas bag. That’s another trip to the bulk seller down by the freeway but that’s so far out, it’ll eat at least an hour and a half off your day.  

He’s right. That pompous snakish man is right. You can’t keep up with the demand.  

No, you can. You’ll bake into the night if you have to. It’ll be cooler then, anyhow. You inventory your cupboards as the oven radiate with heat. You have a list. Tomorrow you can get to that but for now, you’ll start packaging the chocolates in the fridge. 

You count out the truffles and fudge squares precisely. Each one in a sleeve or a box. You’ll add all the little details later; a ribbon, a bow, a seal. You yawn at the repetition but aren’t bored by it. Having your own business isn’t exactly dull, if anything it’s tantalizingly stressful. 

Your tablet dings as the baking show you keep on stream quiets for the notification. The woman’s voice returns to full volume as you approach to check the icon in the margin. It’s from your online shop front. Between the physical work, you can’t forget about the healthy tide of orders coming in virtually. 

It adds to the weight on your shoulders. You slump and drag down the notification bar. It’s large order and before you can skim each item, another notification sweeps in. You tap the inquiry so that the message opens.  

The inquiry is labeled with the same order number that just came up. You squint. ‘...requires in-person to order address...’ You don’t do that. It isn’t an option but the customer’s tone comes of insistent even over text. They promise a gratuity and underline that they did pay for the expedited option. 

That’s the first position you’re hiring when you can make the space. A customer service representative because you hate this. You go back to review the full order. It’s a lot; a lot of baking and a lot of money. 

You’ll have to make it work yet there’s this needling voice in the back of your head, slithering and sharp, you can’t keep this up forever. 

🍫

Surely, it’s the wrong address.

You idle in your large SUV, the nearly two-decade old model puttering between the sleek modern cars the fill the spaces outside the luxurious storefront. You gulp as you peer up at the moniker. You recognise the brand and the logo. 

Black Snake. It’s some sort of trick. You should have been suspicious.

The chocolatier isn’t unknown to you beyond your encounter with its owner. While the headquarters are nestled right at the heart of your city, there are locations across the country and even a few international. The local start-up boomed onto the front page and you can’t say it had nothing to do with your own come up. You offer a more affordable option with the same premium taste. 

You suppose he doesn’t like the competition. You wouldn’t either but you put yourself out there against the Black Snake monopoly knowing you would be trudging uphill. You get out and try not to think too much. 

You unlock the hatch and take out the large box stamped with your business name; Sweet Nothings. You approach the front door, trying to see through the tinted windows that form the front wall, and it opens before you can reach it. Shoot, he’s expecting you. 

“Ah, right on time,” Loki greets as he checks his watch. “I see you’ve no branding on your vehicle.” 

You try not to cringe. He has an eye for detail. You bite down on your smile. 

“Hello again,” you try to act like his foreboding hasn’t haunted you for a week, “I have everything in here--” 

“I didn’t see a reselling clause on your terms of service,” he proclaims smugly, “these should be popular.” 

“Ah,” you hesitate as he steps out of the door to hold it open for you, “you’ve paid so I guess I can’t stop you.” 

“Mm, and how is business then? You are quick to respond. Can’t be very hectic, then.” 

You take the jab like a weathered boxer. You don’t flinch, you just keep going. You stride inside and look around. You carry the box to the empty space the counter. 

“As promised, I will transfer a fee for your trouble,” he follows quickly. 

“Thanks, uh, I should--” you face him as he blocks your path. 

“You’ve a pop-up. This coming weekend.” 

The advert is at the top of your online shop. Of course, he would know. His diligence is starting to eke you out. 

“I do,” you confirm, “so I should be off.” 

“Yes, you have much work to do. Tell me, how many ovens do you have going?” 

Your expression falls, “you spent all this money to mock me?” 

“No, I’m simply discussing business. Seeing as I am experienced, I thought I might offer some sage advice,” he flutters his long fingers. 

“I appreciate that, really, but I am running a business, same as you, so if you would like to discuss that, you are more than welcome to make a proper appointment with me. Like a business person.” 

He snickers at the slant in your voice, the tone that insists you’re legitimate like him. 

“I didn’t see that option on the store front,” he counters. 

“You have my card,” you sniff and step around him. “Feel free to let me know if you have any concerns about your order.” 

“Wait--” He calls after but you’re already halfway through the door. 

[eileen-crys]

Freddie Mercury

Rarity: 5☆

Weapon: Sword

Vision: Pyro

Nation: Sumeru

Constellation: Cantor Phoenix

Here's Freddie from my Genshin Impact x Queen crossover!

Freddie is a famous singer from Sumeru, who has also traveled to Fontaine with Xinyan to learn rock music and share it with the rest of Teyvat, aiming to get in his own band. He uses his Pyro energy to heat the audience up and unleash his powerful voice. He loves to use his very own custom-built microphone/sword to fight enemies and sing on stage. However, Freddie has a soft and loving side to him, he's very loyal, selfless and determined to bring a smile to everyone!

Freddie was so much fun to design and -while keeping in mind his Pyro element and the Sumeru region- I mixed a ton of Freddie's outfits together to make it as flamboyant and royal as possible! Zhandra Rhodes, the feathers from his Hard Life outfit, his sequined and harlequin leotards, a red scarf directly from Hot Space, gloves and wristbands, the iconic black nail polish, obviously an exposed chest... And lots of wings to recall both the phoenix and the god Mercury! His microphone/sword recalls the red Q ribbon and the rose thorns in the Queen logo, while the rose in the middle is the Freddie Mercury rose.

Here you can see all the sketches with very early studies for all their designs and Here is a little overview of them as characters, with aesthetics and quick summaries. ROGER | JOHN | BRIAN

Hairless version (more aligned with Genshin's aesthetic):

Please do not repost! Reblogs and comments are always welcomed! 💜

[levisjinchuriki]

you look good spoiled - eren jaeger

summary: eren loves spoiling you and decides to splurge on christmas

warning: plug!eren, christmas with bf eren, reader getting spoiled, one curse

you’re surrounded by stacks of gifts wrapped in designer paper, each box more luxurious than the last. louis vuitton, chanel, and gucci logos peek through the meticulously tied bows. the smell of pine and cinnamon fills the room, but it’s mixed with the faint, earthy aroma of the blunt in eren’s hand. you’re curled up on the couch, a glass of spiked eggnog cradled in your hands.

“babe, you really didn’t have to go this crazy” you say, gesturing to the mountain of presents. your tone is light, but the sheer amount of it all is overwhelming—even for someone as spoiled as you.

eren, sprawled out next to you in black sweats that hang low on his hips and a fitted white tee that clings to his chest, smirks. his hair’s pulled into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing his sharp jawline. “you’re acting like you didn’t send me a whole list, princess” he says, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he takes a slow drag from the blunt.

you bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide. he’s got you there.

“well, yeah” you tease, setting your glass down on the side table, “but i didn’t expect you to actually buy everything” your voice lilts with feigned innocence as you cross your legs.

eren exhales a cloud of smoke, lazily blowing it toward the ceiling before flicking the ash into the crystal tray on the coffee table. “don’t play with me” he says, his smirk widening as he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “you knew what you were doing, sending me links with ‘this would look cute on me’ in the captions. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t make it happen?”.

you haven’t heard the word “no” since the two of you got together, and honestly, you don’t expect to. your cheeks warm as you take a sip of your eggnog, using the glass as a shield to hide the grin tugging at your lips.

your eyes wander over the gifts, a mix of excitement and disbelief bubbling up in you. “you really got everything on the list?”.

“and then some” he says, taking another pull from his blunt. he tilts his head toward a smaller pile near the back. “those are surprises”.

you hum thoughtfully. since eren went all out, it’s only fair that he opens one of his presents first.

you lean forward and hand him a neatly wrapped black box.the ribbon glints gold, tied perfectly, and for a moment, eren just looks at it, his green eyes squinted playfully. 

“this better not be socks, or i’m returning all your shit” he jokes, shaking it gently near his ear.

impatiently, he tears into the paper. when he gets to the sleek box inside, his hands slow, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mutters, lifting the lid.

for a moment, his usually cocky demeanor falters. inside is a custom diamond-encrusted lighter, the silver metal gleaming under the warm glow of the christmas lights. the diamonds catch every flicker, and engraved along the side are the initials “e.j.”

he’s quiet, which is rare for him. turning the lighter over in his hands, his thumb brushes over the engraving, tracing the letters like he’s committing them to memory.

“damn” he mutters, turning the lighter over in his hand, the engraved initials catching the glow from the tree. “this is fire”. 

you watch him lean back, flicking it open to admire how it lights with a smooth, satisfying click. 

“you like it?” you ask, your voice almost hesitant.

“like it?” he glances up at you, his green eyes soft in that rare way they only get when he’s looking at you.

before he can respond, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly tender. eren doesn’t let you go far. in one swift motion, he pulls you into his lap, his hands finding their place on your waist like they belong there. his thumbs rub slow circles against your hips as he kisses you in appreciation. 

when eren pulls away, his thumb brushes your cheek one last time, and his smirk softens into something more genuine.

“thank you, baby” he says, his voice low and sincere. he glances down at the lighter still in his hand, then back up at you. “seriously”.

you’re about to brush it off, but then he shifts under you, sitting up straighter. 

“alright” he says. “your turn”. eren leans over the side of the couch for a moment before holding a light blue bag. the name shines in elegant silver lettering, and your eyes widen in shock.

tiffany & co. 

“eren—” you gasp, your voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

your hands shake slightly as you reach into the bag, lifting out a small box with a white ribbon on top. when you lift the lid you can’t believe your eyes.

inside is a diamond tennis bracelet, flawless stones shimmering against the velvet lining. it’s beautiful—too beautiful.

“babe” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lift the bracelet out of the box. the diamonds feel cool and impossibly smooth against your fingers, and you can’t stop staring. “this is… i don’t even know what to say”.

“i know you’re gonna say i’m doing too much” eren murmurs, his voice soft as he carefully clasps the bracelet around your wrist, making sure it’s snug. “but you deserve it”.

the weight of the diamonds settles on your skin, and you can’t stop admiring how perfect it is. before you can find the words to respond, he tilts his head, his green eyes searching your face.

“what you think, mama?” he asks, his tone almost teasing, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the way he watches you.

you don’t answer—not with words, at least. instead, you lean in and kiss him, deeply and appreciatively, pouring all the emotion you can’t seem to articulate.

eren’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as he tilts your chin up with his other hand. his lips curve into a smile against yours, soft and full of warmth.

“guess you like it” he chuckles, knowing you have plenty more gifts to open.

---

a/n: thank you for reading. happy holidays everyone!!

[nat-20s]

BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP HAUNTED DOLL WATCH!!! went to an event called 'Creeporado' tonight and bought my first (allegedly) haunted doll

Some info from squinting at the logo on her back and some rudimentary internet sleuthing: she's a vintage doll from the 1940s, from a company called Hollywood Doll. She was from the "little friends" line, either specifically the pretty kitty or nursery rhyme set. Her specific dolls name I couldn't figure out, as they made a lot of these little blonde bitches. Going by ribbon color, this pic was the closest I could find if what she might've looked like as a non nude, more well kept doll

I plan to reduce her desire to eat the souls of the innocent by trying to return some of her former glory and also custom making a dress for her! Will post any major updates if any of y'all are interested. Step one is giving her a nice dawn soap wash and seeing if the hair can be helped or need replacement!

[biorust-art]

From one bag to another!

Hey yall, I just recently made Ashton's black side pouch for cosplay and uh, turns out it's relatively easy! You just need a few extra materials and nerves of steel for cutting into your official cr dice bag.

Tutorial under the cut! but ofc if there are any questions, just let me know. Image Descriptions tacked onto the images.

Material list: - CR Dice Bag (I used Ashton's cus i bought the dice and was like, woah the insides are purple just like they're side leg pouch! oh dang!) - Seam Ripper - Cloth the same color as the leather (or not! but you will need some cloth for the back.) - Purple and Black thread (I am assuming yall have a sewing machine, if not this will take longer, but it's not Not doable) - Needle -Seam glue/ Fray glue if needed - Snaps/ buckles/ whatever closures you want to use -Extra chain (though you can probably also use ribbon, embroidery floss or whatever else you have on hand.)

1- First step is carefully cut the seams using a seam cutter. This process does need to be exact if you're going to keep as much as the fabric viable to use.

2- Second step is iron everything out. The leather melts easily so please put something (cloth) over it to stop that from happening.

3- cut the fabric. The approximate end dimensions for the finished bag are: 5.5in x 4.5in x 1.0in OR 13.9cm x 11.4cm x 2.5cm Which mean you will cut the leather side into 4 parts.

Do Not Cut the one with the CR logo if you want to it decorate the front.

Look at the purple squares in the pic above. Do Not alter the width of the leather pieces, instead cut so you have two 1.5in (3.8cm) long pieces and one 3.75in (9.5cm) long piece. There Will Be Extra Leather Left Over.

Cut cloth in a 6in by 5in square (15.2cm by 12.7cm) (the extra .5in (1.27cm) is seam allowance)

4- Assembling. Look at the blue pattern I've drawn out above and lay out the bag pieces how they should be. Always sew with the right sides of the fabric facing each other. Sew the front/bottom of the bag (same piece) to the back, then sides to the front/bottom.

5- Add the purple/ contrast color/ lining of the bag. Determine where you want the contrast color to start (mine is a little less than 2in (5cm) away from the top) Sew the right sides together and then flip the fabric over.

Cut the excess so you have enough to hem (so the edges don't fray) (1in (2.5cm) or so, whatever you're comfortable with) and then hem it down.

You can do the same process with the sides, just be careful if you want the contrast colors to match up with the sides.

6- Sew the sides to the back, then the front. Once Again the right sides are together. I used a machine for this, but if the ends are too close, you can hand sew this in your preferred method (back stich, blanket stitch etc) And then you can turn it inside out and boom! bag looking thing!

7- Next up comes down to a lot of preferences. Hem the flap of the bag in the style you want (I put rounded corners in mine and messed up a bit lol) I have found the leather slips on the sewing machine and is a bit difficult! Be careful of this, go slow.

After hemming the top, you can use the round piece of leather to cut a strip (give or take an inch (2.5cm)) hem it if you want, sew it onto the bag with an X pattern if you want, you choose how you want the front of the bag to look.

I sewed on black snaps to close the bag.

8 - Add the bell's hells pendant. I used an extra chain I had laying around (in gun metal color to match) and simply sewed the chain onto the bag in a way I thought looked cool. Customize it! I imagine Fearne's bag would look cute with a peach ribbon, Laudna with some red string/yard etc etc! go ham.

this bag is going to be attached to my Ashton pants using more snaps but add more things if you want! Add a loop for a belt! etc etc.

I have never made a tutorial before so if there is anything unclear or missing let me know! and if you have tried this, show me how it went!

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

Prompt : 'The svechnikov fam full on pink to see the Barbie movie-'

oh fuck yes 🩷🩷🩷 barbie pink is my favorite pink! technically in the vague timeline i’ve established, none of the babies would be born to see the movie in theaters, but let’s see what outfits the fam would wear:

andrei - obviously the pink lensed raybans, a pink hoodie, and dark jeans. he fully supports the dressing up and lets the girls paint his nails pink too

reader - one of those pink puff sleeved cupcake dresses because the girls saw it in her closet and insist on it. takes a picture in pink platform heels, but changes into pink nikes for actually going to the theater. carries a big pink longchamps back for all the snacks and drinks. wears matching pink heart shaped sunglasses with the girls and gets a custom manicure for the event (little hearts, stars, the barbie logo). does her hair up in a full blowout and wears pink eyeshadow and hot pink lipstick. (if that lipstick ends up all over andrei - all over him - that’s no one else’s business)

evie - ballet pink tutu and hot pink sweater. matching heart shaped pink sunglasses and a pair of ballet slippers that aren’t actually shoes, but who are you to stifle her creativity. wants to carry your hot pink quilted sant laurent bag and packs it full of lipglosses and tiny toys

alina - bedazzled juicy tracksuit. bottoms are hot pink and top is technically lavender, but again, she picked out the outfit and you’re not going to stop her. pairs it with red cowboy boots and a sequinned headband, also adds glitter to her heart shaped sunglasses. ends up trailing glitter throughout the movie theater and car

kira - baby pink gingham dress with pink ribbons tying off her pigtails. wears a pair of plastic princess aurora shoes from the disney store, but her feet hurt after ten minutes so andrei ends up carrying her

dimitri and maks - want nothing to do with the pink or the barbie movie, so you don’t force them into coming and instead they get to stay home with elena and igor. you come home and elena has used temporary hair spray to turn their little matching faux-hawks hot pink. it’s adorable even if it does stain your bathtub

[inkformyblood]

over and over and over again (SatoSugu, JJK)

Slight canon divergence, pre-canon, Pining

It’s said that the definition of insanity is trying the same actions and expecting a different outcome. A curses titters in the corner of the small cafe, oozing between the packets of sugar and sauce, a mug discarded by the previous owner with a spoon resting against the handle. It’s still small, barely more than a wisp of violet light in the corner of Gojo’s eyes, and he lets himself wonder how it came to be. 

Strong emotions, fear, anger, grief, all tie together to make curses, to give them shape and substance, and he thinks the wisp might be leftover from a breakup. It would fit. It’s small at the moment, the dying rattle of every what could-have-been a life together would hold, and it would linger over the sheen of the tables and every discarded crumb of burnt arguments and sticky regret that would be left behind by the endless waves of customers. Over time, that corner would grow dark, damp, miserable, and the owner would tear their hair out trying to fix a problem they couldn’t see. They might drag in fans to clear the air, knock a hole through the wall and encourage natural light that would never fully settle where it was most needed. 

The bell above the cafe door chimes. Gojo doesn’t look up at it. 

He doesn’t need to.

There isn’t anywhere on this earth that Geto could hide from him. Barriers are more of suggestions, the memory of Geto’s fingers tapping against Gojo’s nose the same way he would caution a puppy from leaping up at his leg is still sharp, still bloody, so Gojo stays in the spaces that keep him away from Geto; the school, other countries, places he had never been able to travel with Geto but always wanted to. Even Gojo’s old room feels off limits somehow, the past bleeding into the present with every ragged second, staining everywhere Geto hadn’t touched more than the places he had. 

Gojo brought souvenirs. 

It had been the box that caught his eye first, more than the curse woven round the face of the woman running the stall. She’d been tall, broad-shouldered beneath her neat pinstriped shirt, and she’d only taken a moment to adjust to Gojo’s appearance before her smile stretched wide. He’d babbled about something he couldn’t remember now, might have been about his students — Fushiguru continuing to nurse his crush on Itadori like it’s something possible to blow out, not the controlled blaze Gojo can see that it is — and she’d nodded along, indulging him even as she nudged him towards a sale. She’d been very good so he’d exorcised the curse as he paid, tore clean through the rationality of the universe with a wink as he dropped the coins into her palm.

It screamed as it died, maybe a semi-Grade 3 if he had to put a number to it, digging into her cheek with claws that looked sharp to slice through flesh in an instance and left nothing more than a twinge of pain. She’d cupped her cheek as Gojo walked away, already likely thinking about how she was going to tell her friends about the strange rich man who’d stopped by late at night. The box is dark paper, handmade with the logo embossed on the underside, masterfully made and closed with a ribbon that gleams beneath the artificial lights in the cafe as Gojo pulls it from his bag. There’s a small dent in one corner, a natural weakness in the paper degrading over the journey here, every step Gojo had taken when the bag had swung out and back again imprinted on the shape. He reaches over and places the box on the table next to his, tapping it into neat alignment with the collection of sauce packets and the plastic menu before he retreats. Little gestures he didn’t know to act upon when he was younger and the bitterness still stains his teeth, clogging his throat with everything he should have said. 

It would never be enough, but it would be a start.  

Satoru Geto walks past Gojo’s table and he doesn’t look at him.

Gojo looks at Geto enough for a half a lifetime to slip through his fingers and it would still never be enough. He’s dropped his usual costume for something simpler, his shirt neatly pressed and the cuffs already unbuttoned. The sleeves cling to his forearms, the rough edge of a burn barely visible past the dark fabric, and Gojo’s thoughts catch on it as neatly as a snare laid in his path. Geto’s skin is faintly marked, scars long since faded to silver over the span of his arms, the backs of his hands; Gojo wears the same. His trousers are the style he favours, wide-legged and gathered at his waist and ankles. The fabric rustles together softly as he sits at the table next to Gojo, his stance wide for an instance before he crosses one ankle behind the other. 

Not a single stitch of him touches Gojo.

He looks tired.

There’s fresh lines at the corners of Geto’s mouth, faint enough that Gojo thinks he could smooth them away with the pad of his thumb like they’re nothing more than errant pencil marks; a few new strands of silver winding their way from his temples. He’d never considered what they would look like as they aged, what fresh aches and pains time would bestow on them because it felt like sacrilege. They were never meant to grow old. Geto’s hair is drawn back from his face by a simple braided cord and he pulls it free, sliding the tie onto his wrist instead. He pulls his hair over one shoulder, the opposite side to Gojo so the line of his neck is exposed.

There’s a bruise there, not the expected mark from nails drawn against the same spot in thought or from the heavy chain of jewellery. It isn’t even a bite, some conspirator of Geto allowed nearer than anyone else to peel away the heavy fabric he wears and press their mouth to his skin, taste the tang of his blood across their tongue and wear his colour across their mouth. It’s a bruise from a curse, a blow that stains bone and soul worse than the flesh above it, a wound Gojo couldn’t protect him from.

“You got me a present?” Geto asks, facing forward, his head inclined to one side. There’s an old note of delight in his voice, the same question he would offer to Gojo when they returned from separate missions, both worn thin with exhaustion. As if he couldn’t imagine existing in Gojo’s mind when they were apart.

As if he isn’t the entirety of Gojo’s universe.

“I did,” Gojo answers. He props his chin onto his palm, curling his fingers into the loose section of hair there. He twists one lock around his finger, too short to keep hold of it, long enough to be pulled as a dull ache of pressure creeps across his skull. He bites his tongue to keep everything else he wants to say behind the cage of his teeth; a litany of please come back with me, I miss you, I love you, I love you, I love you I love youiloveyou. 

Geto hums, drawing the box towards himself. The ribbon is the same colour as his hair, ink tipped into water, and it slides free just as easily as Geto draws it loose. There is no chance of interruption, not here, not now. Infinity hums across Gojo’s skin like a second heartbeat, his own personal constellation pulled out of the sky and branded into skin and bone, and he pushes it outwards, drawing a veil around them both. Geto’s lips purse, a deliberate inhalation tripping the exhalation that should be filled with smoke.

The chocolates in the box still shine the same way they did in the small shop Gojo stumbled across, a rainbow hue of colours splashed across the mirror-like surface, each one a perfect bite. He’d eaten one before travelling here, plucking it from the separate bag and biting down, letting the smoky flavour wash over him, crushing the nut pieces between his teeth, wishing it had lasted longer than the few seconds it had taken. There are seven pieces in the box he’s given Geto, seven pieces to last seven days, seven instances when Gojo has to remember him. 

Because Gojo could keep Geto next to him. He could wrap his fingers around Geto’s and never let him leave again. 

He wouldn’t.

But he could.

The thread that keeps Gojo human was braided into existence when the only thing keeping him tethered was the weight of the corpse in his arms and Geto’s hand on his arm. It frays and Gojo reties it with the memory of Nanami’s glare, the one that mean he is trying not to laugh, the corners of his mouth drawn upwards more than down; ties a fresh knot between decaying strands when Megumi leans his head against Gojo’s shoulder when they return from a mission, bone-tired and defiant like a child all the same; weaves a fresh extension from rotten ends because Itadori is still breathing and fuck anyone who tries otherwise. 

But Satoru Gojo is human because Suguru Geto told him to be.

Geto peels back the paper packaging, trailing his fingers over the offering, considering. He plucks one chocolate — the same bright blue as Gojo’s eyes, as infinity — and holds it up to the dull light of the cafe. He twists it this way and that, the pads of his fingers growing tacky as the chocolate melts, clinging to the warmth of his skin. The curse, tiny purple wisp of a thing, crawls out from behind the salt shaker, a tiny chuckle falling from it. What it had wished to do, Gojo can’t say, but Geto’s hand falls, chocolate still held between thumb and forefinger as his palm slams into the curse. It dies stickily, a dark smear over Geto’s palm as he raises his hand to his mouth.

He runs his tongue over his palm, the pale skin beneath revealed, and Gojo chases it with the chocolate, breaking it between his back teeth with a crunch. A shadow falls over Geto’s face, the tendons in his neck cut into sharp relief, a marble carving of suffering that would exist for an instant and an eternity in Gojo’s mind because he hadn’t seen, he didn’t notice, and he would break the universe if it would bring Geto back to him. 

Geto swallows, his eyes closed and his mouth drawn into a tight line before he relaxes. “Thank you for the gift.”

He stands and walks away.

Gojo watches him leave, his palms bloody and his smile too full of teeth. 

[anzuhan]

Meet the almost all-innovade idol group, INN◯ヴェイダ! We promise to form a smile on your faces through elegant, yet cute performances full of life.

{ more info & transparents under cut }

The unit is formed by 3 groups, F◯SIDE, M◯SIDE & X ⦁ Y ⦁ Z —

— F◯SIDE [ unit formed by the 3 female members of INNOVATOR that is sure to steal your heart by their dashingly adorable stage acts♡ ] ;

— M◯SIDE [ unit formed by 3 of the male members of INNOVATOR, their exquisite and unique performances will be catching your eye! ] ;

— X ⦁ Y ⦁ Z [ unit for the last remaining INNOVATOR members as well as the single unit for one of the duos - though sometimes they may be more than 2! XYZ's refined air and focus on their fans is breathtaking. ]

————————————————————————

EXTRA

+ more words

after ... several days and a total of 10h of work (if taken in total of just literal drawing and editing -otherwise itd be far more (´ω｀*)) it's finally done!!!! wow!!! i will be playing with these pngs for a while now. and maybe you'll do that too by having the transparents. there were a bunch of 'hardships' to overcome but i think it all ended up great in the end! I will be talking about some of the work behind the stages too now, as well as ideas and more of the. technical? work. you can stop reading now if you're not interested in what led to this and the inspirations behind it — in which case i hope you adored this at least 5% as much as i do (っ´ω｀)っ

i think it goes without saying i love idols, especially very idol-y music. i'll never go on without it. i love playing dressup with characters and myself all too much as well ; with ribbons ideals of ruling over the earth, im sure he would be happy to find there is another way of doing that without losing your forces either! wow. howd no one tell him of this before? if violence need be at any point, he'd have the whole squad ready as well. Initially i wanted to make the main outfits more uniform for everyone, though because there will be a lot of focus on duos in the end i went with color-coded ones (much like LiPPS from im@s ! though theyre not made of duos for each color - imagine that were the case and youd get this unit). The duo part was also a problem, because regene would've been left out, which is why i decided to take on the indigo suit too. we do look a little odd compared to the other duos though but oh well ♡

Onto the naming, INN◯ヴェイダ has a lot of meaning within it - ◯ is generally a censor for words, though the circle plays a general theme for the naming in all of the main units. in the name for the main group, it simply replaces the O in innovator ; ヴェイダ (lit. veida) was the closest thing i could get to that'd sound both like Veda & innovator (together with the beginning inno). With the maru (◯) being consistent within all other names, the male - female units can be read as both F SIDE/M SIDE or F MARU/M MARU, whichever is more to your liking. XYZ is named the way it is due to - if needed - more of the gaga forces would join in for their performances. initially i wanted to name it ETC but that seemed a bit rude towards bring and divine, i did not want them to feel as simply just 'what's left' of the group, and theyre also generally forgotten alongside the gaga forces ＿|￣|○ i did want them to have their spot too. So i ended up going with XYZ, similar enough to ETC by being the end of the alphabet but it also implies more mystery - besides it sounds cooler too. i think. The tagline is also "Towards a future of YOU & I" (mentioning you in caps first to capture the attention of the reader & to feel inclusive of fans and caring) is that due to.. well. ribbon's wishes of world domination (though idol activities now!) though i think this may be obvious enough.

Though i didnt spend time on them nearly as much, i hope the (very fastly done) logos look good too - main INNOVATOR logo is made fully custom from scratch ; kinda ran out of ideas for the rest and just made them with various premade fonts </3

Ending words - if you got here, first of all thank you for reading all this and being interested in the idea as well 😭 is it clear by now that the innovators specifically mean a lot to me.. probably! i hope they mean something to you too, or that i will at least get to spread a bit more positivity for them through my art (人´∀`)♪

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

Cyberpunk! Shadow Company AU by @r0ttenb0gb0dy

MDNI ! CW: explicit content, sexually explicit material, they're straight up fucking your honor, slight body horror description with cyberware, toxic relationship dynamic, descriptions of piv sex

(p1, p2)

Coda had been mostly joking with Ace whenever he said that they could share the king sized mattress, but Ace wasn't kidding when he agreed. It’s a matter of weeks before they give up on splitting the expanse, ending up entangled in each other's limbs within a matter of time that most would call hurried. Still, Ace doesn't take off the facial distortion.

It's a calculated risk that he can't afford to take at this moment, despite how beautiful Coda’s optics look in the morning sunlight, little green rings on black sclera fixating on where Ace’s face should be. He fights the urge off every morning for months, pushing Coda off of him with a huff to get dressed and ready for the daily grind at Shadows.

Afterall, Coda is still a merc, taking a lion’s share of gigs — he still has a debt to repay.

He finds himself busy most days and most nights, taking contracts smuggling goods from place to place, spending his free evenings at home with Ace. It is home, truly. His things are in the spare dresser drawers, boots are next to Ace’s by the door, floral scented shampoo in the shower.

Late one night, after arriving back from a gig with the item he’d been asked to retrieve — a datashard that Ace needed for an ongoing investigation — he strolled casually into his superior’s office. He’d been around long enough now to gain such trust to do so, tossing the shard on Ace’s desk with a satisfied nod. The fixer glances up for a moment, eyes watching Coda as he goes to leave wordlessly, stopping him just short.

“I got you somethin’.” Ace says quietly, loud enough for the merc to hear. Coda turns on his heel and tilts his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest.

“You cut my debt down to nothing?” Coda says playfully. Ace only chuckles, knowing damn well that he won't let that debt hit zero for as long as he can, because it allows him some gain over Coda. It's nasty, but it's the business they're in. Leverage. Instead of a real reply Ace produces a box from beneath his desk and slides it across the surface, folding his hands in his lap. Coda raises a brow and approaches, chrome fingertips grazing across the wrapping paper. There's a bow on it, too. “It’s not my birthday until July.”

“I can't just give you somethin’?”

“I mean…I guess you could.” Coda murmurs as he pulls on the ribbon.

“You’ve been with Shadows for a year.”

“I have?”

“Three hundred and sixty five days. You’ve lived longer than most of the shit-for-brains zombies in this city.” Ace states, pushing the box closer to Coda. It's roughly the size of his torso, maybe a bit larger to account for packaging. “So, just take it, would you? It's my thanks for being such an asset to the company.”

Coda hesitates to pull the ribbon completely open but when he does he’s surprised. The paper falls open methodically and he’s met with the logo for a Cyberware brand, one he currently doesn't use anything from because truthfully it's out of his grasp. Like his arm, which is a Sandevistan custom made for MaxTac, the box bears their logo.

These aren't the sort of things you can just buy.

It takes time to craft something for someone’s specific system, something compatible with their current cyberware capacity and compressors, and even if you make it that far into the process the price tag is a massive turnaway. He had to have stolen it, Coda is certain, because it's too much for a gift. The lid pops off with ease and he sets it aside, eyes as wide as he scans the Sandevistan tech in the box. It's a custom model, with its name inscribed upon the main panel.

Sandevistan: “Rex.”

It's a long, segmented piece of technology, silver in colour like the rest of Coda’s chrome, with small accents of colour shifting lights. He drags his fingers up the metal, tapping on it to hear the metallic clink.

“Nova…Who’d you klep it from?” Coda asks, his eyes never quite leaving the tech.

“No-one. Ordered it special, direct from Sandevistan.” Ace hums softly, standing up so that he can see into the box as well. He’s mostly looking at Coda’s reaction, though, the way the other man stares with jaw agape. “Happy anniversary.”

“This isn't — that's not…” Coda trails off. “I can't afford this.”

“It's a gift, you don't have to pay for it.”

“What does…what does it do? I've never heard of the model.” The dark haired mercenary asks as he picks up the chrome, watching its spine-like joints curl to every movement his hands make.

“First of its kind, actually, and likely the only one to ever exist. Slows time down for a lot longer than their ‘Apogee’ model or the ‘Dynalar’ — you won't experience any of the discomfort dilation usually comes with, either. Full sensation, so you don't miss a beat. It's compatible with your entire system, I already checked and —” Ace gets cut off by Coda hugging him. He barely even noticed that the mercenary had put the chrome down, let alone leaned over the desk far enough to throw his arms around Ace comfortably. Coda’s face is pressed into the crook of his neck, his arms around Ace’s neck, ensuring that he can't just wiggle out of it. Eventually he caves and wraps his arms around Coda, too, gently rubbing his back. “You alright, sugar?”

“It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” Coda replies, quiet, almost embarrassed about it. He doesn't let go just yet, reveling in the warmth — usually, they only share moments like this briefly in the morning before he's being pushed away. This isn't as fleeting as that, it's much more perpetual, or at least it could be if they let it be. “Thank you, Ace.”

“Any time.”

Needless to say, he's happily jogging down to see Bones within minutes. She’s not up to much of anything short of tending to a bone mount of a cat skeleton — a hobby that she picked up as it was equally delicate work to ripping — so she can fit Coda into her evening's activities. The pulse of the anaesthetic gun against his back is a welcome comfort these days, but nothing could've prepared him for the feeling when he first stood up afterwards. His back felt ice cold, despite the slow trickle of warm blood still seeping out. Any back pain that he'd felt in the nearly three decades he had been alive was eliminated, though, and he had to attribute that to the titanium spine holding him up.

Coda rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath, glancing back to look at Bones and Ace standing behind him. The ripperdoc with a smile, her hands clasped in front of her face excitedly, the fixer with his usual blank expression.

“Well?” Coda asks. “Does it look good?’

“Sure does.” Bones chuckles to herself. “It makes your back look huge, guapo, seriously. Preem as hell.”

“Can I try it out?” Coda asks as he rotates to look at the pair, Ace tilting his head in curiosity as he looks Coda up and down, taking in the bulk of his frame. Chrome made him a force to be reckoned with, that was for damn sure, he had more than decent muscle mass for his small stature now. “Ace?”

“Right — go for it.” Ace nods, half expecting him to stumble through the first usage of it. Most chrome doesn't feel like home until you've worn it for a few days at least, but Coda hasn't been one to tiptoe around his new digs thus far — why would the Sandevistan be any different? He’s watching Coda expectantly, arms still crossed, when he feels a tapping on his shoulder. Whenever Ace turns, he’s looking at Coda behind him, giggling like a scav in a morgue. “Damn, kid — it’s got clean movement — thing don't even leave a visible trail like the others do.”

“Really?” Coda laughs, practically bouncing where he stands as he reaches over his shoulder to feel the harsh edges of the cyberware, fingertips barely able to graze the metal. “I wonder what else it does.”

“Guess you'll have to find out, won'tcha?” Ace nods with approval, satisfied with the purchase if only to see Coda so excited. He looks genuinely happier than he's been in a long time, save for the full body haze of joy he exudes in bed in the morning, bathed in sunlight through the slatted blinds. “I have a few more mercs still out on gigs right now, darlin’, but you're free to go play with your new toy.”

“What? No, come on — we have to go celebrate or something, I’ve been here a year, Ace.”

“Oh, is that what this is for?” Bones smiles and Coda nods. “Send Wasp to wait for your gonks, he’s more than capable.”

“You just want me to come get hammered with you, is that it?” Ace knows this is the answer, and when both of them confirm his suspicion, he can't help that nagging feeling that he should go. One night drinking at his own bar won't hurt anything, not when it's with two of the people he holds in high regard in his life.

He had no idea that they intended to go to Riot instead, though. It's well past midnight whenever they arrive, the bouncer letting them in without question — he knows the owner afterall. Being a high-octane fixer in Night City has it's perks. Every other bar owner either fears or respects you enough to let you fuck around with their assets, and in Ace’s case, it was fear. Nobody would even think of breathing near Coda or Bones as long as he was standing with them, watching the two dance around in an inebriated haze.

Bones, mostly. Coda isn't a hard drinker. He swallows a shot or two to satiate a social desire, but Ace can tell this isn't really his speed. Coda does like dancing, though, and he’s drawing attention from a stray input or two. Pretty, chromed up rave girls, throwing their bodies around on dance floor. Ace keeps his hands to himself, though he struggles to digest the possessiveness brewing in his chest.

‘Mine,’ he wants to say, ‘Coda is mine.’

He wants to grab Coda by the waist and bare his teeth to the competition, because that's what they are — competition. He can only watch Coda politely push their hands off of his chest for so long before he’s doing just that — snaking his own fingertips down the mercenary’s body to hook them in his belt loops. Before he knows it Coda’s back is pressed to Ace’s chest, the fixer’s hands in two strategic locations. One is still holding his belt loop and therefore his waist, the other is reached around the front of Coda, splayed across his chest. Just barely grazing decade old scars, reminding Coda that Ace knows who he is and wants to have him all the same.

There's no protest from the mercenary. If anything, he's been waiting for this moment, to feel any sort of mild affection he’s been throwing at Ace reciprocated. He leans back, the slight pinch of fresh surgical lines aching but not stopping him.

“Got a problem with input gettin’ handsy or somethin’?” Coda asks over the music, just loud enough for Ace to make out in the crowd.

“You belong to me, got it?” It's more of a growl than it's speaking.

“Prove it.” Coda whispers a reply, the dangerous little smirk that crosses his face igniting a fire that Ace knows he can't put out.

It's messy.

Two nightmarishly fragile and hiding it individuals, finally agreeing that perhaps they can find the lost pieces of themselves in the arms of each other. Mangling their frayed ends together in an attempt to heal the cavernous wounds dug into their souls. It isn't at home, the first time they give into the carnal want for each other, it's in the men's room at Riot.

Ace has Coda thrown onto the sink countertop with ease — as strong and bulky as the Merc has become he’s still smaller than Ace by a long shot. He nudges Coda’s knees apart with a thigh, filling the space with his body in a way that has the dark haired man melting already. Fumbling with Coda’s belt like he’s never opened one before, watching silver metallic fingertips dangerously toying with his own belt, mind racing a million miles an hour.

“What if someone—” Coda's cut off.

“I know the owners. We're fine.” Ace hushes him, and Coda looks to him for some sort of expression. Shut the damn facial distortion off, let him see the part of him that's somehow more vulnerable than whatever else he could possibly lay his hands upon tonight. It doesn't go away, though, only shifting slightly as Ace leans in to press his lips to Coda’s neck. Cold, metallic, but still smelling of the cologne he dabs on with his wrists the same as he would if it was still flesh.

It's uncomfortable, kissing through the distortion field. Coda is pressed so closely to Ace that he assumed he would be able to see through it, given that their skin is making contact, but he can't. The same unchanging, blank shape as always is looking back at him, the edges chattering nervously with every breathy gasp Ace lets out.

Coda knows the switch has to be by his jackport on the side of his head, he can see it if he cranes his neck at the right angle. For a moment, with the fixer pulling his jeans down just enough to rip a hole in his boxers, he contemplates reaching up and pressing on the slightly indented button. Just to know him in that way, the same way that Ace now knows him — intimately, inside and out — it would be the most fulfilling thing that the mercenary could imagine.

To see those brown, maybe green, maybe blue eyes with his own, to take in the presence or lack of scars, to kiss his bloodied or pristine lips.

Still, he fucks the fixer like there's not going to be a tomorrow.

Bent over the counter, watching his own reflection in the sink as Ace grips his hips hard enough to bruise. The fixer is biting the bottom of his shirt to keep it pulled out of the way of his hips, which keep a steady pace that has Coda panting softly. It's raw and filthy, desperate in every sense of the word. He could get zeroed tomorrow, shot straight in the fucking skull, and he would be a-okay with it. Ace’s hand is in his hair, holding a fistful to keep Coda’s head up just so he can watch the mercenary whimper and writhe in real time.

Any and all self consciousness about his body, about not having ‘the right parts’, was erased from his mind like an etch-a-sketch the second Ace was buried in him. Dysphoric thoughts are destroyed with every subtle praise slipping out of the fixer’s lips.

It's uncoordinated and occasionally awkward, a mess of limbs and phrases, but neither seems to particularly care. Even when someone does try to come in, immediately being treated to the vulgar display, they don't stop. Shit, they don't even slow down. Ace doesn't miss a beat, hooking his index and middle finger into Coda’s mouth to gag him whilst he looks to the ajar door expectantly.

“You fuckin’ mind?” Ace barks at the poor gonk that just wanted to take a piss — who disappears just as quickly as he came in. “C’mon, Rex, gimme what I fuckin’ want.”

“Rex?” Coda asks, a breathy gasp as he glances back at Ace in the reflection.

“You heard me.” It's the model name of the Sandevistan, and it takes Coda a moment or three to figure out exactly what Ace means, but it clicks. Ace. First card in the deck, the top card. A king would be secondary, and Rex is Latin for — oh. Every fibre of Coda’s body feels like pure electricity, shutting down and restarting all of his crucial cyberware systems every millisecond, and intense desire punching him right in the gut. He finds Ace’s hand around his neck and if he had a remaining thought attempting to travel through his neural processors it's stopped dead in his tracks.

All that matters is that high he's been chasing, and when he finds it he struggles to even survive it let alone let go of it. His body trembles and twitches and Ace isn't far behind him, leaving a warmth in the freshly unwound coil of his stomach that doesn't quite go away whenever he turns onto his back to look up at the fixer.

His facial distortion isn't on.

Blonde hair is a mess in his face, product having long dissipated thanks to sweat, tan skin slick with it as well. He’s got a few freckles dotted around his face and a thin scar running across his cheek to match the one on his ear — equally thin lines of cyberware running through his features. Likely just for optics and an aesthetic piece on the bridge of his nose. Speaking of optics — his eyes are the most vibrant, crystalline clear blue shade that Coda has ever seen. He’s staring and he knows he is, jaw slightly agape as he watches Ace…no, no, this is Philip Graves, look down at him.

“What's that look for, sugar?” Graves asks, pulling his own slacks back into place, fumbling slightly with his belt. He’s not drunk, but he feels it.

“You’re…your, um…” Coda says quietly, scooting back slightly to pull his underwear and jeans back up, but he doesn't get that far. Graves looks past him and into the mirror, eyes going wide for a moment, like he's realizing in slow motion that Coda can see his face.

“Shit.” Graves mutters, touching at the back of his neck. The field doesn't flicker back on. “Fuck me, must've shorted out.”

Coda wants to make a joke, but he doesn't. He turns his head instead, closing his eyes as he shimmies back into his jeans.

“I can pretend I didn't see anything.” He says after a short contemplation, opening one eye slowly to look at the blonde fixer, who is currently looking at himself in the mirror curiously. Can he not see through the filter either? Does he never take it off? Coda furrows his brow and nudges Graves gently. “Hey. What's wrong?”

“Corpses I used to work for have it out for me, would rather have me zeroed out than still kickin’ dirt up.”

“Like I said, I can pretend I never saw a thing.”

“No, I — I’m…fine with this. Just — we have to either wait for it to come back online or Delta the fuck out before the wrong corpo-rat strolls in here.”

He doesn't have to tell Coda twice. They're outside the bar through a window, calling Bones on the Holo to get her to meet them outside. By then his system software has rebooted and he can flick the distortion back on, leaving a hollow pit in Coda’s chest, but his hand is filled with that of Ace’s.

That evening (so late it was basically morning), at home, there's a strange tension. It's understandable why. Less than a few hours prior, Ace was buried deep in Coda and saying his name like a prayer, now they're curled up on top of the sheets. Not underneath, above. Ace is tracing his fingers up and down the Sandevistan, feeling along the newly installed edges, where flesh marries metal and creates something infinitely more beautiful. Coda is humming quietly, drawing shapes on Ace’s bare chest with his fingertips.

They don't say a word for the longest time.

What is there to say?

That was a great fuck. I know what you look like now. I've seen intimate parts of you that no-one has seen in years, you haven't been without your clothes on in front of another human in just as long. You’re better than any joytoy money could buy — well, maybe not that good. Hey, did you remember that you owe me a few million credits in debt by the way?

None of that felt appropriate.

When Coda does speak, he’s quiet and reserved.

“You came up with the name because of the playing cards, right?” Rex asks. “I’m the king card…where’s that leave everyone else?”

“I guess I didn't think that far down the line, sugar.”

“Should've.” Rex murmurs, turning his head slightly to look up at Graves. They make eye contact. He isn't sure how long the distortion has been off, but he is sure that they recognize each other like two halves of the same dying star, reconnected after a millenia apart, hurtling through the vast emptiness of space. He has the audacity to question the blonde, a playful smirk toying at his lips. “What, Graves?”

“How’d you figure that one out?”

“I klepped your wallet the first night I stayed here. Briefly. I didn't take anything.”

“Mmhmm…whatever you say, Rex.”

“I like the sound of that.” Rex purrs happily, Graves’ fingertips scratching that spot right behind his ear that makes his body tingle all over.

“Don't let it go to your head. Mercs like you are a dime a dozen, sugar.”

“Sure thing. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night.” Rex flashes a smile despite the blatant disrespect, knowing just as well as Graves does that they are locked in this.

There is something here, between the cracks in their facades.

Lust, greed, whatever it is — God forbid that it's love.

It's there.

Rex can taste it in Graves’ kiss, feel it in the persistent beat of his heart, see it in his sapphire eyes. There is something alive and well begging to be let out, and Rex is perfectly content with the idea of burning the city down if it would make Graves happy. This, of course, is right where the fixer wants him to be — but Rex can't see that from where his face is buried in the domesticated bliss of Graves' neck.

—

boggy's first smut . well first posted one anyways ? im terrified lmfao as if more than 3 people will see this but ANYWAYSSSS im having a great time over here with the cyberpunk au it makes my real life feel less dogass

taggies!!! — (⁠　⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)⁠☞

@simonrriley

[tristantumbler]

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[cafemilk-tea]

Forgot to tag myself in the rock-sitting ask 🙃

But another question! Has scoups bought any pretty hair clips for Winnie yet??

- 🥕

instead of hair clips, he’s bought her little ribbon bows for her ears! he’s even had some custom made to match svt’s serenity and rose quartz colors w/ a little svt logo on them, i could actually cry…she’s essentially turned into the group’s baby at this point. 🥹

[zipper-and-ribbon-printing]

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