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headkiss · 2 years ago

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give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

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

word count: 17.8k

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

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

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

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

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

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

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

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

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

“This one. It’s really good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s great. Really.”

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

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

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

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

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

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

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, thanks.”

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

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

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

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

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

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” you nod.

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

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

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

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

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

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

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

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

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

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

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

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

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

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

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

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

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

“Welcome back,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

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

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

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

“If you’re sure.”

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

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” He sighs.

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

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What she said!” Robin adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case you care.

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

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

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like being single, he’d said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

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

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

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

“Yep, ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you, you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

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

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

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

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

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

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

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

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

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

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

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

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

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

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

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

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

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

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

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

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

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

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

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

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Please.”

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

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

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

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

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

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

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

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

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

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

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

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

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

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

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

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

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

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

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

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

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

“You still want this?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

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

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

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

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

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

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

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

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

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

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

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

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

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

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

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

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

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close the door, would you?”

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

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

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie shakes his head.

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

“I don’t know about that.”

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

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

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

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not exactly,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s an absolute dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At what, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My hands?”

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

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

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

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

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

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

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astermath · 1 year ago

Text

“So? Whatever.”

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader

summary: The preppy girl that just about everyone admires has more in common with Dave than he expects. He doesn’t quite know how to handle this information, but it excites him nonetheless.

word count: 2K

♡ LANDING PAGE♡

notes: I haven’t written something like this in a good while, so please bear with me if I’m rusty or there are some mistakes here and there. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, I tried to be as non descriptive as possible about her appearance. I do love writing a bit of a mean reader like this, but don’t worry, she’ll warm up to him. This fic takes place in senior year for age purposes, I’m pretty much fully ignoring the timeline of the film. Comments and/or requests are super welcome btw!! Hope you enjoy!! <3

(ps this will get a part two don’t worry xx)

To Dave, girls like you were unreachable. You could hear about them, you could listen to them talk in the hallways, sneak a glance their way… But talk to them? Any single one of their group would consider that social suicide. The only reason any of them even looked in his direction was to ask him to do their homework. So why in god’s name were you at his locker? Why were you acknowledging his existence at all?

“What’s that?” You leaned against the locker next to his, pointing at the piece of a comic book panel he’d taped to the door. It pictured Spider-man putting on his mask for the first time, something Dave looked to when he needed some motivation for the day.

He struggled to get basically any words out, still not fully registering that you’re within such close range. He could smell you… God that was really weird to think about, he felt like a creep already, but you just… Smelled really nice. Like vanilla, mixed with something sweet. He realized he hadn’t answered your question yet and was just staring in front of him like a weirdo. “O-Oh, yeah, that’s uh… That’s Spider-man. It’s this… This superhero I like.” He adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep his hands busy.

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Duh, I know who Spider-man is, please.” You couldn’t help but think he was doing anything to avoid looking into your eyes, as if you’d turn him to stone if he dared to do so. Which, yes, was exactly how he felt.

“I wanted to know which comic that was from. The art style looks a lot different than the ones I’ve seen.” Now this part was pretty much making his teenage brain short circuit. He probably didn’t hear that right, there’s no way a popular girl like you read comics, right? This had to be some kind of elaborate joke, like you were trying to pull a prank on him by making him ramble about his favorite superheroes. However, he wasn’t close minded. Even if this was a prank, at least you were talking to him, right?

“Yeah, sorry, I uh… Forget he’s a pretty popular character sometimes. This one’s from a collector’s edition. One of the pages was kinda falling apart so I just… Taped my favorite panel to my locker.” Again, he tried to look anywhere else, but it felt rude not to be making eye contact with the person who’s trying to give you a chance at a conversation. His eyes met yours and he realised he hadn’t ever actually seen you up close like this. You were really pretty, he knew that, but he never noticed these particular things about you before. The way your hair framed your features so nicely, the little beauty mark that seemed to be somehow perfectly placed, or the way a dimple appeared on your right cheek when you smiled.

“Hopefully you didn’t pay too much for it, those things cost like, a fortune.” You followed, snapping him out of his haze as you twirled a piece of hair between your index and middle finger. Dave was much taller than you, so you had to look up to match his gaze, which was already hard since he kept avoiding your eyes. You never realized how much he’d matured since freshman year. He looked pretty cute… Really cute, actually.

“S-So, uhm, I really don‘t wanna be rude, but…” He closed his locker before looking at you with a rather awkward expression. “Why are you here? Why are you… talking to me?” Honestly, not an unjustified question. Dave was often the subject of bullying, and the popular girls clique made no exception to that rule. He doesn’t remember you specifically doing anything, although... He has a vague memory of you being in the car with those jocks when they threw spoiled milk at him.

“What? A girl can’t talk to her fellow classmate? This is a free country, you know.” You pretended to be a little hurt by his assumption that you were probably just here to make fun of him. In all honesty he was still a little dumbfounded by this whole ordeal, and the fact that half the people that passed you were giving you two weird looks really wasn’t helping. “You know I sit behind you in English, right?” He responds by nodding. He is painfully aware of this fact, as your friends had expressed their empathy for you when your seat was assigned behind him, though you honestly didn’t mind. And also the fact that he got a fair share of gossip from you and your best friend always whispering to each other. “Well,” you flipped a bit of hair over your shoulder. “I saw you had a copy of Birth of Venom in your backpack, and I... Wanted to ask if I could borrow it...” You looked to the side, muttering the last part. As much as you tried not to care what people thought, you did have a bit of a reputation that you were stuck to. Liking comics wasn’t for you, you were a cheerleader, you went to parties, you liked shopping. Okay, you secretly liked comics.

Dave looked at you with a puzzled expression. “I-I’m sorry, can you repeat tha--”

“Can I borrow your stupid comic or what?” You interrupted him, clearly looking a bit embarrassed.

“Oh!” His face was getting hot, this conversation was lasting way longer than he imagined it would. Usually he’d have his face shoved into his locker by now. “U-Uhm, sure! It’s a bit expensive, but... Well, just don’t damage it, please.” He took his backpack off his shoulder and was about to pull it out before you grabbed his arm.

“Not here you dumbass! Just, like... Ugh, meet me at my car after school’s over, you can hand it to me then.” You were acting like this was some kind of illegal drug deal, but this truly was something important to you. Your dad had already made it very clear that he didn’t want his little girl becoming some kind of tomboy and have her mind run rampant with superhero stories. Especially with this Kickass guy running around...

The bell rang and you silently thanked it for doing so. “Look, I gotta go. White Corvette, by the vending machines.” You walked past him, and a waft of that lovely vanilla scent hit his nose. He damn near melted into the floor when your arm brushed against his. “Later, Lizewksi.”

You leaned against the hood of your car, scrolling on your phone as you waited for the brunette to show up. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that you were just meeting him in secret like this. It’s not like you were embarrassed to be seen with him, or that you didn’t like him, it’s just that liking comics and superheroes was just about the dorkiest thing anyone could be into. Especially with Kickass running around, and, well, kicking ass, people would probably be thinking you’d be into this whole vigilante business yourself. Sure, you thought it was cool that people were doing something about all the crime, but you’d rather die than mess up your hair beating some thug’s ass.

You noticed someone approaching and noticed that Dave wasn’t alone. With a bit of a disgusted expression, you gestured to his two sidekicks. “I don’t remember inviting the entire geek entourage to come see me. This isn’t some kinda meet and greet, you know.” Todd and Marty seemed, just like Dave before, a little shocked that you were talking to them.

“S-Sorry, they just uh...” Dave began.

“We didn’t believe him.” Todd followed.

“...believe what?” You questioned, crossing your arms.

“That a chick like you was into comics.” Marty said, before Todd smacked him on the back of the head. “Dude! Don’t say it like that!”

You got a bit flustered, and looked at Dave. “You told them!? What the fuck, Lizewski?”

“I-I’m sorry!” He held up his hands. “They were asking me what we were talking about, and... I panicked.” They were more so insinuating that he was flirting with her, and he didn’t want that rumor going around, in case your jock brother caught wind of that and beat his ass for flirting with his sister.

You sighed, looking down and pinching the bridge of your nose before waving your hand out in a dismissive manner. “It’s... whatever, just leave. Before I change my mind and throw a bitch fit.” His two friends gave him a suggestive look before heading out. “Those two better not snitch or I’ll cut off their shrimps.” He nodded, just a little intimidated by the threat.

He got out his backpack and handed you the comic. “I’m still surprised I uh... I never knew you were into this stuff.” His breath hitched in his throat when your finger brushed over his as you took it from him. You flipped through it, keeping your eyes on the pages.

“Yeah, well... There’s a lot you don’t know about me, as much as I’m sure you guys love to assume.” You realized you hadn’t even told him your name, so you looked up at him and held out your hand, introducing yourself. You know, out of courtesy.

“I-I know your name, but uhm... I’m Dave.” Your hand felt so soft, your beautifully manicured fingers being a real juxtaposition to his. His hand was much bigger and rougher than yours. You wondered why his hand was so calloused anyways... He didn’t look like he did many sports.

“Wait... Your name isn’t Lizewski?” You chuckled. “Christ, my bad... I always thought that was just your first name.” Your feeling of guilt for the boy before you flared up a bit again. He was being really nice to you, offering you something personal of his that he probably spent a pretty penny on. And you didn’t even know his actual name before. No wonder some people thought you were a bit of a bitch, you thought to yourself.

“Hey, uhm... I know you got a bunch of these, and my dad would kill me if he knew I was reading them. He hates vigilantes, and he thinks reading comics will get me into the whole thing. Stupid, I know, but... He takes it surprisingly seriously.” You put the comic away carefully. “So I have a proposition for you.”

His eyebrows rose a little. A proposition, alright. No big deal. Could be literally anything though.

“Come to my house this Saturday, bring a bunch of these, and I’ll tell my dad you’re coming to tutor me for physics or something.” You tilted your head a little, your locks falling gently over your shoulders. “I’ll pay you. Money’s not a problem. It’ll be like I’m renting them from you.”

He thought for a second, but in all honesty... How was this not a total win/win situation? He got to be in a pretty girl’s room, read comics with her, talk about them and make money. What kind of idiot would say no to that? “Yeah! Sounds good to me, uh... What do you want me to...” His words trailed off as you pulled out a pen and reached for his hand, writing a string of numbers on the back of it.

“I’ll text you the address, and which series I like. I’ll let you do the picking. Oh, and Dave?”

“Y-Yeah?” He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This is the closest you’ve ever stood to him.

Your grip on his hand tightens, and you look up at him with a death stare. “Not a word to anyone about this.” You followed with a cutesy smile. “Alrighty?” You let go of his hand and put your stuff away before pulling out your car keys.

Dave stands frozen in place, a faint blush already spread across his cheeks. He swore you were going to be the death of him. He looked down for a second and realized that what you wrote down wasn’t just some random numbers. It was your phone number. It all just suddenly felt very real to him, he’d never gotten a girl’s number before. And you were just about the last person he’d expect it from too.

You got in your car and turned on your engine. “See ya on Saturday, Lizewski! Don’t be late or I’ll kill you!” You smile, before driving off at a totally normal and acceptable speed.

He gave a nervous wave before he looked back down at his hand. There was a little heart scribbled behind the phone number. It probably meant nothing.

But boy did it make his heart flutter.

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guilty-pleasures21 · 7 months ago

Text

The biology professor

Just a random thought I had about Bully!Jason x Shy!Reader who's his biology professor in university.

Warnings: explicit description of sex (male x female).

---------------------------------------------------------

Jason sighed as he dumped his bag on the ground and sank into the seat next to his friend. Roy raised an eyebrow, amused by Jason’s irritation, then returned his attention to his laptop. “What’s wrong, Jay? I thought you loved biology?”

Jason shot him an exasperated look as he folded his arms across his chest. He’d only taken this class because Roy had promised him that everyone passed the class. Roy slid his gaze over to him and snickered when he saw the irritated look on his face.

“Oh, my bad. You just love our biology professor,” Roy corrected, glancing over at their adorable little professor. She straightened from behind her laptop and Jason’s lips curled at the ends when he saw her pretty face. She was so cute with her round eyes and her curly hair and her small frame. And she was so sweet too, always making sure to pay extra attention to those struggling in her class. It was no wonder all her students were half in love with her. Jason glanced around the room, taking in their class. And that more than half her class was male.

“Am I late?! What did I miss?!” Wally breathed out, rushing into the hall and collapsing into the seat on Jason’s other side. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes rumpled, like he’d just woken up then tossed them on before running to class. Jason sighed and folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re always late, Wally,” he replied, turning his attention back to their professor. Roy leaned over him to speak to Wally.

“You didn’t miss anything,” he reassured him. “Just Jay’s huge crush on our adorable little professor.” Jason frowned at him, but Wally scoffed in amusement as he pulled his tablet out of his bag.

“Yeah. You and everyone else in this hall,” he mumbled, causing Jason’s frown to deepen even further. He glanced around the hall, studying the many admiring gazes trained on their professor, and shifted in his seat, disgruntled. He’d have to do something about that later.

Her lips widened into a grin as she passed Jason back his test paper.

“Good job, Jason! I’m really proud of you!” she praised him. He’d improved so much since the first tutoring session she’d given him, and he seemed to have developed a real interest in the subject as well. It was just too bad that he still had trouble keeping his temper under control, she lamented, noting the bruises around his knuckles. But hopefully they’d find a way to overcome that too.

Jason’s lips curled into a tiny smirk as he let his eyes trail over his professor’s sweet features. God, she was cute when she smiled at him like that. Tony had absolutely deserved the beating he’d gotten, saying all those lewd things he’d said about her. Jason twirled a strand of her hair around his finger from where he’d slung his arm over the back of her chair. “What can I say? I had a good teacher.”

X lowered her gaze as she bit down on her smile. “Thanks. So, um, was there anything else you wanted me to go through today?”

She tapped her pen on the table as she waited for his response, her dark eyes round and questioning as she lifted her gaze back to his. Jason felt his heart pick up its pace: this was it, this was his chance.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he agreed carefully. “I was wondering if you could teach me a little more about the reproductive system?” She froze at his question, not expecting the request. But it was a chapter that would come up later in the course anyway. Maybe he just wanted to get a headstart?

“Um, okay!” She turned back to his textbook to flip it back to the contents page. “Let me just find the-”

Jason placed a hand on the book, stopping her in her tracks. X looked up at him, her brows furrowed in confusion, and he pressed his lips together to keep from flashing her a wicked grin. “Not like that. You always said I was more of a … What did you call it? The kind of person who learns better by doing things?”

“A kinetic learner!” X jumped in quickly, understanding what he was talking about. Jason’s lips curled at the ends at her enthusiasm. How did she become a professor at such a young age? And how the hell was she still single? So cute and sweet and f*cking hot as she was.

“Right,” he replied slowly, spreading his legs a little wider apart and leaning back in his seat. “So, I was wondering if we could have a more ‘kinetic’ lesson.”

She swallowed hard as her gaze fell to his thick and muscular thighs. Then she pulled her eyes back up to his, embarrassed by the direction in which her thoughts had headed. “Um, okay. So … what do you want to know?”

He leaned forward and ran his fingers through her hair, admiring the silkiness of her curly locks. “Well, I … I’d learn to learn more about sex. Like, how does it happen? How does it work? Between two people.”

She squeezed her legs together as he played with her hair, her body getting excited by hearing the word fall from his mouth. But he was her student, for goodness’ sake! He just … wanted to be prepared for their future classes. She shifted towards him slightly and gestured to her body, staunchly avoiding his gaze. “Um, so, women actually have three openings in their pelvic area. There’s-

“Not like that, prof,” Jason interrupted her, his lips curling into that irresistible smirk again. X felt her cheeks heat up at the look on his face - at the teasing tone in his voice as he addressed her by that term. Then she lowered her gaze again and began fidgeting with her fingers. Jason snickered at her reaction and brushed his fingers along the back of her neck. “There’s this girl that I really like. And I’d like to know how to … take care of her. Could you teach me that? Professor?”

X clenched her muscles to stop the shiver from running down her spine at the gruff tone of his voice.

“Um, okay. But, um, I guess … Should we … go to my bed?” she suggested nervously, sneaking a glance at him to gauge his reaction. Jason gestured for her to lead the way, then stood up to follow behind her as she walked to her bedroom. She took a cautious seat on the end of her bed and Jason sank into it beside her. “Um, so, I guess you could start with foreplay?”

Jason raised an eyebrow in question, pretending he had no idea what she was talking about, and X shifted her body to face him, her nerves disappearing as she went into ‘professor-mode’.

“So, foreplay is like kissing and touching and that kind of stuff. Just to warm you and your partner up so you can get in the mood a little more?” she explained matter-of-factly. “It’s also a good chance for you to just appreciate one another and make the other person feel desired.”

Jason nodded in understanding and narrowed his eyes as if he was thinking about it. “Okay. So … how would that work?”

“Um, well, so … some people have kinks? Like, um, roleplay or bondage or …” X’s eyes widened midway through her explanation and she waved her hands in front of her face. “But you don’t have to do that! You can always just go for the classic kissing and stuff.”

She shrugged, like it was no big deal, and Jason inched closer to her. “Hmm. Could you show me? Just so I can get a better understanding?”

“Um, okay.” X shuffled closer to him, then leaned forward and closed her eyes, puckering her lips slightly as she waited. Jason grinned and cupped her cheek in his hand as he leaned forward to press his lips to hers. He brushed his tongue against her closed mouth and she parted her lips in response, allowing him to slide between them and stroke her tongue with his. She let out a little moan at the taste of him and Jason smiled before sliding his hand down to her waist and tugging at her. X twisted her legs to get closer to him and Jason groaned as she ran her palm up his chest and to his shoulder. She gasped as he grabbed her waist and pulled her up onto his lap, his mouth never leaving hers. Then she shuddered when he slid his hands beneath her shirt and up her back.

He nipped at her lower lip as he dragged his fingers down her back and she let out a little squeak at the action. God, she was cute. Jason squeezed her waist appreciatively, delighting in her perfect curves, and moved his lips to her neck. “You’re such a good kisser, professor.”

She tightened her grip on his shoulders and squeezed her legs together, her body starting to heat up at the intimate way he was touching her and moving his lips along her skin. “T-Thank you.”

He chuckled at her nervous squeak and X shivered as the low vibrations of the sound rumbled against her neck. Jason moaned and glided his hands up her sides as he tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “So. What’s next?”

X whimpered as he nipped at her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin teasingly. What were they supposed to be doing again? “Um, we’d … You can … start taking … our clothes off?”

“Mmm,” Jason hummed in excitement as he pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck. Then he straightened to pull her shirt off. His eyes darkened with lust when he saw her almost completely bare before him. He ran his hands up and down her sides and swallowed hard as his gaze travelled over her body. “Prof, can I … Can I just …”

Jason tugged her hips closer to his and dipped his head between her breasts to press a kiss there. He trailed his lips down her chest then pulled on the waistband of her bra with his teeth. X sucked in a breath when he released it, allowing the band to snap against her skin and cloud her thoughts with arousal. He was so good, but her mind had become much too drowsy with lust for her to realise that he’d probably been lying about not knowing anything about sex. Jason grinned at the dazed look on her face, then unclasped her bra and slid it off of her.

“F*ck,” he breathed, taking in the sight of her beautiful body. She was even more gorgeous than he’d imagined - than any of them had probably imagined - and he couldn’t believe that he was the lucky one who got to taste her. He reached up to cup her breasts in his hands, then groaned at the feeling of her soft flesh between his fingers. “What should I do now, professor?”

Her toes curled at the gruff sound of his voice and her nipples tingled as he brought his mouth closer to them, his warm breath drifting over her skin teasingly. She shifted in position as she felt the arousal starting to leak out of her and Jason chuckled lowly against her chest. “J-Jason …”

F******ck. To hear her say his name like that? His name? When more than half the students in her class had dreamed about f*cking her at some point or another? Shit. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, tickling her lightly, and she rolled her hips against his involuntarily.

“Argh, f*ck!” he growled, feeling his cock start to harden in excitement.

“Ah! J-Jason!” his pretty little professor whined, grinding herself against him as he closed his mouth around her breast and sucked on her thirstily. He squeezed her waist, rocking her body against his, and she gasped at the feeling of his dick poking her thigh through his jeans.

Holy shit, he was amazing! His tongue, swirling around her nipple as he basically swallowed her breast in his mouth? His fingers, brushing all over her skin and squeezing her curves appreciatively? And his thighs? His firm, muscled thighs that were hiding god-knew-how-big-of-a-dick between them? Jason released her breast only to take hold of the other and bounce them between his hands before showering them with hungry kisses.

“Jason,” she breathed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling on it desperately. Jason chuckled and nipped at her collarbone, then growled when she whimpered at the feeling. He sat back and ripped his shirt off, then flipped them over so she was trapped beneath him on the bed. X looked up at him with wide eyes and he flashed her a wicked smirk, causing her to gulp at the sight.

Shiiiiiiit. He was so large and so toned, looming over her in a way that made her stomach flip through an entire gymnastics routine. She curled into herself, covering her chest with her forearms shyly. But Jason took hold of her wrists and pinned her to the bed beneath him, trapping her. He let his eyes run down her body hungrily, then he lifted his gaze back to hers and raised an eyebrow in question. “What next, sweetheart?”

“J-Jason,” she stammered, trembling at the way he looked down at her - like he was a predator and she was his helpless prey he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into. “I don’t think-”

“Professor,” he drawled lazily, his dark hair falling into his mossy green eyes. “I thought you said you’d help me out if I ever needed it.”

He lowered himself on top of her, his hard chest pressing into her soft breasts, his lips just inches away from hers. “And I really need your help right now.”

He rolled his hips against hers, indicating what, exactly, he needed help with, and her back arched off the mattress in response. She turned back to him, her brain fuzzy with lust again, and nodded drowsily. “Yes.”

Jason grinned at her consent and ran his hands down her body as he sat back. He tore off his jeans before she could change her mind, then pulled off her little shorts and tossed them out of her reach.

“F*ck,” he breathed, his eyes roving over her naked body, her tanned skin and soft curves so perfect beneath him. He pressed his hips against hers and dragged his cock along her length and X sucked in a breath at the feeling.

“Jason,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and digging her fingers into his muscles. God, he felt good, thick and hard and so warm against her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she twisted her fingers into his hair as he slipped his hands between her legs. He slid his fingers up and down her length, scissoring her clit and teasing her hole. Then he dipped a finger into her entrance and curled it against her walls. Her hips bucked off the mattress as her body tightened at the feeling and she moaned his name again.

“X,” Jason groaned, his voice muffled by the way his mouth was pressed against her shoulder. He pushed himself off of her and pulled his finger out of her, then shuffled back so he could lower his mouth to her p*ssy. X pushed herself up to her elbows and shot him a curious look as he smiled at her. And then he licked a line right up her centre and she found herself collapsing back onto the mattress in ecstasy. She gripped onto the bedsheets as he began kissing and suckling on her, her body fighting to move against his strong arms that held her down against the mattress. “X …”

She whimpered as he mumbled her name, the vibrations of his voice rumbling through her core and caressing her very bones. Holy shit, he was good! She didn’t think she’d ever had anyone please her so thoroughly before; anyone who ate her out like she was the most delicious thing they’d ever tasted. She squirmed and writhed against the bed, whining at the way he slowed down his movements every time he felt her reaching her edge. “Jason!”

F*ck, she was cute. The little sounds she’d made everytime he stole her orgasm away from her? He dug his fingers into her thighs, enjoying the way her lovely breasts bounced up and down everytime she wriggled against the bed. He pulled her folds into his mouth, then gave her p*ssy one last kiss before he sat up and pulled her hips against his. He took hold of his cock, hot and fat in his hand, and traced it around her entrance, coating himself in her sticky liquid. X grabbed his wrist quickly, stopping him before he could plunge himself into her, and he raised an eyebrow in question. She released her grip on him and twisted around to pull something out of her drawer.

“You should … use this … if you want her … to enjoy it,” she told him, forcing the words out between shallow breaths. He glanced down at the tube she was holding out to him, then rearranged his features into an expression of confusion.

“What’s that?” X sat up and opened the cover to squeeze some of the liquid onto her hand.

“It’s lubricant,” she explained to him, setting the tube aside and rubbing it between her palms. “It’ll help you go in easier and make the experience more enjoyable for her.” Jason nodded carefully, trying not to let his excitement at having her fingers all over him show on his features. He sat back on his thighs, waiting obediently for her to continue, and X took hold of him without hesitation. He dug his fingers into the mattress as she coated his cock with the warm liquid, swallowing down his pleased groans at the way she fisted him between her hands so delightfully. He looked down at her cute little face, her curly hair framing her features so perfectly, and the prec*m began leaking from his tip at the thought of being inside her mouth. F*ck, he could just imagine it, stuffing his lovely little professor’s mouth full with his cock. Shit. How many other students would kill to be him right now? X sat up and gathered her hair behind her shoulders before laying back on the bed and spreading her legs wide. She gestured down to her p*ssy, blushing and leaking for him, and Jason swallowed hard at the sight.

She kept her eyes fixed on his as he crawled over her, his biceps flexing with every move he made. God, he was hot. Whoever this girl was who he was pursuing was a very lucky girl indeed. Jason slid his hand down her body, then took hold of his cock and began prodding at her entrance. “Tell me if it hurts, professor. I’ll take it slow for you.”

X nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then she let out a soft moan as he entered her, his thick cock easing her open and brushing up against her walls. She bent her knees as he continued pushing in deeper and deeper, shifting her position so she could better accommodate the entire length of him. And then he bottomed out inside of her and she felt her eyes watering with pleasure and how fully he filled her up. “Shit, Jason.”

He chuckled at hearing the curse fall from her lips, then bent over to give her a quick kiss. She latched onto his lips immediately, pulling him down so she could slide her tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his. She moaned again as he kissed her back and he curled his hand around her waist to hold her tight against him. Shit, she felt good, her body so soft and perfect beneath his. F*ck. His hips began moving against hers, his cock begging him for relief and his pretty little professor’s head fell back in delight. He lowered himself on top of her, wrapping her up in his arms, and X whined and mewled as he thrust his cock in and out of her.

“X,” he murmured, his voice low and throaty as he repeated her name with every thrust of his hips. Holy shit, he felt amazing, stuffing her up with that nice, fat cock of his. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he pumped himself in and out of her, holding him close against her so she could feel every line of his defined muscles pressing up against her. Shit, he felt good.

He picked up his pace, his movements getting faster and harder as he felt himself approaching his edge. But she came first, her p*ssy squeezing his dick so deliciously that his hips stuttered and a choked whimper escaped his throat.

“X,” he gasped, his abdomen tightening as she pulsed and throbbed around him. And then he came, his entire body finally relaxing as his c*m shot out of him and into her. He sighed and collapsed on top of her as his dick went limp inside of her. “F*ck.”

She giggled at his muttered curse, then ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands lazily as he cuddled her against him. Jason groaned as he pushed himself off of her after a while and X felt her stomach flip at the sight of him leaning over her.

“Thanks for the biology lesson, professor.” He grinned and cupped her cheek in his hand, then bent over to begin kissing her. He moaned at the sweet taste of her in his mouth, then straightened again so he could look down upon her.

Her entire body buzzed with delight as she pushed herself onto her elbows, her p*ssy heating up again at the feeling of his dick nestled deep inside of her. Her eyes trailed over his body, tracing the outlines of each of his muscles, and she felt herself start to leak around him again at the sight. Shit, he was hot. She swallowed down her thoughts and pulled her gaze away from his, trying to wrestle back control of her brain. “Um, no problem, Jace. Let me know if … if it helped. With that … girl you like.”

He grinned and leaned into her, amused by her cluelessness in the situation. “Well, if it didn’t, I could always come back for another lesson, right, prof?”

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and X’s head fell back in response, exposing even more of her throat for him to graze his teeth again. He licked and nibbled on her skin, making his way up her neck to suck on her earlobe. X moaned as he tugged on her soft flesh with his teeth and Jason lowered his mouth to her shoulder to press a kiss there before straightening again. He fixed her with a questioning look and X shook her head at him in confusion. “What?”

“I said,” Jason began, running his hand along her side as his eyes trailed over her body and down to the part where they were still joined together, “if you didn’t like that, I could always come back for another lesson. Professor.” He pressed his lips to hers before she could digest his words, smiling against her mouth as he kissed her softly.

“Me?” she asked, unsure if she’d heard him right. “If I didn’t like that?” Jason snickered and swirled his tongue around her mouth before stopping to mumble against her lips.

“You think I could pay attention to anyone else when I’ve got such a pretty little professor standing in front of me every week? You’re so f*cking beautiful, sweetheart.” He wrapped an arm around her lower back, holding her against him as he kissed her deeper this time. X curled her legs around his waist, but her entire body tightened when she finally understood the meaning of his words.

“Wait,” she breathed, trying to catch her breath after he finally pulled his lips away from hers. She looked up at him, eyes wide with question, and Jason’s irises darkened at the sight. “This … This was all for me?” Jason nodded, his lips twitching with amusement at the incredulous look on her face, and X lowered her gaze, suddenly shy.

“Oh,” she murmured softly, trying to figure out how to respond to the revelation. Jason chuckled and sat back so he could lift her up onto his lap.

“Come on, professor,” he told her, holding her perfect little body close against his. “You have to know that everyone in our class has dreamed of f*cking you at least once.”

X curled into herself, embarrassed by the thought. “I’m sure not everyone has thought of that. Is that the only reason they’re in my class?”

She flashed him a nervous expression, suddenly doubting her talents and skills, and Jason shook his head quickly before brushing her hair away from her face.

“You’re an amazing teacher, X,” he reassured her, stroking her back soothingly. “I mean, look how much you’ve helped me out. Everyone always thought I was gonna be hopeless, but you made me believe I could actually make something of myself.” Her features broke into a pleased smile at his words and Jason felt his heart flutter at the sight. He pulled her closer to him so he could begin kissing her again and she sank into his chest as she slid her tongue into his mouth.

“But, um,” X began apprehensively, fidgeting with her fingers as she pulled back from him. She snuck a glance at him, then quickly lowered her gaze again. “This is highly inappropriate, Jason. We shouldn’t be doing this as long as you’re in my class.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it, cutting him off with an adorable twist of her lips. “And don’t say you’ll just drop out! You’ve worked so hard and I really want to see you get a good grade at the end of it.”

God, she was cute. Too cute for him to keep his hands off of her for that long. Jason wrapped his arms around her soft curves and began moving his hips as he pulled her into his chest, slowly beginning to thrust himself in and out of her again. X let out a squeak as her body contracted with arousal, responding to him of its own volition, and Jason chuckled at her reaction. “Whatever you say, professor.”

“Miss X is looking extra cute today,” Roy observed, leaning over to nudge Jason’s side with his elbow.

“Yeah,” Wally agreed, sighing with longing at the sight of her bare legs. “How am I supposed to concentrate on anything when she's wearing that cute little skirt?” Jason rolled his eyes at their teasing, but let his eyes wander over her tight little body as she walked across the stage. His mouth began to water as his eyes lingered on the curve of her ass and he tapped his fingers against his arm impatiently. Maybe he'd make her keep that pretty little skirt on while he sat her down on his cock later. The room filled with the sound of shuffling feet as everyone gathered their things to start leaving and Jason waved his friends off as they gestured to the door.

“I'll catch up with you guys later,” he assured them lazily. “I have a few questions for Miss X.” They shrugged and bounced down the stairs, waving goodbye to their professor along the way. Jason slung his bag over one shoulder and strolled down to the platform where his gorgeous little professor had been pulled into a conversation with some of the other students.

“I think it depends on the issue for me,” she replied to one of their questions. “Like, if you're genetically predisposed to mental illness, you’re incredibly likely to get it, despite your circumstances. But if you're predisposed to addiction and you're just never exposed to any addictive substances, then you'll probably be fine.” Her eyes were bright with excitement as she spoke and Jason couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread through his chest at the sight.

“That's really interesting, professor,” one of the guys whose name Jason had never bothered to learn agreed. “But what about in terms of … sexual preferences? I read ahead in our textbook and saw that immunocompatibility can play a big role in how sexually attracted we are to someone.”

And that was his cue to step in. X nodded along to the question, completely oblivious to the fact that the guy was hitting on her right now, and began animatedly explaining the concept of biodiversity. Jason walked up behind the guy and flashed his professor a lazy smirk, distracting her and causing her to lose her place.

“Um, so, we'll be going into more depth when we reach that topic later, but it's nice to see my students taking an interest in the subject!” She grinned at him, then her gaze flickered back to Jason, tall and large and studying her with that hungry look on his face. Shit, he was hot. She swallowed hard and returned her attention to Kenneth as he walked out the door.

“You ready for our tutoring session? Professor?” Jason asked, making his voice low as he stepped closer to her. He’d shown up at her house everyday after that first time, either with flowers or chocolates or teddies or a dinner reservation to an eye-wateringly expensive restaurant. She’d resisted at first, stammering out her arguments about him being her student and it comprising their morals and ethics. But she could only hold out for so long, what with his intense gaze and his mischievous smirk and his muscular build. She dragged her gaze away from him and shifted in position, her stomach flipping with excitement at the memory of him pressed up against her. Then she shoved her laptop into her backpack and nodded at the door.

“Um, yeah. Let’s go.”

“So these are the mammary glands and they only produce milk after the woman has given birth,” Jason recited, kneading her breasts in his large hands. X shifted in her seat, then whimpered as she felt his cock brush up against her walls.

“Jason,” she whined, flopping back against his shoulder as he continued to tease her. He chuckled against her neck and moved one hand down to grip her thigh beneath her skirt.

“Come on, professor,” he pleaded, moving his hips slightly so he squelched around inside of her. Shit, she felt good. X let out a desperate moan at the feeling of him stuffing her so fully and Jason sucked in a breath as her p*ssy clamped around his dick. “F*ck.”

She squirmed as he squeezed her against his hard chest and grazed her neck with his teeth. But that only made her body all the more aware of his dick plugging her up and she felt her uterus give another hard contraction around him. “Jason!”

“Shit,” he sighed, unable to control himself any longer. He grabbed onto her waist and stood up, bending her over the table so he had the perfect angle to hit her at. Then he began thrusting himself in and out of her, shaking the table beneath her and forcing the desperate whines to fall from her mouth. He flipped her skirt up as he continued pumping her full of his cock, then smacked her ass before digging his fingers into her soft flesh. X cried out as his palm slapped her skin, then she whimpered and arched her back as he held her down against the table.

God, she was so f*cking cute! He wanted - he needed - to look at her adorable little face as she whined and moaned for him. Jason pulled himself out of her and X let out a little squeak of surprise at the sudden absence of him. She was just about to mewl in protest when he flipped her over and slid her back onto his cock. Her body tensed as he entered her again, but then she relaxed, letting him bottom out inside of her. Jason lifted her up and she curled her legs around his waist so he could carry her over to the sofa. X buried her face in the crook of his neck and he stroked her back gently before laying her down. He leaned over her, his biceps flexing as he held himself above her and X flashed him a sweet smile. Jason groaned at the sight and pressed his lips to hers as he began moving his hips against hers again.

Shit, shit, shit! She could barely form a coherent thought with the way he was rubbing up against her walls so very deliciously. She dragged her fingers down his back as her p*ssy contracted around him, then arched her back off the bed so she could feel his abdomen rubbing against her clit. Jason groaned into the crook of her neck, then nipped at her earlobe, his hips never ceasing their relentless pace. Then finally, she was shaking and shuddering beneath him, her hips bucking wildly off the sofa as her p*ssy throbbed around his dick.

“F*ck!” Jason choked out, continuing to thrust his hips against hers as he reached his orgasm. His movements faltered as he pumped her full of his c*m, and then he was panting over her, his broad chest heaving for breath as he gazed down at her. X reached up to brush her fingers along his jaw and Jason bent over to slide his tongue between her lips and start kissing her again.

She sighed as he entered her mouth, delighting in the tangy taste of him on her tongue. She slid her fingers into his hair and curled herself around him as she kissed him back, moaning softly into his mouth every time his chest brushed against her nipples.

“Jason,” she spoke in between kisses. “There are only a few more weeks left of the term. We can just wait until then, right?” Jason groaned against her mouth in disagreement.

“How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off of you for that long, sweetheart?” he whined, running his hands all over her soft little body. “So f*cking perfect.” X giggled and scratched his back lightly with her fingernails. Then she pushed her fingers into his hair and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Jason let out a contented hum at the action and X smiled before pawing at his shoulder and signalling for him to sit up. Her eyes ran over the stark outlines of his bulky muscles, then she lifted her gaze up to his.

“But, Jay … What if you get bored of me?” She fixed him with a nervous look, but he was too distracted by the way she’d called him by his nickname to soothe her concerns.

“Wait,” he sighed, hanging his head so that his dark hair fell into his eyes. “Call me that again, princess.”

A tingle zapped through her at the new term of affection he’d given her and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Jay?”

He groaned and X laughed at the defeated slump of his shoulders. He lowered himself back on top of her, bringing his mouth just a breath away from hers, and her stomach buzzed as her fingers brushed over the hint of stubble coating his jaw. “How the f*ck could I get bored of you, princess?”

He moaned as he brushed his nose up the length of her neck and grinded his hips down on hers. X sucked in a breath and tightened her grip on him as she felt his dick sliding against her walls. She whimpered at the sensation and Jason chuckled at the way her lower lip trembled before he tugged on it with his teeth.

“But you’re so cool and I’m just a boring little professor!” she squeaked out, her nerves lighting up again as he brushed his lips and tongue all over her smooth curves.

“You are far from boring, professor,” Jason chuckled against her collarbone, running his hands up her sides. “I always learn something new whenever I’m with you. And I’m not just talking about the sex.” She let out a squeak as he murmured that last part in her ear, her p*ssy starting to leak around his dick still buried inside of her.

“O-Okay,” she conceded, her mind starting to grow fuzzy with lust again. “But-”

“No buts, professor,” Jason warned her, shifting forward so that he bottomed out inside of her again. X let out a low moan, her head falling back in pleasure at the sensation, and Jason seized the opportunity to trail his lips up her throat. “If that ever happens, fail me. Mmm and then … and then ignore me. For a whole week. Don’t talk to me until … until I’m crazy for you again.” He squeezed her breast as he pressed his lips to the base of her ear, his low moans rumbling through her skin and along her bones.

“Okay,” X giggled as her back arched off the bed in response to his teasing. Jason swore under his breath at the way her p*ssy squeezed his dick and X pulled him back down to her so she could kiss him. She smiled against his lips and Jason felt a warmth rush through his chest at her delight. “I really like you, Jay.”

He grinned, keeping his mouth on hers as he spoke. “I really like you too, X.”

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dilutedconfusion · 7 months ago

Text

The Nameless

SoftYandere!Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 1) MDNI 18+

CREDITS TO @likeeliterallywtf for requesting this!!! She gave me an amazing request with a detailed description of what she wanted so hopefully I’m doing it justice!!

Summary: Kid sees you for the first time and is stunned. Melting into a cacophony of insistent need to have you. He’s had a rough past with woman before but this felt different. Or at least that was the excuse he was going to use to have you.

Warnings: YANDERE TROPE!!! There is no explicit warnings in this first part but THERE WILL BE. So I would advise not reading this if topics such as mental & physical abuse, blood/gore, and just an overall unhealthy relationship bother you! Of course you can still read this first part if you want just be wary of any of the other chapters.

Word Count: 4.4k

The clawing feeling that Kid felt inside when he first saw you wasn’t something he had expected.

The insistent pumping of his warm blood could be felt like a flame across every inch of his skin. Tying his stomach in knots and melting his marrow as he just stood there like a deer in headlights to watch you from afar. Expecting a glance. Expecting a conversation. Expecting your blood to boil with passion forcing you to run into his arms.

I’m a handsome guy. I’m the future pirate king. I could get any woman I want. But if you impress me enough...then maybe I just want you. This thought dripped like honey on his mind. Enveloping every crevice and stem with just this all-encompassing thought of you.

He could nearly taste you on his tongue. He could nearly feel your hair dance between his fingers. He could nearly see you smiling at him shyly as you spoke to him. A bright red dusted across your cheeks like the slow sweet blossoming of a flower. A flower he wanted to encase in glass and delicately touch whenever the urge hit him.

But just like the glass a wall of space separated the two of you. A gruesome space separating you from the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He just couldn’t wait to tell you the good news of his arrival.

“Earth to Kid! What the fuck man? Are you even listening to me right now?”

As if cold water had splashed over his face Kid's body jumped a little as he stood. The muscles in his neck tightened spastically. His eyes were weary and his hands nearly vibrated as he slowly came out of his stupor.

“Yeah..yeah uh what..what were you saying?” It was almost physically painful for Kid to take his eyes off you. To give even Heat an ounce of his attention. The slight sheen of sweat gracing his brow got swept back into his hair as he adjusted his goggles a bit.

“Since you’ve been blanking out everything for the last 10 minutes I’ll tell you what’s happening. We’re going shopping right now. Buying some ingredients before we head home. Look I get it, you hate shopping. But at least help me instead of just standing there.” Heat's voice was aggravated and low. A whisper of words meant to reach Kid's ears whilst trying not to reach others.

Kid didn’t particularly understand why Heat seemed so reserved. It was just a crowd. Just a herd of unmentionables moving through the open market. The sun oppressively beat down on the civilians. Their awkward and wayward gawking at the aforementioned pirates wasn’t something new to Kid. But if he wanted anyone to pay attention to him, to look at him at all, he was hoping it’d be you. Yet his hopes were not being met just yet.

You seemed to be staring out just like him on the other side of the street. Thanks to Kids' tall height he could see you past the bobbing heads walking by. No glaring sunlight or bright colors or the vendor's canopy fluttering above him would steal away his attention. Everything seemed to center on you as if it was where his eyes naturally glided.

Side pressed against the tagged and rough alleyway wall you stood. A thin hood covering the softness of your face in a deep shadow. The rest of your clothes seemed worn. You’re canvas pants shredded in a few places along with a rough patch of what looked like dirt on the calf. They led down right to a pair of shit-kicker boots slightly scuffed in some places. The deep red shawl laced with the hood itself covering up the loose black t-shirt hugging your torso. Though compared to the deep rift of darkness in that alleyway nearly swallowing you up, he could still see you crystal clear.

Maybe she’s just trying to stay in the shade. Beat the heat.

There was a keen look in your eye that fluttered over the passersby’s in the street and vendors at their stands. It was sharp and antagonizing. A slight snarl quirked at your lower lip.

You were looking for something or moreover, you were looking for an opportunity.

A thief are we now?

“KID!” A loud thud of pain erupted onto Kid's shin. Making his jaw get even tighter if that was even humanly possible.

“What the hell man? Don’t fucking kick me!” Kid's cheeks became noticeably flushed. Trying to mask his anger but also trying to appease the shop vendor to think that the two of them were at least partially normal.

Heats hands were still occupied with filling a small crate with supplies. Cans, jars, and a load of nonperishables slowly getting jenga-d in there. His sad-looking eyes not even sparing a glance towards Kid. “Quit being creepy and help me pack this shit up or I’m making you carry everything.”

Those words caught in Kids' ears like a fish on a hook. His lips flattened out into something far more ashamed. “I’m not being creepy. You don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Heat chewed on the inside of his mouth. Holding himself back from saying something too stupid but glowering at him regardless. “Well I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing and it sure as hell doesn’t involve helping me. But since you wanna just gawk, you’re carrying the crate.”

“No the fuck I’m not”

“Yes the fuck you are.” Heat stare didn’t falter in the slightest. Sure this big red-headed brute was his captain but he was also his friend. A friend that just so happened to be a bit strange at times. Heat knew not to try and change him but he also knew to not let Kids habits get in the way of their work.

“Fine” Kid grumbled while sliding the full crate over towards him. Heat then promptly picked up some bags as they were sitting loosely on the floor. Kid hoisted the crate up easily and held it snugly under his right arm. Following Heat in a slow meandering pace out into the street.

Where is she? His eyes glazed over the spot where you once were. That full figure of yours is now gone from his sight. Heat of course was walking way too damn fast. Already a good bit ahead of him and siphoning through the crowd.

Fucking hell where is she? He made no move to walk faster and just scanned the crowd in utter desperation. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your red hood bounding through the streets.

Heat of course gave a wayward glance back towards Kid. His abnormally tall height made it easy to spot him along with the red hair of course. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, coming to a stop in the middle of the street until Kid met up with him.

“Should I just leave you here? I want to get home man it's hot as hell out here.” Heat's voice rasped out in a solemn whisper. Watching the way Kids eyes seemingly couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. Like the rest of the crowd held the promise of wealth and fame if he just looked hard enough.

Or it held another girl like always.

“I’m...I’m coming. I don’t want to have to hold a stupid crate when I…” Kid trailed off. Rubbing his prosthetic hand through his hair as he wistfully imagined the first conversation he might have with you.

She is going to swoon for me. Look up at me with those pretty eyes just begging to be mine. I have to be perfect. I need to show her what I am. What I can provide.

Heat had waited for Kid to finish his sentence but he never did. The redhead just chewed on his lips and looked off into the distance with a thousand-yard stare.

“God if I knew any better I would think little hearts should be floating around you right now. You gotta control yourself, man. Let’s just get home and then you can come back...and do whatever.” Heat stepped next to Kid's side. Trying to persuade him to keep walking as if he were a child.

“There’s no fucking hearts floating around me. It ain’t like that.” Kid snapped his head towards Heat with a snarl. Taking long board steps forward in a stomping motion to get a move on.

“Yeah? Well if that’s true then water must not be wet huh?.” Heat again gnawed on his cheek like always. His sarcasm was raw but his willingness to say more was seemingly gone.

“Shut up! I just don’t want to leave and then I don’t see her again. What if she’s leaving tonight? What if she doesn't live here?” That very thought made Kid's heart skip. Still trying to take notice of every passerby on the street hoping and praying one of them was you.

“So it is about a girl huh? Knew it. It’s fine if she leaves because what does it matter? You could pull someone else or go to a brothel like the rest of us.” Heat cocked his head up at Kid. A wry smile pulled at his lips, or at least the sort of half smile that his sad face could manage.

“I know that asshole. But I’m allowed to want what I want. Don’t judge me for being particular about the chicks I pick up.” Kid scoffed a bit and looked away from Heat. That smile did little to pick up his mood. He began walking even a bit faster. Urgency on his mind as the heels of his boots clicked against the cobblestone road.

“When have I ever cared about what you do with women, Kid? I literally don’t give a shit unless you start acting weird and not doing what you’re supposed to.” There was a slightly serious tone under the natural wave of relaxation that Heat often held. Kid has been infatuated with a few girls in the past few years. Picking them up just to string them along for a month max before leaving them on some island. It was...a questionable choice in his and some of the other crew mate's minds. Though if he was being honest it particularly annoyed him.

He gets hung up. He gets what he wants. He realizes it is not what he wants. He gets mad at the rest of the world for it. What a fun cycle about to start again. Heat nearly rolled his eyes at his thoughts. Gripping the bag handles a bit tighter as he offhandedly glances up at Kid once more.

“All I did was not help you buy and pack shit? Are you seriously complaining about that?” Kid couldn’t particularly see the logic in why Heat was complaining. To him this was simple. To him, he didn’t remember about those handfuls of girls he’d been maybe halfway committed to. It felt real and full and passionate at the start. But then they break his little heart by being completely different than what he expected.

This girl doesn’t seem like that though. She’ll be different. She’ll be perfect. She needs me. I can feel it.

“I’m complaining because I know how you are. You take things too far sometimes.” Heat mumbled his words a bit. Trying to cautiously weasel around the big elephant in the room that was Kid's love language.

Kid, though emotionally unintelligent as he is, still caught on to how Heat was avoiding specifics. He wanted to know what his crew mate thought of him. He wanted to wear it on his chest and feel the piercing sting it might cause.“Too far as in what?” Rolled off his tongue with an emphasis on the what. Eyeballing Heat as they slowly made their way out of the town. A rural glance between here and the sea upon them.

Heat paused for a moment, biting his lip in thought as he tried to piece together the best way to put it. “You..seriously don’t remember that blonde chick? The one that you...” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Not because what happened particularly bothered him. But Kid…just seemed different in the worst possible way the last time he had one of these so-called partners.

“Oh, you mean that. Whatever. She was pushing me to do it. It was practically her fault. I don’t like getting taken for granted and I don’t like my women looking at anyone else. She was just a fling and I’m fucking regretting it.” Kid once again scoffed. Brushing that whole incident aside like it was just dirt on his shoulder.

It wasn’t just nothing though. I’ve never seen him like that before. Heat's worry continued onto the present day. A day he was hoping wouldn’t be another chance for Kid to sink his teeth into someone.“It didn’t seem like a fling at the time...”

“You don’t know how it was! I’m saying she was worthless from the start and I’m fucking right about that. I didn’t take it too far, I took it exactly where it needed to go.” Defensive as always Kid couldn't see his actions as wrong. Heat knew they weren’t good people and he didn’t expect Kid to be a saint.

But what if he gets worse?

“So...are you planning on being the same with this girl?” The question was simple and didn’t point blame at Kid. He hoped Kid would come up with a resounding no. Saying he would take it slow, maybe test the waters a bit more before diving head first. If not for the girl then at least for his own sanity.

“She was pretty. She seemed interesting and there’s not a single doubt in my mind telling me she wouldn’t love me. I’m allowed to go for things that seem good, so quit being jealous.” The strong air of confidence that Kid held was average. He was confident in each and every single syllable that slipped off his tongue. Heat could tell there was no changing that but sometimes he wished his captain wouldn’t be so...persistent.

“I’m not jealous. Like I said, I literally don’t care what you do, I just don’t want it bothering the rest of the crew.” Heat averted the blame for Kids attitude towards him. Shaking his head dismissively as he walked a bit faster to finally approach their ship lined at the docks.

Heat was never much of a man who needed sexual pleasure to get by but Kid definitely was. So it didn’t make sense why Kid thought he was jealous. But Heat supposed Kid would even turn a scorned eye at Killer if he touched his ‘toys’.

“Well, you sound jealous. So don’t be catching looks when I come home with my woman later.” Kid eyed the few crew mates hanging out on deck. The sun slowly dipping into the watery depths of the evening gave him hope that he would have you soon.

Maybe even before midnight if I’m lucky.

Heat cast an accusatory yet playful smile towards Kid.“What are you going to do? Kidnap her? You’re sounding like a creep Kid.” There was a sense of worry in his voice though he tried to laugh through it regardless. Because it simply had to be a joke or else he wouldn’t be laughing.

I mean he would never do anything like that…would he?

Kid's body instantly paused. Leaving Heat to do a double-take and suddenly stop a bit ahead of him. He turned around towards the redhead with a weary glance. Noticing the piercing gaze that shot through him like a pistol.

Resolutions and ravenous tendencies dripped out of the hellhole that was Kids painted mouth.“I am a creep. I’ll be anything and fucking everything I need to be to get what I deserve. And I deserve her.”

__________

Fuck.

With sprinted exhaustion, each breath became a fiery roar of necessity. Legs close to throbbing from the amount of hits they had taken. A marred bruise turned to blood against your thigh. Each pounding step kept you unbalanced and staggered as you ran as fast as you could.

“Get that fucking thief!”

Shit. There was no time to realize what was happening until someone had slammed a stool down on your thigh. It had sent you toppled over ready to take a few sparse kicks in the spine body before you scurried upwards. Nearly falling face first as you barely managed to climb out of a window and out into the alley.

Now here you were running with a decent amount of money and scraps of food hitting your back. Thudding against your already sore spine you desperately clung to the makeshift tarp you were using as a bag. Your eyes skidded along the road in front of you as you made a sudden and sharp turn into another alleyway. It was slightly more crowded then the last and filled with exactly what you needed.

Perfect. It was a last resort in your mind but you were glad you had thought of it before stealing from that noble's house. You had a way to get into their town connected to the far more poor and dangerous area you were from near the shore.

A water flow system that brought water from the lake down through their city and back into the ocean. Of course, it was guarded on every inch of that huge wall that separated the rich from the degenerates. But you knew how to get in and had for a while now.

The sounds of racing footsteps behind you made your nerves go into overdrive. Hands shaking in a mix of fear and excitement from the rush. You quickly darted into the crowded alleyway. Running behind some large dumpsters you had pushed as a barricade into the middle of the road. Just a small enough slit to let you squeeze through their metal encasings just filled to the brim with rotting food and something a little extra.

Maybe if these dumbasses behind me had a lick of sense they would smell the gas in the air.

There was about a quart of alcohol sprinkled over the perfect kindling that was trash. Along with a very small and homemade piece of dynamite and a half-assed Molotov cocktail just to make it a bit more...well what would you call it?

Eyebrow scorching. Finally, these bastards will look about as ugly as their insides do.

You were quick despite your shaking hands. Picking up the Molotov cocktail you had hidden behind some trash bags. Eyes fluttering down the alley to spot the hoard of angry guards you had roused closing in on you. With quick succession, you threw your bag of goodies a good 20 feet away. Flicking out a lighter tucked into your pocket and walking backward from the men.

A devilish smile couldn’t help but quirk itself at your lips. The darkness that surrounded you now getting filled with the faint spark of light turned that turned into a flame. Butane hitting your senses just so you can breathe it in a bit deeper.

This is going to be satisfying.

You pressed that small flame against the dry rag sticking out of the bottle. Taking no time to throw it as hard as you can directly into the dumpsters.

“BURN IN HELL FUCKERS!” You yelled, a crazed laugh shaking in your chest as you heard the ceremonious crash of glass which of course quickly escalated into huge balls of flames.

The boom that resounded through your stomach and skull was nearly climax-inducing. Your body struggled to fall back as you took in the contrasting flames now filling up the once-dark alleyway with a piercing light. The roofs and windows of the nearby building instantly set on fire. The dumpster now jagged lines of half-melted metal barfing out trash onto the street.

You had shaken your small portion of the world yet again. A small triumph amongst an endless sea of crimes that were your playground.

Their screams took hold of your attention long after you had been staring at those rolling balls of flame. Backing up towards your bag of goodies you listened to the people panic. Trying to find a way to put out the fires the owners of the houses on each side of you called up yet another round of authorities.

Welp, that went accordingly. You walked up to a manhole cover hidden behind a few cardboard boxes you had placed. Picking up the heavy metal with a grunt you slid it over. The men were still trying to see past the dumpsters. Some of them were weaving their way around the buildings to make it to the other side. But you were already two feet underground before they spotted you. Every civilian's eyes were on the fire and every guard just a moment too late.

__________

The walk home was damp and dark. A small cement trail perfect for a brisk stroll. An underwater river that made up the water system of the city to add to the ambiance. A few rats following you along to keep you company.

It was gross and it was dark and it felt like you.

You had been feeding these rather plump rats for a while now. At first, they nearly bit your fingers off but now the little guys couldn’t help but find your light inviting. The small pitter-patter of their feet across the cement and piping brought you comfort despite being alone.

“Here you go you guys.” You mumbled softly. Quickly breaking off little pieces of bread for each rat as they scurried up to your feet. Standing up on their hind legs as their little hands greatly accepted the bread.

It was a ritual at this point. Like paying the toll on a bridge except you were underground and the toll was entirely self-inflicted. Though the rats clearly appreciated it or so you’d like to think. Their black glassy eyes just near a smile and their quiet squeaks a thank you. Letting you scratch their soft tummies before they hurried into the nooks and crannies that were their home.

A home that was akin to yours as soon as you made your way out of these tunnels.

We’re not so different, you and I.

It was a bit difficult getting out of these tunnels because it required nearly getting swept up in a strong current. A smaller cement walkway slanted down towards the river where all lines of water conjoined back together. So you had to tie your bag to your pants. Looping it through your belt and leaning forward as far as you could go without slipping into the water.

The ceiling above was curved and made out of scratchy brick. You’re ass pressed against the wall as you side shuffled towards the light of night. The cool milky sparkles cast upon the rushing water only halfway distracting you from the gross spiderwebs you sometimes ran across.

Eventually, you made your way out. Quiet as a mouse you pressed you’re back to the tall wall separating the towns. Eyeing a forest line off to your right that would ensure nobody would spot you. Of course, the guards up top swung their blinding lamps and guns at anything that got too close. So you had to hide in the shrubbery that lined the walls. Thorns pricking into your skin though you made sure to wear nothing but long selves as you hurried your way towards home.

Thank god that's over with. You slipped into the forest, finding the trail you had carved out to lead you through the darkness. Your home was pressed against an outcropping of rocks. Wood, tarps, and thatch make up the cabin you belong to. One that was made with inexperience but love.

Walking up to the door you let out a little huff of air. Dusting off the dirt on your clothes before grabbing the handle and walking on through. The cabin was dark inside as you started slipping off your boots. Setting the loot bag down on the ground and bending over to unlace your shoes before kicking them off lazily.

Your thigh was of course still hurting like a bitch even if it had stopped bleeding. Your spine basically imprinted with the few kicks they managed to land on you.

A soft sound caught your ears and made you halt. Noticing the small sliver of light coming from underneath the door to your kitchen.

Did I leave that on? No, I always make sure to turn it off. But maybe I didn’t?

Fear struck you like lightning. You’re body halting as if it had been frozen before you forced yourself to move. Carefully craning your neck and pressing your ear to the wall. There were no loud sounds but you could tell there was some faint shuffling. As if someone was walking around in there looting the place.

I’m getting fucking robbed. Nobody knows I live out here! Did someone trail me to my place?

What once was fear became rage. Grinding your teeth unconsciously as you made your way over to the hallway closet. You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Clicking the door open and grabbing out a stolen rifle. Pressing the hilt of it into your armpit you got yourself ready. Aiming it steady as you cautiously walked up to the door. You gave yourself a second to breathe and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before quickly opening the door. Letting it slam across the wall as you peered into the lit kitchen.

Eyebrows knitted as you found a nearly 7-foot-tall man at your stove. His wide back turned to you before he swiftly turned around, a big smile on his rosy face.

“Ah, glad you’re home dear. I’m making you something.” His voice was smooth and warm. The light rasp of his throat and the soft light of a lamp cast across his imposing figure. His amber eyes looked up and down between your confused face and the gun in your hands.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Growled out of you. Hands steady as you pointed the gun right at his head. Not daring to take a step closer from the doorway.

With a grunt, he pressed his lower back up against the counter and crossed his hands over his wide chest. The corners of his smile turning more sarcastic around its edges. “Making you dinner that’s what. Though I personally don’t think rifles and pasta mix. But whatever makes my doll happy.”

A/N: So basically Kid is weird as hell. A walking talking red flag if you will. Dude just stared at y/n and was like “Yep…she literally needs me”. AFTER LITERALLY NOT SAYING SINGLE WORD TO HER. JUST DELUSION. Hope you like him like this 💞

#eustass kid #one piece #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #kid pirates #one piece x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader #heat one piece #yandere #writing trope #toxic love #toxic relationship #18+ mdni

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indieyuugure · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, hey, @tmntbestsibscompetiton here! We don’t currently have a description or picture for your entry into the competition yet! You don’t have to send one in, but if you’d like to, just answer this, or tag us so we can make sure it’s ready for when the competition begins! Thank you so much for joining, and good luck.

@tmntbestsibscompetiton Uh, sure:

Here’s the picture :]

Not sure exactly what you mean by “description” but I’m guessing it’s a description of the story?

“After the defeat of the Shredder and peace having returned to New York, the Turtles celebrate their birthday. However their party is cut short when they discover The Kraang are back on Earth. One battle later they find themselves in the ROTTMNT Universe, approximately 5 months after the Krang Invasion. The 12 turtles befriend the Rise turtles and things are going pretty well, that is until Raph and Leo discover that the Kraang from their dimension have brought back the dreaded monster from the Prison Dimension, Krang. Both teams must team together to fight back against the revenge-hungry aliens and save Earth.”

Hopefully these are okay 😭 Message me again if you needed something different!

#tmnt best siblings competition #tmntbestsibscompetition #rise of the parallel #tmnt #ninja turtles

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a66-1 · 6 months ago

Text

starving

part 1 | part 2 [you're here!]

Simon x Fem!Insecure!Reader.

finally got the idea for part 2. excited?

me too

TW: Talk of ed's, negative self talk, low self esteem, bad mouthing (from reader to herself, comes with the territory) cursing, self harm. i tried not to be too descriptive with the reader, so EVERY insecure girlie who reads this feels seen.

semi proofread bc who cares

The next morning was exhausting as the last.

You got up early to go running. If you ever have the chance, you run until the sun comes up. You need to stay fit if you want a boyfriend. It was easier when you were on your meds. Almost like you had the will to live those mornings.

You were back at the house around 8 am. You weren't scheduled for work today so... You headed back to bed and really, just slept the day away

You woke up around 5 pm. 5, really? God, you are just some depressed child.

You got out of bed for the second time, and changed into a dress. It was hard seeing yourself in a dress after 2 years. You stopped going out because alcoholism and anti-depressants aren't really two peas in a pod, are they?

Well this is why you quit. You dropped your therapist and your meds because you were better, and your mom stopped helping with the payments, and now you can go back to partying.

Minus the heavy drinking.

Hopefully.

You tear your eyes off yourself. If you stare too long, you'll end up convincing yourself to stay in bed longer. You configure the rest of your outfit, and grab a small black purse. Throwing your phone in it, you leave the house quicky. If you don't, you might properly convince yourself you're just as ugly as you thought..

The drive to the bar was silent, save from the honking cars around you. Fuck, what if this is the wrong idea? I mean the looks everyone will give you, you look so bad and so ugly and god this was such a bad--

You hear a car honk behind you. The light turned green. You lower your head, sighing, and taking a left.

Once at the bar, you slip into one of the seats nearer the back, feeling uncomfortable in the seat. Adjusting your dress down, you cringe while looking around the bar. There's so many pretty women here, and comparatively you are way under them.

You order a drink, sipping on the alcohol for the first time in months. Fuck, your therapist would be losing it if she knew you not only stopped meds but started drinking again...

You rested your head in your palm, watching others interact. Pretty women just have a way with men, a way you've never had. The buzz of the alcohol was enough to make you not question why nobody has interacted with you, other than the bartender. People probably think your such a loser, I mean, who would just sit here and drink--

"Hey. You're, uh.. That girl from yesterday right?" A gruff voice appears behind you. You flinch forward, whipping your head around.

Oh. This guy.

You slowly put your drink down, your palm over the top of it.

"And who are you?" You ask, eyeing the man. He didn't have his mask on. He was... Really cute.

"A customer." He sat next to me, his eyes trained on mine. I felt sort of flushed under his gaze.

Fuckin' small world.

You spent some of the night talking with him. Still don't know his name, or why you ran into him here, but you don't care nonetheless.

You were looking for sex this night but... Is a connection so bad?

Like you could make a connection with someone who is out of your league.

thank god i finished this. 3 drafts later, and im sorry its kinda short. trust part 3 is gonna have the good stuff, this is kinda a filler so it can get to the good stuff.

ily babes...

-a661

taglist:

@i-am-hungry-24-7 @arminarlertssword @haven-1307

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost fluff

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 5 months ago

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Some more obscure and / or underrated lesbian literature : An incomplete list made by a lesbian in hopes of making other sapphics happy

(I haven’t read all of them)

Sorted by years (this rapidly became a history lesson of lesbian literature sorry I’m a nerd)

Ancient times

(A good article about lesbians in ancient greece / rome)

Queen Zhuang Jiang 庄姜 (???- BC 690) / We know about Sappho and Enheduanna, but what about her? She wrote poems some of which were, uh, pretty gay. I learnt about her here. It is said than her poems are in The Book of Songs (which is a collection of ancient Chinese poetry). I couldn’t find a lot about her but I found enough to believe than (hopefully) she was a real person and the internet isn't lying to me.

Dialogues of the courtesans - Lucian of Samosata (somewhere in the second century BC) / Basically Dialogues of the courtesans is a collection of dialogues between well, courtesans (prostitutes). Either between themselves or between clients. One of the dialogues is called “The Lesbians”. Link to read (somehow finding a pdf of Dialogues of the courtesans is pretty hard but reading it chapter by chapter online it’s not??)

The Babyloniaka - Iamblichus (somewhere in the second century AC) / Lost novel, so all you need to know is here

Of course we can’t forget this Pompeii poem

1200s

Bieiris de Romans (somewhere in the first half of the 1200s) / Bieiris was a French poet, and we only have one of her poems with us because the others have been lost. We don’t know much (anything) about her, except that she was a woman, French, and who wrote about a woman called Maria. Some say that this mysterious Maria referred to the Virgin Mary, others than Maria was her gf, and others than she was writing in the perspective of a man (because obviously a woman writing about other women in a not so platonic way is unthinkable). Anyway, feel free to get your own conclusions, here’s the poem (translated)

1500s

The Sword and the Pen: Women, Politics, and Poetry in Sixteenth-Century Siena - Konrad Eisenbichler / So while this is a modern book, it is the only one I’ve been able to find than includes Laudomia Forteguerri’s poems (1515-1555). Some historians considered her to be the earliest Italian lesbian writer. “Although only six of her sonnets have survived, all are testaments to the love she bore for other women, and five are specifically dedicated to Margaret of Austria.”

The Maitland Quarto / Manuscript (1586) / So, this is a collection of 95 scot poems, and poem 49 is pretty sapphic. It’s technically anonymous, but it has been attributed to Marie Maitland (who transcripted the manuscript and is thought to have added her own poems there). The last lines mean “'There is more constancy in our sex / Than ever among men has been”, I haven’t been able to translate the rest of it. The poem.

1600s

The Flower's Shadow Behind the Curtain - Ko Lien Hua Ying (somewhere in the 1600s) / It is said this book was written towards the end of the Ming dynasty (1368 to 1644). It’s a erotic book, and chapter 22 includes an erotic story between two 16 year old girls. I found it in Sex in China: Studies in Sexology in Chinese Culture by Fang Fu Ruan (believe it or not, I don’t just randomly know all this books, I did research)

Aphra Behn (1640-1689) / English writer, one of the first female writers to live through her writing. She was also a spy. She wrote a lot about women. “Homoeroticism is standard in Behn's verse, either in descriptions such as these of male to male relationships or in depictions of her own attractions to women. Behn was married and widowed early, and as a mature woman her primary publicly acknowledged relationship was with a gay male, John Hoyle, himself the subject of much scandal.” (here). She wrote a lesbian love poem (in the link before, it also makes an analysis of it). The poem: To The Fair Clarinda

Poems, Protest, and a Dream: Selected Writings - Juana Inés De la Cruz (1648-1695) / So the thing about Juana is than every single spanish-speaking lesbian knows her (and loves her), but hardly anyone who doesn’t speak spanish has ever heard of her, which is a shame, because she’s an absolute icon. She was a Mexican nun who was also incredibly gay. You know how Sappho is called the tenth muse? Juana is also called the (mexican) tenth muse. She’s also called the phoenix of America, which is incredibly badass. She learnt how to read at 3 years old, at 8, she asked her mother to send her to college dressed as a man (her mother refused). She learnt and studied by her own, because she wanted to learn. She studied by cutting her hair (if she got something wrong or forgot something, she cut a strand of her hair as a punishment) because she said that “a head adorned with hair is worthless if it’s a head naked of ideas”. When she was sixteen (important to note than she already spoke Latin fluently at 12, having mastered it in just a few lessons) the archbishop Payo Enríquez de Rivera heard of her, and decided to ask her to be the company lady of his wife (his wife and her eventually would have a relationship) and decided to test her intelligence. He got 40 (!!!) university profesor of all subjects, and they all asked her questions related to maths, literature, philosophy, etc. She answered all of them right. At around 21, she decided to become a nun (not out of faith, but because it was either becoming a nun and being able to continue her education, or marrying a man and stop studying. To her, the choice was clear). Also it is said she owned around 4000 books in her personal library. So yeah, an educated, extremely intelligent gal, who wrote lesbian love poems to her gf, and who was definitely not afraid to stand up for herself.

1700s

The Game of Flats - Nicholas Rowe? (1715) / Poem, “game of flats” was an 18th century slang for lesbian sex. Link to read <- that website includes lots of 18th century queer history and poems like this one

The Sappho-an - Anonymous (1735 or 1749) / When I first heard of this I couldn’t believe it. It sounds like an AO3 fanfic, or some modern erotic book (one of those than have a real person in the cover), or maybe a forgotten 1970s lesbian book. It’s none of that. It’s an anonymous poem written in the 1700s. The plot? The goddesses of Olympus are sexually unsatisfied because the gods keep on going after mortals (except Ares, he’s just too busy with war) instead of paying attention to them. The gods keep going after woman and male mortals, so Hera just says yknow what if they can sleep with men then we can sleep with each other. Sappho also appears. Link to read.

Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure - John Cleland (1742) / Ok fine, this one is not sapphic but the main character (female) does have sex with a woman at one point. This is basically an erotic novel. Very dirty (specially for the time period) and very banned in lots of places. The main character is Fanny, a prostitute. It includes lots of straight sex, some gay (mlm) sex, and two pages where Fanny describes in detail having sex with Phoebe, bisexual prostitute. Not sapphic, but thought it was worth mentioning.

1810s

Christabel - Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1816) / So, have you heard of Carmilla (1872)? If you’re reading this post, you probably have, if you haven’t, it’s a classic (vampire) book than is said to have inspired Bram Stoker to write Dracula. It’s also incredibly gay. Well, some say it was Christabel than was the inspiration for Carmilla. Of course we don’t know this for sure, but the similarities definitely are there. Review from a reader: “what if we were the protagonist and villain of a never-completed sensual gothic poem (and we were both girls) / alternately: when you meet a wickedhot girl only she's SPOOKY but that's SEXY and turns out your dad and her dad were also gay back in the day before having a sexy gay falling-out and she's like 'babe let's get naked and hold each other close' and you're like '—wait fuck I mean uhhhh I PRETEND I DO NOT SEE IT!'” I haven’t read this one, however for what it seems Christabel is not explicitly a vampire. Since the poem is unfinished we don’t know the end, and we just think she’s a vampire because so many things used in here were also reused for vampires characterization (like not being able to enter a house unless invited)

1830s

Mademoiselle de Maupin - Théophile Gautier (1835) / “A woman uses her incredible beauty to captivate both d'Albert, a young poet, and disguised as a man, his mistress, Rosette. In this shocking tale of sexual deception, Gautier draws readers into the bedrooms and boudoirs of a French château in a compelling exploration of desire and sexual intrigue, and gives voice to a longing which is larger in scope, namely, the wish for completeness in oneself.”

1870s

Mademoiselle Giraud, My Wife - Adolphe Belot (1870) / “The sensational Mademoiselle Giraud, My Wife tells of the suffering of a naive young man whose new bride will not agree to consummate the marriage. Eventually he learns from an acquaintance, to his amazement, that their wives are lovers.” In reviews it says than this is a homophobic novel (who’s surprised) but “Christopher Rivers argues in his introduction that the protagonist's homophobic attitude toward lesbianism is ironically linked to his intimate homosocial bonds with men”

1880s

Jill - Amy Dillwyn (1884) / “Jill is the story of an unconventional heroine—a gentlewoman who disguises herself as a maid and runs away to London in search of adventure after her mother dies and her father is pursued by a Victorian gold-digger. Once in London she uses her position as lady's maid to become close to her mistress. Her life above and below stairs is portrayed with irreverent wit in this fast-paced story, but at the centre of the novel is Jill's unfolding love for the woman she works for. On the surface a feminist manifesto, Jill is a poignant story of same-sex desire and unrequited love. A new introduction tells the autobiographical story on which the novel is based —the author's own passionate attachment to a woman she called her wife, but who she couldn't have.”

Mephistophela - Catulle Mendès (1889) / “Telling the story of Baronne Sophor d'Hermelinge, a woman as thoroughly martyrized by her creator as any other heroine in the history of fiction, in spite of the enormous competition for that title established by countless writers, male and female, it is one of the archetypal novels of the Decadent Movement, and one of the most striking, precisely because is it such a discomfiting piece of writing, the deliberately controversial nature of which has been further enhanced as its surrounding social context has changed over time. Highly influential, especially on the works of such writers as Jean Lorrain and Renée Vivien, Mephistophela, in placing lesbian amour in the foreground of the story, deals forthrightly and intensively with a literary theme that had previously only been treated with delicacy and indecision, mostly in poetry. It is essentially a horror story about demonic possession, about contrived and cruel damnation, devoid even of a Faustian pact, which merely employs obsessive lesbian desire as an instrument of damnation.” Goodreads review: “As a story it is quite straightforward. Girl has same-sex desires and the novel follows her various affairs up to about the age of thirty. […] More controversially, Stableford (and the books blurb) suggests that it is a novel of demonic possession. Now Brian has probably forgotten more than I will ever learn about the period but a few of the episodes show distinct Charcotian traits (an early childhood 'illness', two doctors in conversation etc) and a (really great) fantasy/visionary episode in the book seems to show, to me, the influence of Michelets book on witchcraft. If anything, the book seems even more subversive that Stableford suggests, as Sophie seems largely 'out and proud' and the author often says that she is 'is as she is' suggesting to me that it is 'natural' rather than demonic. I wonder whether the publisher asked Mendes to add some suggestion of the demonic to 'tone down' the idea that people were actually like 'that'.”

1890s

Avant la nuit / Before the dark - Marcel Proust (1893) / Short story (seriously, less than 10 pages). I read it the other day before bed and it’s pretty good. Talks about Françoise, a woman, revealing her homosexuality to her friend Leslie.

A Sunless Heart - Edith Johnstone (1894) / “Its first third focuses on Gasparine O'Neill, who shares an intense connection with her sickly twin brother, Gaspar. Living in poverty, the two struggle to live decently until Gaspar dies. Here gritty naturalism gives way to fantasy, as Gasparine is rescued from despair by the brilliant Lotus Grace, a much-admired teacher at the local Ladies' College. Sexually exploited from the age of twelve by her sister's fiancé, Lotus cannot love anyone, not even her illegitimate child. Gasparine devotes herself to Lotus, but Lotus finds her final brief happiness with a woman student, Mona Lefcadio, a passionate Trinidadian heiress. Exploring issues of race, sexuality, and class in compelling prose, A Sunless Heart is a startling re-discovery from the late- Victorian era. The appendices to this Broadview edition provide contemporary documents that illuminate the tension between romantic friendship and lesbian consciousness in the novel and address other debates in which the novel the nature of Creole identity, the education of women, and the dangers of childhood sexual exploitation.”

The Songs of Bilitis - Pierre Louÿs (1894) / Poetry. However, believe it or not, these were not written by a woman but by a man. Why add it then, well, the story is quite original. The author (Pierre Louÿs) published this verses as written in Ancient Greece by a “disciple of sappho” named Bilitis. He created this whole character, she was a woman, she was a poet, she was a sappho disciple, her work has been lost until now, and she was a huge lesbian. Of course, this is not true, but still, it’s an interesting read. “Between their open celebration of lesbian love and the eventual revelation of their true authorship—the verses actually were written by French novelist and poet Pierre Louÿs—they became a succès de scandale. Although debunked as a work of antiquity, The Songs of Bilitis remains a classic of erotic literature.”

1900s

A Woman's Affair - Liane de Pougy (1901) / "Despite her beauty and her riches, Annhine de Lys, one of the most notorious courtesans of 1890s Paris, is bored and restless. Into her life bursts Flossie, a young American woman, and everything changes. The love she offers Annhine is dangerous, perverse and hard to resist. Ignoring the warnings of her best friend, Annhine encourages the affair."

I Await the Devil's Coming - Mary MacLane (1902) / “Mary MacLane's I Await the Devil's Coming is a shocking, brave and intelectually challenging diary of a 19-year-old girl living in Butte, Montana in 1902. Written in potent, raw prose that propelled the author to celebrity upon publication, the book has become almost completely forgotten. In the early 20th century, MacLane's name was synonymous with sexuality; she is widely hailed as being one of the earliest American feminist authors, and critics at the time praised her work for its daringly open and confesional style. In its first month of publication, the book sold 100,000 copies--a remarkable number for a debut author, and one that illustrates MacLane's broad appeal.” She’s pretty sapphic and claims her (female) lit teacher is her true love. Also an excerpt from a Goodreads review: “She awaits the Devil to come and marry her and bring happiness if only for three days, meanwhile rehearsing suicide. She prays to the Devil to deliver her from “unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that slopes up in the front" but offers sensuous instructions on how to eat an olive, and enjoys porterhouse steaks and fudge she makes with brown sugar. It's quite a ride. Many recent reviewers pigeonhole her as an ahead-of-her-time Goth or emo, simply transcribing an eternal and universal teen angst.”

Q.E.D. - Gertrude Stein (1903) - Autobiographical short story about a love triangle between three women; Adele (Stein), Mabel, manipulative and wealthy, and Helen, who seduces Adele.

A Woman Appeared To Me - Renée Vivien (1904) / I have no idea how to explain this book other than it's all I ever wanted and it has an absolutely breathtaking prose. Think of The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde’s writing style and descriptions, the character's philosophy, and the queer toxic relationships in the book. Now make it lesbian and even more explicitly queer. Also I'm pretty sure the main characters want to fuck Sappho. On the second chapter the main characters + some side characters (all women + one guy) are having a discussion (a symposium of sorts) about how much they love sappho and how believing she married a man is stupid and how they don’t hate men, just really dislike them, and the guy says: "Mademoiselle, you are trying to hide from the irresistible seduction of the male. You will certainly finish your love-life in the arms of a man." And our main character being an icon finished the chapter answering him this: "That would be a crime against nature, sir. I have too much respect for our friend to believe her capable of an abnormal passion!". It’s so good. I have seen mixed opinions on this one, but I’m just gonna say: the girls than get it, get it. Everything by Renée Vivien is so good, but this is her only full novel I think (she also wrote poems and short stories). If you have to read only one book out of all the books in this post, let it be this one.

Zezé - Ángeles Vicente (1909) / Not translated (I think) but it’s the first lesbian novel written in Spanish which is pretty cool (even cooler than it was written by a woman who, in 1909 (or around it) divorced her husband and lived through her writing). The plot is basically, the narrator (the author) is on a ship and shares the cabin where she’s staying with another woman, Zezé, a cuplé singer, who tells her about her life (her childhood in a religious school, where she discovered her sexuality with had a relationship with another (female) student, her life in Madrid as an adult and living life as a woman, etc)

1910s

Despised & Rejected - Rose Allatini (1918) / A gay man and a lesbian are friends during WWI, which they are against (an anti-war novel). I think the book is in the perspective of the gay man, but his friend is also a main character.

The Scorpion - Anna Elisabet Weirauch (1919) / A review by a reader: “This book felt more like historical fiction than a novel actually written in 1919-1932, considering the explicitly lesbian relationships and coming of age and coming out style narrative. The story follows the life of Metta, a lesbian who grew up with a controlling family in Berlin. The narrative follows her from her first crush on her manipulative governess, to her first love the older and intelectual Olga, and her foray into the gay scene in Munich and beyond. The story isn't without suffering and it isn't just a love story despite how much you might want it to be. Definite trigger warnings for suicide (not Metta), poor mental health, homophobia and general cringe comments due to the time of writing. But the point of the book is for Metta to find a way to be, a way to live her life comfortably and happily, essentially to find herself.”

1920s

The Bacheloress - Victor Marqueritte (1922) / “Monique is an emancipated French woman who leaves home to escape a marriage of convenience to a man whom her parents have forced on her. She then succumbs to all sorts of carnal temptations including a lesbian love affair with a singer. The scandal provoked by Victor Margueritte's La Garçonne, here translated as The Bacheloress, led to its author having his legion d'honneur revoked, which only propelled this novel about a brazenly independent "new woman" to best-seller status. What was shocking then was not so much the reckless behavior of its heroine, who is depicted as the victim of psychological torment, but the portrait of the corrupt post-WWI society in which she lives. Authentic as Monique is, the types of love she encounters, set against the hostile and contemptuous portrayal of her peers, only amplifies her struggle.”

Yellow Rose - Nobuko Yoshiva (1923) / This is the only book than has been translated by this author, she was a lesbian who wrote Class-S romance (a Japanese book genre of the time, which focused on lesbian / homoerotic relationships between women [so-called romantic friendships], than usually take place in an all-girls boarding school). This specific story talks about a teacher-student relationship. She has other books, one called Yaneura no nishojo (two virgins in the attic) (1919) which isn’t translated, but sounds good, the story “is thought to be semi-autobiographical, and describes a female-female love experience with her dormmate. In the last scene, the two girls decide to live together as a couple. This work, in attacking male-oriented society, and showing two women as a couple after they have finished secondary education presents a strong feminist attitude, and also reveals Yoshiya's own lesbian sexual orientation”.

Freundinnen: ein Roman unter Frauen / Girlfriends: a Novel among Women - Maximiliane Ackers (1923) / Only in German, not translated. Review from an English reader: “This novel—which went through several editions in the 20s before being banned by the Nazis—is uncompromisingly, heartbreakingly queer. The novel tells the story of the love between two actresses in Wiemar Germany, Ruth and Erika. Both women struggle to support themselves on the stage, to live independently, and to come to terms with their love for each other and how they might live and express themselves and their desire.”

Surplus - Sylvia Stevenson (1924) / Review from a reader: “This book should be included in lists of seminal lesbian fiction. Published in 1924, Surplus is the story of Sally Wraith's young adult adventures after the end of WWI, during which period she served as an ambulance driver. The novel is not explicit and dos not detail a physical relationship between Sally and her romantic friend Averil but Sally refers to Averil as her "dream girl" with whom she wants to spend the rest of her life. This novel was published before Radclyffe Hall's Well of Loneliness , which is often hailed for its early negative portrayal of homophobia. But I find it compelling that Sally's love for Averil is not treated as deviant. It's just tragic for any babydyke to fall in love with a straight girl!”

The Captive - Eduard Bourdet (1926) / Theatre, “Irène is a lesbian tortured by her love for Madame d'Aiguines, but pretending engagement to Jacques (man). Though Irène attempts to leave Madame d'Aiguines and marry Jacques, she returns to the relationship, saying that it is "a prison to which I must return captive, despite myself". Madame d'Aiguines is not seen in the play, but leaves behind nosegays of violets for Irène, as a symbol of her love.” Read here

Women Lovers, or The Third Woman - Natalie Clifford Barney (1926) / “This long-lost novel recounts a passionate triangle of love and loss among three of the most daring women of belle époque Paris. In this barely disguised roman à clef, the legendary American heiress, writer, and arts patron Natalie Clifford Barney, the dashing Italian baroness Mimi Franchetti, and the beautiful French courtesan Liane de Pougy share erotic liaisons that break all taboos and end in devastation as one unexpectedly becomes the "third woman."

HERmione - H.D (1927) / “This autobiographical novel, an interior self-portrait of the poet H. D. (1886-1961) is what can best be described as a find, “a posthumous treasure”. In writing HERmione, H.D. returned to a year in her life that was peculiarly blighted. She was in her early twenties—a disappointment to her father, an odd duckling to her mother, an importunate, overgrown, unincarnated entity that had no place... Waves to fight against, to fight against alone... “I am Hermione Gart, a failure” —she cried in her dementia, “I am Her, Her, Her.” She had failed at Bryn Mawr, she felt hemmed in by her family, she did not yet know what she was going to do with her life. The return from Europe of the wild-haired George Lowndes (Ezra Pound) expanded her horizons but threatened her sense of self. An intense new friendship with Fayne Rabb (Frances Josepha Gregg), an odd girl who was, if not lesbian, then certainly of bisexual bent, brought an atmosphere that made her hold on everyday reality more tenuous. This stormy course led to mental breakdown, then to a turning point and a new beginning as her own true self, as Her"

Lucia Sánchez Saornil (1895 - 1970) / Spanish poet, putting her here because she’s part of generation ‘27. Read her Wikipedia page because she’s literally iconic (I can’t put the link here for some reason). I love her so much. She was an anarchist and very revolutionary. She wrote under a pen name to be able to explicitly write about women and lived with her partner (América Barroso) until she died. I haven’t been able to find an English translation of her writing, but I do have found a French one, so better than nothing

Dusty Answer - Rosamond Lehmann (1927) / Coming of age story of Judith Earle, sensitive, lonely, who grew up as an only child, but with 4 neighbors (all cousins) to make her company (and eventually harbor romantic feelings for). Then she moves to college, where she meets Jennifer and enters a relationship with her. Although the relationship is not explicitly romantic.

Ladies Almanack - Djuna Barnes (1928) / “Written as a medieval calendar, Ladies Almanack is a clever parody of the crazy sapphic circle of Natalie Barney and her Académie des Femmes. Sharp, biting, witty and transgressive, it is also a modern and pioneer in his vision of lesbianism and the issues surrounding relationships between women. The emotional endogamy, transvestism, motherhood, marriage or differences between sex and gender are already presented in the book with a charge of irony and acidity that is rare in the treatment of the topic. And it is also a breath of fresh air, an essential reference to know the world of lesbian women in all its breadth and diversity.”

1930s

The Angel and the Perverts - Lucie Delarue-Mardrus (around 1930) / "Set in the lesbian and gay circles of Paris in the 1920s, The Angel and the Perverts tells the story of a hermaphrodite born to upper class parents in Normandy and ignorant of his/her physical difference. As an adult, s/he lives a double life as Marion/Mario, passing undetected as a lesbian in the literary salons of the times, and as a gay man in the cocaine dens made famous by Colette." Technically not lesbian, but it’s “set in the lesbian cercles of Paris”

Broderie Anglaise - Violet Trefusis (1935) / Technically not a lesbian novel, but by a sapphic author. Do you know about Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West? Of course you do, everyone does. However, do you know than Violet Trefusis used to be Vita’s lover? They dated as teens and again as adults. There’s this whole gay toxic romantic circle between Violet, Vita, and Virginia. Violet wrote this book where she’s basically adding Vita, Virginia, and herself into the characters and dissing them. The plot centers on an encounter between Alexa, a celebrated English writer (Virginia), and her rival, Anne (Violet), and their discussion about their mutual lover, Lord Shorne (Vita).

Summer Will Show - Sylvia Townsend Warner (1936) / Sophia Willoughby's husband has a mistress who he cheats on her with. So she grabs him and packs him up to Paris with his mistress. She'll raise their children and he can have his mistress all day long if he wants, what she wants is to not see him. Sadly, her children die, and she goes to Paris, where she'll find her husband's mistress, and the two of them start an affair with eachother.

Diana: A Strange Autobiography - Diana Frederics (1939) / “«This is the unusual and compelling story of Diana, a tantalizingly beautiful woman who sought love in the strange by-paths of Lesbos. Fearless and outspoken, it dares to reveal that hidden world where perfumed caresses and half-whispered endearments constitute the forbidden fruits in a Garden of Eden where men are never accepted». This is how A Strange Autobiography was described when it was published in paperback in 1952. The original 1939 hardcover edition carried with it a Publisher's This is the autobiography of a woman who tried to be normal. In the book, Diana is presented as the unexceptional daughter of an unexceptional plutocratic family. During adolescence, she finds herself drawn with mysterious intensity to a girl friend. The narrative follows Diana's progress through college; a trial marriage that proves she is incapable of heterosexuality; intelectual and sexual education in Europe; and a series of lesbian relationships culminating in a final tormented triangular struggle with two other women for the individual salvation to be found in a happy couple.”

1940s

Hidden Path - Elena Fortún (somewhere around the 1940s) / Maria Luisa grows up on 1910s/1920s Spain. She is a peculiar girl, one who despises wearing dresses and wants to dress as a sailor, who could spend all day reading, who loves painting, and who swears she will never marry. Oh, and she's also a lesbian. Based on the author's life Maria Luisa is kind of the author's alter ego, and it follows her from childhood to adulthood while dealing with a world not created with people like her in mind. (Not published until 2016)

El Pensionado de Santa Casilda / The Boarding School of Saint Casilda - Elena Fortún (somewhere around the 1940s) / This book is not translated, but if you know spanish I recommend to pick it up. A group of 14/15 year old girls who go to the same spanish all-girls boarding school, and they are all in love with each other. It follows them into adulthood and how they navigate their lives being women and lesbians in the past (Not published until 2022). Messy lesbians at its finest. Like, seriously. Lesbians still in love with their ex and not over their first love, dating their friends and their ex friend, and the ex of their friend, and having sugar mommies, etc etc

1960s

Winter Love - Han Suyin (1962) / “As a college student in London during the bitterly cold winter of 1944, Red falls in love with her married classmate Mara. Their affair unleashes a physical passion, a jealousy, and a sense of self-doubt that sweep all her previous experiences aside and will leave her changed forever. Set against the rubble of the bombed city, in a time of gray austerity and deprivation, Winter Love recalls a life at its most vivid.”

The Chinese Garden - Rosemary Manning (1962) / “A "very intelligent, sensitive, and compelling" novel of adolescent rebellion and sexual awakening at a girls' boarding school (Anthony Burgess). Set in a repressive British girls' boarding school in the late 1920s—where not only sexuality but femininity is squashed—the novel is the coming-of-age story of sixteen-year-old Rachel, a sensitive, bright, and innocent student. Rachel finds refuge from the Spartan conditions, strict regime, fierce discipline, and formidable headmistress at Bampfield in a secret garden. She also finds friendship there, with a rebellious girl named Margaret. As Margaret has her mind expanded by a scandalous tome entitled The Well of Loneliness, she engages in a bold, forbidden act—the ultimate transgression at Bampfield—and Rachel is drawn into the turmoil. Confronted with the persecution of her friend and troubled by a growing awareness of her own sensuality, Rachel faces an imposible choice that drives her to desperate measures.”

The Microcosm - Maureen Duffy (1966) / “At the House of Shades, Matt, a bar-room philosopher, tries to make sense of the disparate lives which cross here -- of Judy who saves herself and her finery for a Saturday night lover, of Steve the gym teacher who dreads a chance encounter with a pupil in this twilight environment, and of Matt herself, who needs these vicarious exchanges despite the security of her relationship with Rae and her sense that this lesbian sanctuary is a prison too, enforcing the guilt and estrangement of the city streets beyond. Elsewhere there are women such as Marie, trapped within an unwanted marriage and unable to admit her sexuality, and Cathy, for whom the discovery that she is not 'the only one in the world' is an affirmation of her existence. With its innovative structure and style, perfectly mirroring the voices and experiences of women forced by society to live on the margins, The Microcosm remains as powerful today as when originally published in 1966.”

1970s

Beginning with O - Olga Broumas (1977) / A poetry collection by a lesbian, greek writer.

The Same Sea as Every Summer - Esther Tusquets (1978) / A stream-of-consciousness type book, by an author who has been compared to Virginia Woolf. “Poetic and erotic, El mismo mar de todos los veranos ( The Same Sea As Every Summer ) was originally published in Spain in 1978, three years after the death of Franco and in the same year that government censorship was abolished. But even in a new era that fostered more liberal attitudes toward divorce, homosexuality, and women's rights, this novel by Esther Tusquets was controversial. Its feminine view of sexuality (in particular, its depiction of a lesbian relationship) was unprecedented in Spanish fiction. The disillusioned narrator of The Same Sea As Every Summer is a middle-aged woman whose unhappy life prompts a journey into she past to rediscover a more authentic self. However, events force her to realize that love or trust will inevitably be repaid by betrayal. This pattern assumes various forms in a story that moves forward as well as backward, playing out in Barcelona among the haute bourgeoisie. Richly textured with allusion, The Same Sea As Every Summer is also a commentary on post-Civil War Spanish society by an author who grew up during the repressive Franco regime.”

Así es: Mi vida 3 - Victorina Durán (somewhere in the late 1970s) / So, not translated but has great historical value. Basically, this is the third book out of Victorina’s memories that she wrote in the 70s. Victorina (1899 - 1993) was so cool. She was an icon. She was a sceneographer, a painter, a costume designer, writer (aside from her memories, she has some theatre plays), etc. She actually wanted to be an actress. She was part of the Círculo Sáfico de Madrid (the sapphic club of Madrid, a club made out of her and her friends, who were sapphic) among others. She never hid her sexuality. She was friends with almost all the importante well known people in 1920s / 1930s Spain. This book is the third one out of her memories, and it’s focused explicitly on her relationships (all with women). She said she wanted to focus on them and give them a book of their own, so this is of great historical value, giving insights into the queer spaces, lesbian scene, wlw relationships and being gay at that time. I need to read it so bad if someone has a pdf please tell me I’ll send them my fanfic wips

1980s

On Strike against God - Joanna Russ (1980) / “A lost feminist masterwork by feminist and speculative fiction icon, Joanna Russ, about a young lesbian's coming-to-consciousness during the social upheaval of the 1970s. When Esther, a recently divorced professor, has her first lesbian love affair, the fallout brings her everyday miseries into focus and precipitates a personal crisis. She flees her small, upstate New York college town, grapples with gender confusion and the ghosts of therapists past, and fumbles her way through comedic sexual self-discovery, oscillating all the while between visionary confidence and debilitating self-doubt. Confronted with the homophobia of straight feminists and the misogyny of gay men, Esther is left to forge a language for her feminism and her burgeoning lesbian desire. On Strike Against God is quintessentially experimental but accesible, alternately wry and earnest, poignantly didactic, playful, and emotionally charged.” From a review: “For anyone like me who's unfamiliar with the quote which inspired the title: A judge was sentencing a picketer from the early twentieth century shirtwaist-makers strike (the first large scale strike by women), and he told her, "You are striking against God and Nature, whose law is that man shall earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. You are on strike against God!"

Faultline - Sheila Ortiz Taylor (1982) / “An outrageous, zesty, funny Lesbian novel; the adventures of a Lesbian mother with six children, three hundred rabbits, and very relaxed attitude."

The Swashbuckler - Lee Lynch (1985) / "Frenchy Tonneau leaves her closeted home in the Bronx for the bars of New York City, the freedom of Provincetown, and the liberation of Greenwich Village in the 1960s and 1970s. Her hangouts, her women, her small yet universal world tell the stories of the times - and the stories of lesbians today. A timeless journey and a riveting read, The Swashbuckler is heart-wrenching, heartwarming, and unforgettable." Butch main character, lesbian life in the 60s/70s, lesbian-feminism, butchfemme, etc.

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café - Fannie Flagg (1987) / listen, LISTEN, I know this book is not obscure, absolutely not given it even has a movie adaptation, but people do not give this book the love it deserves. I'm constantly thinking about Idgie and Ruth, they are one of my favorite fictional couples ever, and also my favorite lesbian fictional couple. They are such interesting characters with such an interesting dynamic and I just love them so so much. A femmebutch couple in 1920s Alabama, who go through many hardships but still find eachother, still end together, and even have a restaurant, live together, and raise a kid. And not only them, but the book is made out of 4 main characters (or 3 depends on if you see Ninny as a main character or not), Idgie, Ruth, and Ninny and Evelyn. Evelyn, an 80s depressed housewife in her 40s finds solace and a true friend in Ninny, a 90 year old woman staying at a nursing home (not ‘cause she needs it, but to keep a friend company). Ninny tells her the story of Idgie (her, kind of, sister) and Ruth, her best friend and lover. Evelyn finds feminism and hope through the memories, getting inspired by Idgie and Ruth's story and becoming happier in her life. It has several points of views and it jumps between years (first 1980s, then 1920s, then 1940s, then 1980s again, etc) and it also talks a lot about racism in 1920s Alabama, and i'll just stop because I love this book so much and i could go on forever. Oh, and also they murder a man and feed him to a police officer.

Lovers' choice - Becky Birtha (1987) / A collection of eleven short stories about lesbian women.

1990s

Out Of Time - Paula Martinac (1990) / Susan finds an old photograph album with pictures from the 1920s, all pictures being of a group of women (four in total). She's told it's not for sale, but she steals it anyway. After some digging, she finds out than two of the girls from the photos were lovers! And not only is Susan trying to navigate the details of her life and of her relationship with her own girlfriend, but she obsesses over the women in the picture, and eventually, the spirits of the girls start to haunt her.

The Gilda Stories - Jewele Gomez (1991) / Gilda escaped from slavery in the 1850s, until she's taken by a vampire who (consensually) turns her into a vampire too. Gilda moves through the decades finding community and connections and helping people, and slowly builds a place for herself in time. (Fine, not actually obscure since I’ve seen it all around the internet, but it just sounds so good)

Annabel and I - Chris Anne Wolfe (1996) / Plot summed up by a reader: “Half-orphaned Jenny-Wren spends her summers at her uncle Jake's fishing lodge on Lake Chautauqua. One summer day when she's twelve years old while boating with her uncle, she finds a girl on the end of a dock reaching futilely for her escaped model boat. Jenny swims over and rescues the boat, meeting the orphaned Annabel, spending her summers at her grandmother's summer estate. This begins a friendship that endures and grows for years as the two girls spent each summer together, only to be separated at the end of summer. As the two grow older, they realize a magic is at work that keeps bringing them together, despite the near century between them. As the summers come and go, the two young women discover their love for each other, and the realization that their love is imposible. Can their love persist beyond those fleeting summers and flourish, in the face of time?”. Review from a reader: “The foreword says this book is for all wlw, and that, "Because there are as many different ways to love a woman as there are women who love women; it's the loving, not the label, that really matters." That really captured the core of what this book does, it treasures the love we create with our bare hands for and with another woman.” A time travel romance (Jenny is from the 1980s, Annabel from 1890s)

Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice - April Sinclair (1996) / Bisexual mc. “Jean "Stevie" Stevenson, the indomitable heroine of "Coffee Will Make You Black," is back—somewhat older and wiser, with some experience and a college degree -- diving headfirst into the hot tub, free love, yoga, and vegetarian lifestyle of 1970s San Francisco. In this liberating new world of raised consciousness, mind-expanding, and disco-dancing, a soul sister with passion and daring has room to experiment with life and love to find out who she "really" is.”

Beyond the Pale - Elana Dykewomon (1997) / “The story of two Jewish women living through times of darkness and inhumanity in the early 20th century, capturing their undaunted love and courage in luminous and moving prose. The richly textured novel details Gutke Gurvich's odyssey from her apprenticeship as a midwife in a Russian shtetl to her work in the suffrage movement in New York. Interwoven with her tale is that Chava Meyer, who was attended by Gurvich at her birth and grew up to survive the pogrom that took the lives of her parents. Throughout the book, historical background plays a large part: Jewish faith and traditions, the practice of midwifery, the horrific conditions in prerevolutionary Russia and New York sweatshops, and the determined work of labor unionists and suffragists." While it is a romance, it's also more than that, it's about the life of Jewish women in the 20th century.

Crystal Diary - Frankie Hucklenbroich (1997) / “Frankie Hucklenbroich's razor-edged, compelling, often wryly humorous story hustles us from the blood-and-beer-drenched corners of her St. Louis meat-packing district '50s youth, through the sex-soaked Hollywood alleys of her '60s baby butch years, into the druggy metropolis of '70s San Francisco. Moving relentlessly from one woman to another until faces and bodies blur, scamming her existence, learning what the street has to how to make a buck, how to make it with a woman, how to court the dangers of crystal meth, how to survive.”

Hers 3 - Terry Wolverton (1999) / Short stories

2000s

Valencia - Michelle Tea (2000) / "Valencia is the fast-paced account of one girl's search for love and high times in the drama-filled dyke world of San Francisco's Mission District. Through a string of narrative moments, Tea records a year lived in a world of girls: there's knife-wielding Marta, who introduces Michelle to a new world of radical sex; Willa, Michelle's tormented poet-girlfriend; Iris, the beautiful boy-dyke who ran away from the South in a dust cloud of drama; and Iris's ex, Magdalena Squalor, to whom Michelle turns when Iris breaks her heart."

Naked in the Promised Land: A Memoir - Lillian Faderman (2003) / “Born in 1940, Lillian Faderman is the only child of an uneducated and unmarried Jewish woman who left Latvia to seek a better life in America. Lillian grew up in poverty, but fantasised about becoming an actress. When her dreams led to the dangerous, seductive world of the sex trade and sham-marriages in Hollywood of the fifties, she realised she was attracted to women, and that show-biz is as cruel as they say. Desperately seeking to make her life meaningful, she studied at Berkeley; paying her way by working as a pin-up model and burlesque dancer, hiding her lesbian affairs from the outside world. At last she became a brilliant student and the woman who becomes a loving partner, a devoted mother, an acclaimed writer and ground-breaking pioneer of gay and lesbian scholarship. Told with wrenching immediacy and great power, Naked in the Promised Land is the story of an exceptional woman and her remarkable, unorthodox life.”

Her Naked Skin - Rebecca Lenkiewicz (2008) / Theatre. “Militancy in the Suffragette Movement is at its height. Thousands of women of all classes serve time in Holloway Prison in their fight to gain the vote. Amongst them is Lady Celia Cain who feels trapped by both the policies of the day and the shackles of a frustrating marriage. Inside, she meets a young seamstress, Eve Douglas, and her life spirals into an erotic but dangerous chaos. London 1913. A crucial moment when, with emancipation almost in sight, women refuse to let the establishment stand in their way.”

The Rain Before it Falls - Jonathan Coe (2008) / “A story of three generations of women whose destinies reach from the English countryside in World War Il to London, Toronto, and southern France at the turn of the new century. Evacuated to Shropshire during the Blitz, eight-year-old Rosamond forged a bond with her cousin Beatrix that augured the most treasured and devastating moments of her life. She recorded these memories sixty years later, just before her death, on cassettes she bequeathed to a woman she hadn't seen in decades. When her beloved niece, Gill, plays the tapes in hopes of locating this unwitting heir, she instead hears a family saga swathed in promise and the story of how Beatrix, starved of her mother's affection, conceived a fraught bloodline that culminated in heart-stopping tragedy—its chief victim being her own granddaughter. And as Rosamond explores the ties that bound these generations together and shaped her experience all along, Gill grows increasingly haunted by how profoundly her own recollections--not to mention the love she feels for her grown daughters, listening alongside her-- are linked to generations of women she never knew. A stirring, masterful portrait of motherhood and family secrets, "The Rain Before It Falls" is also a meditation on the tapestries we weave out of the past, whether transcendent or horrific.”

2010s

When We Were Outlaws - Jeanne Cordova (2011) / "A sweeping memoir, a raw and intimate chronicle of a young activist torn between conflicting personal longings and political goals. When We Were Outlaws offers a rare view of the life of a radical lesbian during the early cultural struggle for gay rights, Women's Liberation, and the New Left of the 1970s. Brash and ambitious, activist Jeanne Cordova is living with one woman and falling in love with another, but her passionate beliefs tell her that her first duty is "to the revolution".—to change the world and end discrimination against gays and lesbians."

Call Me Esteban - Leila Kalamuié (2015) / “With unapologetic vividness, Lejla Kalamujic depicts pre- and post-war Sarajevo by charting a daughter coping with losing her mother, but discovering herself. From imagined conversations with Franz Kafka to cozy apartments, psychiatric wards, and cemeteries, Call Me Esteban is a piercing meditation on a woman grasping at memories in the name of claiming her identity.”

Jigsaw Youth - Tiffany Scandal (2015) / “Lose your best friend because you finally Came Out. Spend days driving aimlessly because there's nothing to do. Serve your rapist breakfast because you need your job. Fall asleep to gunshots and sirens because that's the only sense of home you've ever known. Hold hands with ghosts. Your life is in pieces, but you can't be broken. Wipe off the blood. Tired of being told who to be, what to wear, how to act and who to fuck. Break the rules and learn fast how to never get caught. All you need is nothing, but you're happy with your car, guitar and camera. Throwing around polaroids of tits like they're money, you swap stories about adventures and realize that we're all running away from something.”

Creatures of Will & Temper - Molly Tanzer (2017) / Recommended as a sapphic picture of dorian gray retelling, it tells the story of Dorina (hedonistic, art lover, and woman-kisser), her older sister Evadne (fencer and responsable), Lady Henrietta (suit-wearing, cigar-smoking lesbian who is a horrible influence), and Basil, Dorina and Evadne's uncle, and who's character has not changed much. They also summon demons.

The Adventures of China Iron - Gabriela Cabezón Cámara (2017) / “1872. The pampas of Argentina. China is a young woman eking out an existence in a remote gaucho encampment. After her no-good husband is conscripted into the army, China bolts for freedom, setting off on a wagon journey through the pampas in the company of her new-found friend Liz, a settler from Scotland. While Liz provides China with a sentimental education and schools her in the nefarious ways of the British Empire, their eyes are opened to the wonders of Argentina's richly diverse flora and fauna, cultures and languages, as well as to the ruthless violence involved in nation-building. This subversive retelling of Argentina's foundational gaucho epic Martín Fierro is a celebration of the colour and movement of the living world, the open road, love and sex, and the dream of lasting freedom. With humour and sophistication, Gabriela Cabezón Cámara has created a joyful, hallucinatory novel that is also an incisive critique of national myths.”

2020s

Thirst - Marina Yuszczuk (2020) / “Across two different time periods, two women confront fear, loneliness, mortality, and a haunting yearning that will not let them rest. It is the twilight of Europe's bloody bacchanals, of murder and feasting without end. In the nineteenth century, a vampire arrives from Europe to the coast of Buenos Aires and, for the second time in her life, watches as villages transform into a cosmopolitan city, one that will soon be ravaged by yellow fever. She must adapt, intermingle with humans, and be discreet. In present-day Buenos Aires, a woman finds herself at an impasse as she grapples with her mother's terminal illness and her own relationship with motherhood. When she first encounters the vampire in a cemetery, something ignites within the two women-and they cross a threshold from which there's no turning back. With echoes of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and written in the vein of feminist Gothic writers like Shirley Jackson, Daphne du Maurier, and Carmen Maria Machado, Thirst plays with the boundaries of genre while exploring the limits of female agency, the consuming power of desire, and the fragile vitality of even the most immortal of creatures.” Lesbian vampires!

The Lives We Left Behind - Olivia Bratherton-Wilson (2021) / I read this one so long ago and I don’t remember everything with detail, just than I really liked it. “1943. Seventeen-year-old Dorotea Miller is given the responsibility of managing the family farm when her father and brother are conscripted, leaving her with only her distant mother and the unfamiliar Land Girls for company. Angeline Carter and her four younger brothers are evacuated to the Welsh countryside to escape the bombings; the Miller farm is nothing like they've seen before and certainly more than Angeline bargained for when she meets the surly, unwelcoming farmer's daughter. Despite their rocky start, misunderstandings and tragedies, Dorothea and Angeline realise that their friendship may run deeper than either of them had prepared for.” There is also a sequel! That one I haven’t read tho.

Agatha of Little Neon - Claire Luchette (2021) / "Agatha has lived every day of the last nine years with her sisters (the other nuns) : they work together, laugh together, pray together. Their world is contained within the little house they share. The four of them are devoted to Mother Roberta and to their quiet, purposeful life. But when the parish goes broke, the sisters are forced to move. They land in Woonsocket, a formermill town now dotted with wind turbines. […] Agatha is forced to venture out into the world alone, to teach math at a local all-girls high school, where for the first time in years she will have to reckon with what she sees and feels all on her own. Who will she be if she isn't with her sisters? These women, the church, have been her home--or has she just been hiding? […] It is a novel about female friendship and devotion, the roles made available to us, and how we become ourselves." Lesbian nuns

Burning Butch - R/B Mertz (2022) / A butch lesbian memoir of their life growing up catholic and surviving in the world, while dealing with faith and what it shape it takes to them.

London on My Mind - Clara Alves (2022) / So, the English translation just came out! Funny thing is, I started this in 2022 even tho I don’t know Portuguese (translating paragraph by paragraph with google translate) and it was pretty good. I haven’t finished it (translating a whole book with google translate is definitely work) but I’m so ready to read it now that it’s translated. Dayana (seventeen, black, plus size, and Brazilian) is forced to move to London with her father (who abandoned her mother and her) and his new family after her mother died. She’s having a pretty horrible time, until, on a walk, finds a redhead girl… escaping Buckingham Palace?? So of course, she helps her escape. Who exactly is this girl? Why was she escaping?? The answer, her name is Diana and she’s sort of (super) the princess of Wales. Huh.

Helen House - Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya (2022) / “Right before meeting her girlfriend Amber's parents for the first time, the unnamed narrator of Helen House learns that she and her partner share a similar both of their sisters are dead. As the narrator wonders what else Amber has been hiding, she struggles with her own secret--using sex as a coping mechanism--as well as confusion and guilt over whether she really cares about Amber, or if she's only using her for sex. When they arrive at the parents' rural upstate home, a quaint but awkward first meeting unravels into a nightmare in which the narrator finds herself stranded in a family's decades-long mourning ritual. At turns terrifying and erotic, Helen House is a queer ghost story about trauma and grief.”

Promises in Pompeii - Violet Morley (2022) / Set in Ancient Rome, it tells the story of two girls, Octavia and Helvia, childhood friends, and their journey through life as women and through their feelings. In the author ig, she said it includes: adventure/survival, against the odds, brothels, butch/femme, coming of age, disguised as a man, first love, friends to lovers, opposites attract, etc. I’m currently reading it, and I really like it so far.

Nettleblack - Nat Reeve (2022) / “Subversive and playful, Nettleblack is a neo-Victorian queer farce that follows a runaway heir/ess and an organisation of crime-fighting misfits as they struggle with the misdeeds besieging a rural English town. The year is 1893. Having run away from her family home to escape an arranged marriage, Welsh heiress Henrietta “Henry” Nettleblack finds herself ambushed, robbed, and then saved by the mysterious Dallyangle Division - part detective agency, part neighbourhood watch. Desperate to hide from her older sisters, Henry disguises herself and enlists. But the Division soon finds itself under siege from a spate of crimes and must fight for its very survival. Assailed by strange feelings for her new colleague - the tomboyish, moody Septimus - Henry quickly sees that she's lost in a small rural town with surprisingly big problems. And to make things worse, sinister forces threaten to expose her as the missing Nettleblack sister. As the net starts to close around Henry, the new people in her life seem to offer her a way out, and a way forward. Is the world she's lost in also a place she can find herself? Told through journal entries and letters, Nettleblack is a picaresque ride through the perils and joys of finding your place in the world, challenging myths about queerness - particularly transness - as a modern phenomenon, while exploring the practicalities of articulating queer perspectives when you're struggling for words.”

Sunburn - Chloe Michelle (2023) / In Ireland, the early 1990s, Lucy feels out of place in her small town. She falls in love with her best friend and she has to find a way to find herself, make a meaning out of her feelings, and hide the truth from her conservative small town and religious peers.

Lucky Red - Claudia Cravens (2023) / "A vibrant and cinematic debut set in the American West about a scrappy orphan who finds friendship, romance, and her true calling as a revenge-seeking gunslinger." Lesbian cowboys

Neon Roses - Rachel Dawson (2023) / “Eluned Hughes is stuck. It's 1984 in a valley in south Wales: the miners' strike is ravaging her community; her sister's swanned off with a Thatcherite policeman; and her boyfriend Lloyd keeps bringing up marriage. And if they play '99 Red Balloons' on the radio one more time, she might just lose her mind. Then the fundraising group Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners comes down from London, and she meets June, a snaggle-toothed blonde in a too-big leather jacket. Suddenly, Eluned isn't stuck any more - she's in freefall. June's an artist and an activist, living in a squat in Camden. With June, Eluned can imagine a completely different - and exciting - life for herself. But as her family struggles with the strike, and her relationship with her sister deteriorates, should she really leave it all behind? From the Valleys to the nightclubs of Cardiff, London and Manchester, NEON ROSES is a heartwarming, funny and a little bit filthy queer coming-of-age story with a cracking '80s soundtrack.”

Tale of Three Ships - Darcia G. Laucerica (2023) / “In a world under the thumb of an empire, pirates sail away searching for a breath of freedom. But even the ocean is tainted by the powerful nation that has spread lies about women being bad luck at sea. Glenlivet has never cared about the fear-mongering. Her ship welcomes those who are rejected and need a home. For all the sailor' s superstitions and "codes" of piracy the captain mocks every day, not leaving the docks when it's dark is a personal boundary she swears by ever since acquiring The Outsider about eight years ago. She just might have to break her own rules to protect her crew, escape the claws of a king who wants her dead, and murder the man who raised her.” I’ve heard so many good things about this. Lesbian main character, with mlm and trans side characters. Author in social media said it includes: Chosen pirate family, sirens, indigenous and latine inspired characters, anti-colonialism, and people fighting injustice and abuse.

How to Breathe Ash - Alex Nonymous (2023) / “Eleanor Perrault doesn't know if there's a right way to handle being suddenly orphaned at sixteen, but it's definitely not the way that she's been coping with it. It's been two months since her parents died and despite her autism normally causing her to be even more emotionally volatile than most of her peers, she still hasn't even managed to cry over them yet. On top of trying to learn how to grieve properly, Eleanor's juggling starting a new semester in a new town with an aunt who seems eternally disappointed in her and a cousin who's randomly decided to start hating her. And a crush on the incredibly pretty president of her new school's QSA. How to Breathe Ash is a contemporary YA Cinderella retelling following Eleanor through elaborate dances, anonymous chat rooms, and learning the right way to not be alright.” Autistic mc! While I haven’t read anything from this author (yet) they have lots of wlw/nblw/nblnb books with autistic main characters.

War and Solace: A Tale from Norvegr - Edale Lane (2023) / “A battle-hardened shieldmaiden. A pacifist healer. Can the two find love amid the chaos of war? From Edale Lane, the award-winning, best-selling author of Sigrid & Elyn, comes a new Tale from Norgevr! Tyrdis is a stalwart warrior raised to value honor, courage, and military prowess. When a traumatic injury renders the powerful protector helpless, she depends on the lovely, tender-hearted Adelle to restore her from the brink of death. Is it merely gratitude or true love that draws Tyrdis to the healer? Defying cultural norms, Adelle despises violence and those who propagate it, but when her shieldmaiden patient saves the life of her beloved little girl, she must reexamine her values. Could Tyrdis be more than a stiff, efficient killer with an amazing body? In a kingdom steeped in conflict with their neighbors and internal strife, shocking secrets are revealed, and both women strive to ensure justice prevails. Can they overcome their differences to safeguard their friends, end the war, and fall in love, or will fate prove to be a cruel sovereign?” Historical fiction set during 643. The author also has another two sapphic books set in the same time period.

Maddalena and the Dark - Julia Fine (2023) / “A novel set in 18th-century Venice at a prestigious music school, about two girls drawn together by a dangerous wager Venice, 1717. Fifteen-year-old Luisa has only wanted one thing: to be the best at violin. As a student at the Ospedale della Pietà, she hopes to join the highest ranks of its illustrious girls' orchestra and become a protégé of the great Antonio Vivaldi. Luisa is good at violin, but she is not the best. She has peers, but she does not have friends. Until Maddalena. After a scandal threatens her noble family's reputation, Maddalena is sent to the Pietà to preserve her marriage prospects. When she meets Luisa, Maddalena feels the stirrings of a friendship unlike anything she has known. But Maddalena has a secret: she has hatched a dangerous plot to rescue her future her own way. When she invites Luisa into her plans, promising to make her dreams come true, Luisa doesn't hesitate. But every wager has its price, and as the girls are drawn into the decadent world outside the Pietà's walls, they must decide what it is they truly want—and what they will do to pay for it. Lush and heady, swirling with music and magic, Maddalena and the Dark is a Venetian fairytale about the friendship between two girls and the boundless desire that will set them free, if it doesn't consume them first.”

Greasepaint - Hannah Levene (2024) / “Set against a backdrop of 1950s New York, this experimental novel follows an ensemble cast of all-singing, all-dancing butch dykes and Yiddish anarchists through eternal Friday nights, around the table, and at the bar. In one of many bars, Frankie Gold sings while Sammy Silver plays piano after a day job at the anarchist newspaper. The Butch Piano Players Union meets in the corner next to the jukebox. Laur smokes on the back steps, sweaty thigh to thigh with Vic. Frankie's childhood sweetheart, Lily, turns up at yet another bar to see a second Sammy play every Friday night. And before all that, there's always dinner at Marg's. Fabulated out of oral histories, anthologies, as well as the fiction of the butch-femme bar scene and Yiddish anarchist tradition, Greasepaint is a rollicking whirlwind of music and politics- the currents of community embodied and held inside the bar.”

Perfume & Pain - Anna Dorn (2024) / “A controversial Los Angeles author attempts to revive her career and finally find true love in this hilarious nod to 1950s lesbian pulp fiction. Having recently moved both herself and her formidable perfume bottle collection into a tiny bungalow in Los Angeles, mid-list author Astrid Dahl finds herself back in the Zoom writer's group she cofounded, Sapphic Scribes, after an incident that leaves her and her career lightly canceled. But she temporarily forgets all that by throwing herself into a few sexy distractions—like Ivy, a grad student who smells like metallic orchids and is researching 1950s lesbian pulp, or her new neighbor, Penelope, who smells like patchouli. When Astrid receives an unexpected call from her agent with the news that actress and influencer Kat Gold wants to adapt her previous novel for TV, Astrid finally has a chance to resurrect her waning career. But the pressure causes Astrid's worst vice to rear its head—the Patricia Highsmith, a blend of Adderall, alcohol, and cigarettes-and results in blackouts and a disturbing series of events. Unapologetically feminine yet ribald, steamy yet hilarious, Anna Dorn has crafted an exquisite homage to the lesbian pulp of yore, reclaiming it for our internet—and celebrity-obsessed world”

How It Works Out - Myriam Lacroix (2024) / “Surreal, darkly comic and achingly tender, Myriam Lacroix's debut sees a queer love story play out in many alternate realities. What if you had the chance to rewrite the course of your relationship, again and again, in the hopes that it would work out? After Myriam and Allison fall in love at a show in run-down punk house, their relationship starts to unfold through a series of hypotheticals. What if they became mothers by finding a baby in an alley? What if the only cure for Myriam's depression was Allison's flesh? What if they were B-list celebrities, famous for writing a book about building healthy lesbian relationships? How much darker-or sexier-would their dynamic be if one were a power-hungry CEO, and the other her lowly employee? From the fantasies of early romance to the slow encroaching of violence that unravels the fantasy, each reality builds to complete a brilliant, painfully funny portrait of love's many promises and perils. Equal parts sexy and profane, unsentimental, and gut-wrenching, How It Works Out is a formally inventive, arresting, uncanny exploration of queerness, love, and our drive for connection, in any and all possible worlds.”

All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny (@a-kind-of-merry-war) (2024) / “Oxfordshire 1362. When Lily Barden discovers her best friend Johanna's hand in marriage is being awarded as the main prize at a tournament, she is determined to stop it. Disguised as a knight, she infiltrates the contest, preparing to fight for Jo's hand. But her conduct ruffles feathers, and when a dangerous incident escalates out of Lily's control, Jo must help her escape. Finding safety with a local brewster, Lily and Jo soon settle into their new freedom, and amongst blackberry bushes and lakeside walks an unexpected relationship blossoms. But when Jo's past caches up with her and Lily's reckless behaviour threatens their newfound happiness, both women realise that choices must always come at a cost. The question they need to ask is if the cost is worth the price of love…” The cover of the edition coming out in November is SO pretty and lately I’ve been looking for medieval sapphic books like crazy.

Gentlest of Wild Things - Sarah Underwood (2024 - out august 15th) / So this book is by the same author as Lies We Sing to the Sea, and I’m in no rush to read that book (a so-called odyssey retelling even tho the author has admitted to never actually reading the odyssey??) but this one looks compelling. “On the island of Zakynthos, nothing is more powerful than Desire-love itself, bottled and sold to the highest bidder by Leandros, a power-hungry descendent of the god Eros. Eirene and her beloved twin sister, Phoebe, have always managed to escape Desire's thrall. Until Leandros' wife dies mysteriously and he sets his sights on Phoebe. Determined to keep her sister safe, Eirene strikes a bargain with Leandros: if she can complete the four elaborate tasks he sets her, he will find another bride. But it soon becomes clear that the tasks are part of something bigger; something related to Desire and Lamia, the strange, neglected daughter Leandros keeps locked away. Lamia knows her father hides her for her own protection, though as she and Eirene grow closer, she finds herself longing for the outside world. But the price of freedom is high, and with something deadly-something hungry- stalking the night, that price must be paid in blood…” The author said that “Gentlest of Wild Things is a sapphic vampiric twist on the story of Eros and Psyche”

The End Crowns All - Bea Fitzgerald (2024 - out on July 18th) / “Princess. Priestess. The most beautiful girl in Troy. Casandra is used to being adored - and when her patron god, Apollo, offers her the power of prophecy, she sees an opportunity to rise even higher. But when she fails to uphold her end of the agreement, she discovers just how very far she has to fall. No one believes her visions. And they all seem to be of one girl - and the war she's going to bring to Troy's shores. Helen fled Sparta in pursuit of love, but it's soon clear Troy is a court like any other, with all its politics and backstabbing. And one princess seems particularly intent on driving her from the city before disaster can strike... But when war finally comes, it's more than the army at their walls they must contend with. Casandra and Helen might hold the key to reweaving fate itself - especially with the prophetic strands drawing them ever closer together. But how do you change your future when the gods themselves are dictating your demise?” Sapphic retelling of the iliad where Helen and Kassandra end up together

If asked, I’ll also do one with gay books

(No 1950s lesbians because I don’t like pulp fiction :( )

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