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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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fl3shm4id3n · 2 years ago

Text

𝓕𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐚'𝐯𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐫.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɴᴇᴛᴇʏᴀᴍ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: SPOILERS (don’t come at me, I’ve warned you), experiments done to a baby in stomach, child birth, mentions of bruises, fluff, reader is a middle child, the reader has no description except mentioning she has dark hair and tattoos, death of a character, reader is able to breath without the mask, reader is 5′3 in height, Flashbacks

Author’s note: I had the courage to write something, I hope you like it. Idk why but I’d like to write avatar fics with a human reader since I don’t really see much of human reader. I’ll also write of Na’vi reader too, I hope you guys like it. Might do a part 2, I’d like some feed back too, don’t be shy and leave a comment :)

Masterlist

A human woman had stumbled upon Awa’atlu, she was heavily pregnant, it was shown that she was about to give labor. She had begged for help, she wasn’t in the best state, she was in pain, sweating as blood began to trail down her legs. She had been practicing experiments on her baby while in her stomach. The experiments involved allowing the child to be able to breath the Toxic air.

The people had taken her to Ronal, seeing the human woman she helped. Hours had passed helping the woman deliver her child. She screamed and cried, begging for the pain to be over soon. Finally the baby was born, the baby was smaller than a regular Na’vi baby.

The woman was exhausted, she knew she wasn’t going to make it, her last words she asked was if they could watch out for her baby before she passed. Ronal held onto the human baby close to her, she didn’t have the heart to leave a defenseless child on her own. She promised to take care of the human baby along with her mate Tonowari, they’ll teach her their ways and will learn to be like them. They had named Y/n.

Year had passed and you were thought everything, how to swim, how to hold your breath longer than you could, as well as hunt and fish. You had always questioned on why you didn’t have blue skin, fins, four fingers and tail. Your parents had told you that you are their daughter and that’s what mattered.

You loved being in the water, you were like a fish, you spent hours and hours swimming with the fish along with your spirit sister. Your mother was surprised that you had bonded with a tulkun like the rest of the people. Your father loved teaching you how to hunt with a spear along with him taking you to ride his skimwing.

You also rode on your oldest sister’s Ilu since you couldn’t bond with one, you and your sister were close, she was their when you were still a baby. She often wondered why you looked different but still loved you. Ao’nung defended you from anyone who made fun of you for being different, yes you may not look like the rest of them but you were still his sister.

That day you had been swimming in the water all morning, seeing different schools of fish along with other kinds of pants under water. Along with collecting sea shells and plants, you wish you had gills so that you could live underwater like a fish. When you swam back to the surface to breath, you saw a small crowd form on the near the shore.

You swam closer and got out the water, placing your collection of shells down and you squeezed your hair to get rid off some water then approached the crowd. When others began to notice you they moved out of your way, you stood right behind your father’s fall figure but got a glance at the forest Na’vi.

They were seeking for refuge to get away from war, but then your mother was not happy with them being here. She had judged them for being to thin, along with them not belonging here due to being forest Na’vi. Then when she had said that they were not true na’vi and having demon blood on them, that’s when you decided to step out causing them to look at you.

The forest Na’vi eyed you, seeing a human that lived among them, how is it that they accepted you and they won’t accept them. “What of her? she is a dreamwalker and yet you let her live among you” Neytiri hissed at you. Ronal turned around and saw you, she walked over to her and pulled you close to her side. “She is our child, she was placed in our path by Eywa” she hissed at her, her mother instincts had kicked in when Neytiri had hissed and gave you a dirty look.

Then you looked up at your mother with pleading eyes. “Mother, please give them a chance? We’ll teach them our ways, to be like our brothers and sisters, please” you begged. Ronal looked down at you, seeing your pleasing eyes, she could not say no to you, you were her precious child, her baby. She sighed and agreed. It was settled, your father allowed them to stay and become one of them. You along with Triyera and Ao’nung will teach their children their ways, your brother wanted you protest but he was shut by your father.

“We’ll show you our village” Tsireya said as she walked towards them to help them with their things. Ronal gave you a loving squeeze like hug before letting you go help your sister assist the family. You helped your sister carry their stuff along with helping them guide them to their new home.

As you walked with your sister, Neteyam the oldest son had been looking at you. He saw how you dark hair was put up along with some baby hairs being displayed like small waves with beads along with shells and other small accessories. he also noticed how you had a tattoo on the upper left of your face, it fit you perfectly. You also had some necklaces around your neck, you looked beautiful.

“This is your new home” your sister said as she set their things down. You stood next to her still holding their things, you saw how Jake tried to lighten the mood but you saw how Neytiri had dropped her rug in an angry manner. “We’ll let you settle in” your sister said as you both excused yourselves and left them.

Neteyam was watching you leave. “Hey! Bro!” Lo’ak spoke loudly causing him to look at his little brother “yes?” he said seeing a smirk on his face. “Did Y/n catch your eye?” he teased, making his older brother roll his eyes “shut up!” he groaned playfully pushing him.

You and your siblings were in the water, waiting for the Sully’s to arrive, you were thinking of thinking of the boy who was looking at you. He was handsome you thought to yourself as you kept yourself afloat between Ao’nung and Roxto. Then finally they got there, they jumped in the water causing you to get splashed along with the two Na’vis next to you.

The lessons were going great, though they were struggling a but they were catching up. Ao’nung groaned frustrated that he was practically teaching babies. “Man, you’re all like babies” he complained as you then chimed in “It’s fine, just be patient Ao’nung” you said as your brother looked at you. Then the Sully children surfaced from the water to breath “you’re going to fast wait for us” Tuk wined as she rubbed her eyes.

Your brother had made a comment on how they were good at swimming on trees, earning a smack from Tsireya, making you giggle. The lessons continued until it was time for them to bond with an Ilu, you had to set this one out since you had no Ilu to ride on. You walked back home where your mother had been creating some kind of lotion with sea weed and clams.

“Evening mother, would you want my help?” you said as she looked at you and smiled. “I’d love to have your help” she said as you got materials to make another kind of lotion. Your relationship with your mother is a good one, she treated you like a baby since you were smaller. She was very protective of you, ever since you were a baby. She was the one who taught you how to swim was a baby, she also thought you sign language and more.

“How is my sibling?” you asked, as you looked at her baby bump, she took your small hand and placed it on the her stomach. You felt the baby in her moving, it made you smile at the feeling. “They’re strong” Ronal said making your mother smile wide. “I can’t wait” you said as you went back into working on the lotion.

After you had left, you came across Neteyam who was sitting crisscross but he had a split lip. You walked closer to him with a worried look at him “Neteyam? What happened?” You asked touching his face lightly with your smaller one, seeing his injury “nothing” he said locking eyes with you. You felt as if time had stopped, his yellow eyes had exchanged yours, you stayed looked that for a bit until you shook your head.

“Hold on” you said as you then reached inside your small pouch that you had took with you so that you could go collect some sea shells and took out the small lotion you worked on earlier in a small wooden tin. “This may hurt a bit” you said as you opened the tin and got a small scoop of the lotion. You lightly dabbed your fingers on his lip making him hiss. “This should help” you said as you put the wooden tin back in your pouch.

“Thank you” he said with a smile, giving him a polite smile in return “your welcome, I was about to go for a swim and collect some shells, would you like to join me? I could also help you with your breathing exercises” you asked shyly at the boy who gave you an even brighter smile. “Yeah, I’d like that” Neteyam said getting up from the floor. You both walked down to the beach towards the ocean.

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar x reader #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x fem reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam imagine #ATWOW #human reader #female reader #Fish Girl series #aphrodite's writing

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ddreamywitch · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter Three - Swan upon Leda

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: things are warming up between princess and benji :)

warnings: the king is a terrible dad, mentions of complicated childbirth

song: Swan Upon Leda - Hozier

Marion is exasperated. Her hands fling through the air like a nervous little bird, desperate to get their point across and yet failing all the same.

“You are out of your mind,” she cries.

The jewels she’d been threading through your braids are long forgotten, a sparkling disarray on your vanity. You pick up a dark red ruby and roll it back and forth between your fingers. “If I don’t go, they’ll think I’ve abandoned them.” Your lips, painted a lush berry colour, pull into a pout that once worked exceedingly well on Ser Rodrick. “Please, Marion.”

Your handmaiden shakes her head.

“It was a risk under the watch of Ser Rodrick,” she leans in closer, nervous eyes flitting to your door. “But with bloody Ben as your protector? He’ll have me impaled when he finds out.”

She whispers his name with fear, as though he would appear like some mirage at the mention of it.

You’ve grown quite tired of this whole bloody Ben debacle. Benji, as he’s allowed you to call him, is less of a sword pointed at you now, but he still sulks, barely speaks.

He doesn’t pose a threat, in this state he is in. You wonder if he would even notice if you let somebody else take your place.

“He won’t find out,” you say, determinedly, even though you know it is to no avail. Marion is loyal and sweet but she is headstrong enough to not give leeway to every idea of yours. You love that about her, even if right now it is giving you a headache.

She takes the gem from you and loops it into your hair with her magically talented fingers. “Maybe in a moon or two, when that lad doesn’t give me the collywobbles anymore. If that does ever happen.”

“Alright then. But will you get word to them that I shall return soon?” You ask. Whenever you ask for things with Marion, you feel a bit childlike and silly.

She smiles at you, the little scar in her lower lip stretching as she does. “Of course, your grace.”

And then after a moment’s silence. “I am certain they forgive you.”

You nod, but still you decide on a plan. A stupid one, irrational at the very least but a plan nonetheless and you were not really the kind of woman who enjoyed changing your mind.

Though you had on Benji. In some ways. But that is different.

You throw a glance at your reflection, decorated and done up. Your father is slowly losing it these days, his festivities growing in both frequency and size, one more ridiculous than the other and you cannot stand it.

You’d be a fool to live so lavishly and in such luxury and turn a blind eye to continue the pursuit of the only thing of substantiality that you’ve ever done in your life.

Rubies to match the fiery shades of your dress today.

Rubies found somewhere far away and shipped across stormy seas to find their place somewhere as ridiculous as your hair.

You cannot stand it, your presentation at the high table next to your family, for everyone to gawk at and soon to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

As though she reads your mind Marion pipes up. “The son of Lord Whent is here tonight,” she says. “I hear he has great hair.”

You scoff. “Yes, great hair and a great hunger for the brothels of the realm.”

“You may find my lady, that such behaviour may prove itself of use to you.”

A low laugh rumbles from the door and both of you snap around, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

Benji stands, hands resting on the pommel of his sword and looking rather amused.

“I do believe that is an improper topic of conversation,” he says.

Your arm wraps around Marion’s midriff. “That you should speak of impropriety of all people,” you say.

He is still a mystery to you. You do not know if he would not go and tattle on your friend if given the chance.

But he shrugs. “Your brother says that you are to meet him in the court before sunset. Your sister is arriving.”

You gasp, sharp and loud, the quick inhale like a whip to your lungs. “Cordelia?!”

Your maid claps her hands together in excitement.

Benjicot looks a bit confused but he doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes so you presume that he really has decided to move on from his rather aggravating bit.

“My god, she will hate my dress,” you say but the sheen of joy your face is dipped in betrays the negative nature of your words.

“Out, Ser Benjicot. Womanly work is afoot in here,” she orders him, too fast with her tongue to worry about fearing him and forces you the other way again.

He obeys. You see him bow in the mirror and a small smile tugs at your lips.

Maybe he wouldn’t be the biggest of your worries.

· · ��────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Marion is done with you at a speed that should be deemed witchcraft.

Your hair is neatly pulled out of your face and braided, gleaming with red jewels like a dying fire.

In general, you look like the roaring fireplace in the banquet halls, layers of shimmering red fabric falling around you.

There’s a nice breeze today, it tickles at your neck and kisses your cheeks softly, as you await your sister’s arrival at the castle’s main entrance.

Your father is not here, occupied with what he claims to be kingly duties but you suppose is more likely related to the royal wine cellars.

Your brother speaks in a hushed tone with one of the council members, no longer an oddity with the king occupied so frequently.

Your feet hurt in your new shoes.

Benji shuffles a little bit next to you.

You’ve noticed that he’s never still, a consistent motion in your periphery.

“How do you like my dress?” You ask him, quietly enough that your brother wouldn’t hear, though you doubt he would care to listen.

Your knight hums a little, almost laughs. You expect the jab, twist the sigil ring on your hand, pull yourself together waiting for it but it never arrives.

“Red’s my favourite colour, Princess.”

It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement and he says it with all the nonchalance he should have, because it isn’t a compliment.

But the little flutter it sends down your spine has all the characteristics of being complimented.

You almost thank him but then you think better of it and just nod to yourself. You would tell him what your favourite colour is, or that you enjoy red as well but it feels too friendly. You’re not even sure if anybody knows your favourite colour. You’re not too certain if you have one at all, now that the matter has crossed your mind.

But you are certain that it is not the colours of your house, as it is the case with Benjicot.

What a foolish thing to be racking your brain over, you think but luckily the horn serves as salvation from your faults.

The gates creak upon to reveal your sister and her entourage, all of them in a royal shade of dark green. She married into the neighbouring kingdom, her blood now runs in their colour. It has been over half a decade but you cannot get used to the sight of it, her days spent draped in your house’s symbols are all gone.

The courtyard is almost empty. Good. No need for formalities.

You fiddle with your fingers as the carriage swings open, lightning running through your veins.

Her face is just as it always is and your sister, after stepping down with caution, at the sight of you, immediately opens her arms.

Your brother laughs, wholeheartedly as you plunge forward, like a horse nudged on, gravel flying up beneath delicate heels.

She smells different and she is older but she feels all the same to you, just as she had when you were a little girl hanging onto her skirts.

Your giggling melts together, a vibration of both your chests.

“Oh darling girl, how I have missed you,” she whispers, soft kisses pressed into your hair. “You’ve grown into a wonderful woman.” She cups the side of your face and you lean into it.

“Alright, what about me,” Tristan calls out, arms out by his side.

Cordelia grins at him and steps past you. “I imagine the heir to the throne gets enough attention as is,” she taunts but she greets him nonetheless, with the same affection she had for you.

“There is never enough,” he says, before he says something into her ear. Quietly and quickly.

She nods and then she regards your knight, now solely left behind, waiting to accompany you. “Ser Benjicot Blackwood, I gather?”

He bows his head, looks at her through that tousled mop of hair of his. “Yes, your highness.”

She laughs. “Goodness, such decorum. I am Cordelia here. My queenship leaves me within the walls of my home.”

Benji nods but he does not correct himself. It would be odd, you suppose. He doesn’t even call you by your first name, why would he do so with a Queen.

Cordelia gives your side a nudge with her elbow. “Quite handsome,” she says, much to your dismay loud enough for him to hear.

Your cheeks begin to burn. “He is sworn to protect me, sister.”

She just shrugs, indifferent to your embarrassment as siblings tend to be and then steps along.

“I do hope there won’t be a scene made over my arrival,” she calls over her shoulder, you and Tristan hurrying along. “The maester recommended I do not subject myself to much ruckus, at my old age.”

It would be slanderous to refer to your sister as old. Your brows pull together. “What do you mean? Are you ill?”

She whirls around to face you, one hand clutching her belly. “You could say so.”

Your jaw drops and Tristan recoils next to you.

Her face drops a bit. “Well, at least pretend you are happy for me.”

“But with your last-.” Her hand flies up, in hopes of silencing your brother.

“I will not dwell on the past. My husband wishes for an heir, as any king, any noble man would and I can only pray that this one will be a boy.”

The sweetness of her visit is immediately tainted, it itches on your tongue to utter something at the monstrous prospect of having to witness your sister bear more children for the King of Arbormere near torturous but you do not speak it.

You clear your throat. “It is good news. And we are happy that more babes will come into the world carrying your kind nature, are we not?”

You look at Tristan, whose face has drained of colour but he nods still.

Such is the fate of noble women. Made to squeeze out heirs for their highborn husbands.

And such will be your fate one day as well.

Cordelia presses her lips together and inhales deeply. “Yes, I shall stay in our kingdom until delivery. My king thought it might help for an easier birth.”

The good in this gleams through and you find it in you to be joyful. “At the castle?”

She nods. “Yes, a few weeks and then I thought I might go north, to mother's home.”

You clasp your brother’s arm. “Might I go with her then?”

Benjicot shuffles. Sometimes you think he is trying to speak this way, as though encoded.

“No. Father won’t allow it. There are no suitor’s to be met in the north.”

You roll your eyes. “There are no suitor’s to be met,” you mimic, voice squeaky and high.

Behind you, you can hear Benjicot fail to stifle a laugh.

Cordelia extends her hand toward you. “We have a few weeks together, don’t we?”

Not enough. Never enough.

“That dress of yours is ridiculous,” she adds, but she says it fondly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The atmosphere at the banquet is odd. You cannot quite place it, but your brother won’t cease his whispering with various members of the court.

Cordelia, though you’ve spent the better half of the evening dancing, has now begun watching everything the way a predator may watch its next meal. She does not look happy.

Though, your father is as reliable as always. King Alexander is doing a wonderful job as presenting himself as the drunken decadent rake he is known to be, though Lady Cathcart has been brazenly replaced with what you can only assume is a common whore.

You feel bad for her, you cannot imagine that it must be fun to spend one’s days entertaining men, let alone men such as your father.

Benjicot is excused from his services for the night at your father’s command, he had lingered in a corner of the room for a while but he disappeared a while ago.

You are pining for a good moment to slip out of the room, Cordelia’s power to protect you from annoying princelings and highborns only going so far.

Lord Whent, despite having stayed true to Marion’s promise of having great hair, had spent his time talking to you staring down your corset and otherwise seemed to like himself a bit too much.

“Cordelia?” You whisper.

She does not look at you when she replies, eyes still trained on someone in the crowd. You cannot figure out who it is when you follow her eye line. “Yes?”

You get up. “I shall be right back.”

She nods.

You do not stop for the formalities of bidding goodbye or greeting anybody you pass, the doors close behind you and with one quick scan, you begin to run. Your foot is bleeding, warm liquid gathering and you curse the cobbler behind your pain.

Your feet carry you deep into the basement of the castle, the scent of darkness and dampness strong in your nose and then you finally reach your chamber.

Marion’s fiance had helped you set it up over the course of the past few years.

Scandalous as can be, you reach into your cleavage where your key is hidden and swing the doors open.

You must hurry. It is much more difficult to find your way out of the castle without your maid by your side to guide you and you cannot waste time.

You are a flurry of red rushing around the room, collecting all the herbs you need. A jar bangs to the ground and you wince at the noise it makes, wince even more when you realise that the last of your melted bear fat now seeps into the dirty floors.

“Bollocks,” you curse but you cannot do anything, except hope that there will be a hunt soon. Though Ser Rodrick would no longer be able to retrieve it.

“What in the name of god is this?” A voice rings through the small room and you almost cause more distraction, just quick enough to stop yourself from screaming.

Your knight stands in the door, looking at you both confused and enticed.

You swallow thickly. “Uh.”

Words have blipped from your head, your mind suddenly a blank sheet of paper.

Benji walks in, looks around behind him and closes the door. “I can’t imagine that this is part of your royal duties.”

Surely, there are some words you could say now. Anything really, would do. Just anything to defend yourself.

He snorts. “Not in the talking mood?” He looks around.

Dried plants hang from the wall, a cauldron stands in the middle of the room, jars are filled with various concoctions.

Oh this looks horrible.

“I do not practise witchcraft,” you croak out.

“Sure does not look like it, princess.”

You set down the ingredients clutched to your chest. “It is medicine.”

He picks up a small vial, admires the brown liquid in it. “For who?”

“Nobody. For fun.”

He doesn’t believe you. “It gets boring.”

“So you go after your hobbies after nightfall? During banquets?”

You nod and go to take the vial from him, but he is quicker, arm raising above you. “Does the king know? Your brother?”

A scowl etches onto your face, your arms crossed. It is quite annoying how tall he is. “I don’t believe it is proper to keep my belongings from me, Ser Benji.”

“Is it proper to brew potions in the dungeons?”

“Why would you follow me?”

He shrugs. “You looked quite distressed. And it seemed unnecessary to spend a moment longer with those highborn leeches.”

You raise your eyebrow, grasping for some sort of higher ground. “Not even the ladies?”

Benji chuckles, a low rumble. You are close enough to think you feel it. “Do not take it to heart, princess, but I do not care for those puppets who care for nothing but appearances.”

You huff. “Only a man would make such rude assumptions.”

“And yet it is a man who has discovered your secret.” He tilts his head. “Now who are you making this stuff for? Your maiden?”

You attempt to jump for the vial but it is no use. “I do not trust you.”

“Who would I tell? I do not wish to have your surveillance become more intense. It’s annoying as it is.”

The broken blister hurts now, and you are glad the shoe is red, otherwise you’re certain it would have been ruined by now. Frustrated, you step back and sit down on the nearest chair, lean back, arms dropped at your side and legs stretched out.

It is a question of luck, but you don’t think he would let these matters rest without plausible explanation.

“There’s a family on the outskirts of the city. I met them on one of those horrible charity visits. They couldn’t afford to pay for these aids and so I took matters into my own hands. And then they told people that there is a way to help and it kept going.”

You meet his eyes and you are suddenly struck by their warm hue of green.

A beat of silence passes. “So you are…a secret apothecary?”

You shrug. “Maybe not adept enough to call myself such. Sourcing knowledge about it is quite tiresome and tedious. And I must do it in secret. It is frowned upon for women, but even more so for a princess. And I do not wish to be accused of doing devil’s work.”

“Well, the dungeon isn’t doing much to alleviate that connotation,” he says.

Is he joking?

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I suppose so.”

You draw in a breath. “Please do not speak of this with anyone.”

He nods and gives the vial back to you. That one is for Marion, womanly matters. You are glad now, that you’ve never taken up to label the things in here.

“How do you get them to the people?”

“Ser Rodrick and Marion.” The lie comes to you quick and easy. It is only half a lie.

You bend down and take off your shoe. Normally, you would not, but having exposed perhaps your most vulnerable secret, you do not see any reason to feign dignity and suffer for it.

“I must finish this tonight. There’s a case of colic rushing through town.”

He is watchful, like your sister had been, but with much less disdain, as you go on with what you had started.

Diligently you powder up anise and cumin and add it to the broth that you had let simmer over the last few days. You do not have cormorant blood at hand but alas one must make due with what they have sometimes.

You walk barefooted, careful to mind the shards and to your surprise, Benji begins gathering them, lips curled as he does. “What the fuck did you keep in that?”

You offer him a bemused hum. “Fat from a strong bear.”

“Has it been there since the dawn of time? Why does it smell so terrible?”

“Only since the last hunt. Four moons ago.”

He shudders and tosses the gathered glass into the fireplace. Remnants of its content sizzle in the heat.

Silence befalls you again and he stands closer now, right next to you, as you begin to fill five separate flasks.

“Should I take it to them then?”

A stray hair falls into your face, like a curtain between the two of you. “That would be wonderful.”

You don’t like the idea. It is not a happy freedom you got by sneaking out of the castle to tend to the frail, but it was a taste of true freedom nonetheless. And you do not like giving out the medicine without clear instructions.

But there is no choice for you to make.

“The last chapel before the city walls, behind it you will find Theo. He will distribute it. Tell him they who receive it, must take three spoons in the morning with a bit of bread. And then the same again at night, until they feel better. And if they have some left even though they are healthy, they can keep it, in case the disease returns. There’s wine in it, it won’t turn bad.”

“As you command, princess.”

You tuck your hair back. “If you wish, you can call me by my name.”

Benji steps back and leans against the wall. He ignores your offer.

Too soon. Too friendly.

“Take that satchel. We don’t need the court thinking you’re a drunkard as the king is.” With the nod of your chin you point to where it rests on a shelf.

Something flits across his features, the shadow of something left unsaid but it is gone before you can place it.

He takes it and slings it across his chest. You hand him your work and the tips of his finger brush across yours but this time it feels different.

You stand before him barefoot, vulnerable, your faith put into his ability to be true to his word. It makes your skin feel raw.

If he recognises the delicacy of the situation, he does not show it.

“I should accompany you to your chambers,” he says. And you want to protest, but you do not. Instead you lean forward, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breaths and pull at the bookshelf behind him. It swings open and reveals a narrow staircase.

His brow raises as he turns his head. “Impressive. Though I am less and less convinced that you are not a witch.”

“Do not make such jests,” you chastise, but you say it with warmth.

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@knight-of-flowerss

@majoso12

@rebeccawinters

@poppyflower-22

@nixtape-foryou

@accidentpronedork

@xlittlefiend

@vqmpyrecult

#house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood #benjicot x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #davos blackwood

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renecdote · 1 year ago

Text

inertia

“Eddie.” He feels his mouth form the word, feels the vibration of it in his throat, but he can’t hear his own voice. It’s dark. Is it supposed to be dark? Yes—it was night. He was with Eddie. “Eddie,” Buck repeats, fumbling one-handed, fighting against the airbag, the seatbelt, the claustrophobia pressing in on him. He has to get out. He has to get to Eddie. He’s trapped. He can’t move—can’t—his leg—nonono, not again, not again, please— For BTHB: vehicular accident

[Read on AO3]

More than anything, Buck remembers the noise: the roar of the engine, a car horn, the squeal of tires, his heart pounding in his ears. Sirens, minutes and seconds later, and someone cursing at him before they got there, “you should look where you’re fucking going, fucking asshole motorbike riders—”

He knows that it hurt, his jeans shredded over bloody skin, his lip split, his arm broken in two places, every inch of him bruised and aching. He knows that it hurt because of course it did, it was probably agonising right up until the morphine kicked in, but he doesn’t remember the pain.

He wonders, now, how he ever could have forgotten it.

****

Eddie reaches out, fiddling with the radio until he finds a station he likes, then turning the volume up just one digit, as if that makes any kind of difference.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

Buck shoots him a grin. “I told you: it’s a surprise.”

Eddie huffs, the same way he did the first four times he asked and got the same answer. “I hate surprises.”

“No, you don’t,” Buck laughs. “You just want everyone to think you hate surprises because you get embarrassingly gooey about them.”

The flash of a passing streetlight shows Eddie’s face cast in exaggerated affront. “Gooey,” he repeats. “I don’t—I’m not gooey, Buck.”

He is. Buck has the photos and videos to prove it.

“Don’t worry, Eds,” he says. “I think you’re cute when you’re gooey.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he turns his head and rubs at his cheek in a way that means he’s probably hiding a pleased little smile. It’s still new: making Eddie smile like that. Going on dates. Holding hands, and sneaking kisses in-between the engines, and waking up wrapped around each other. Buck wishes he could hit pause on every moment between them, just so he can live in it a little bit longer.

He slows down for a yellow light, coming to a stop as it turns red.

“Can you at least give me a clue?” Eddie tries.

“Nope,” Buck laughs. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Eddie grumbles.

The light turns green.

Buck accelerates into the intersection.

Eddie’s eyes widen in alarm, a shout forming but never making it past his lips, his hand half raised like he can—what?

Buck never even sees the crash coming.

****

The Jeep is still registered in Maddie’s name. That’s Buck’s first thought when the tires skid on the icy road, adrenaline suddenly pumping hard and fast as he grips the wheel. He’s going to end up wrapped around a tree, the Jeep totalled, and it’s going to be Maddie’s problem because the car is still registered in her name.

He has a sudden flash of memory: his mom standing in the doorway, yelling at him not to run, snow cold and wet soaking through the mesh in his sneakers as he ran to the bus stop down the road. She never came with him. It was always Maddie who held his hand while they walked, heavy backpacks bouncing on their shoulders, but his mom stood in the doorway of their house and watched until the doors of the school bus closed behind them.

Buck wonders who will tell his parents that he’s dead. Wonders how they’ll react. They’ll probably be glad, he thinks. And then he feels like an asshole for thinking that. (But can’t stop thinking it.)

The Jeep is slipping, slipping, slipping.

Buck fights the gut-reaction to twist the wheel hard, arms locked tight as he holds it steady, foot off the gas, braking carefully, carefully, carefully.

The road around him is dark. Empty. The Jeep’s headlights reflect off a sign: ICE in bold letters below the squiggly black lines of a skidding car. Hysterical, adrenaline-tinged laughter bubbles in Buck’s chest. Too little too late, he thinks. He turns the wheel left and the back of the car swings to the right and—

Another hundred yards and he would have been sinking into an icy river. Would have been dead, probably, pulled out in his Jeep hours or days later, his body cold and blue. He’s lucky, really, that the snowbank got to him first.

****

His ears are ringing.

There’s a little voice in the back of his head—the same voice that points out emergency exits and fire extinguishers whenever he goes somewhere new—that reminds him that it’s normal, that it probably just means the airbags deployed. But it’s hard to hear anything through the ringing, including the voice in his own head. Buck fights against the disorientation, the pain, the starbursts of light in his vision, the high-pitched whine in his ears and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He wonders, for three disoriented seconds, whether he’s back in the tsunami: turned around and upside down, caught in a whirlpool beyond his control, can’t win, can’t breathe, can’t swim.

But there’s blood in his mouth.

There’s blood in his mouth, and he clawed his way out of that ocean, clawed at the muddy ground, and Eddie got shot in the street in broad daylight, and—

“Eddie.”

He feels his mouth form the word, feels the vibration of it in his throat, but he can’t hear his own voice. It’s dark. Is it supposed to be dark? Yes—it was night. He was with Eddie.

“Eddie,” Buck repeats, fumbling one-handed, fighting against the airbag, the seatbelt, the claustrophobia pressing in on him. He has to get out. He has to get to Eddie. He’s trapped. He can’t move—can’t—his leg—nonono, not again, not again, please—

Something touches him.

Someone.

Hand on his thigh, squeezing, pulling his focus. Eddie. Buck’s right shoulder is throbbing—dislocated, maybe, minimum four weeks off work, light duty for another month—and he wants nothing more than to hold Eddie’s hand, to tangle their fingers together and squeeze (I’m okay, we’re okay, it’s gonna be okay), but the angle is all wrong and he can’t get his left arm across his body to do it.

His neck hurts, too—everything hurts—and that little first responder voice is still in the back of his head—don’t move, wait for the paramedics—but he turns his head anyway, searching for Eddie in the darkness.

There you are, Eddie’s smile seems to say.

Blue and red blur across Buck’s vision, pain streaking through his head, and he has to close his eyes against the rush of nausea it brings.

Eddie’s hand squeezes his leg again. Stay awake, maybe. Or I’ve got you, we’re okay.

Buck never should have closed his eyes. Can’t get them open again. Red-blue-Eddie-pain flash behind his eyelids.

He’s unconscious again before the firefighters pull them out.

****

Buck doesn’t remember most of the truck bombing. He watched the news clip twice after he got home from the hospital, pieced together all the comments people made until they formed some kind of coherent picture, guessed at the rest of it from everything else he’s seen on the job. He knows Eddie held his hand. Knows he was trapped there for almost thirty minutes before they got him out. Knows that it’s probably a good thing that he doesn’t remember all the details. The night is all blurred colours, and fear, and the strangest feeling of being weighed down and floating at the same time.

It felt like that in the hospital afterwards too, the cast on his leg bulky and heavy, a weight more than physical, and the painkillers cushioning his mind from all of it.

“You’re lucky,” a doctor told him, scrawling notes on his chart. “Most people don’t walk away from something like that.”

Buck laughed, short and brittle, halfway to a sob. “I’m not walking, doc. I can’t even stand.”

“Yet.” The doctor had the nerve to smile as he said it. “We’ll get you there.”

Buck was only thinking about getting back to work, then.

Now he wakes up in the hospital and he’s back there for one half-conscious moment, his leg his first thought, panic washing through him, his breath sticking in his chest. A doctor leans over him, mouth moving as they ask him muffled questions, his ears aching, head aching, everything aching.

“Don’t take my leg,” Buck begs, his own voice echoing in his chest.

The lights are bright and the doctor is still talking, maybe to him, maybe to someone else, but it doesn’t matter. Buck can’t hear them anyway.

He slips back under.

Wakes up again minutes or hours later to find someone else beside the bed. Short-cropped brown hair, but the wrong shade. The wrong face attached to it. A question catches in the back of Buck’s throat—Eddie? Is Eddie okay?—and comes out as a groan, pain waking up with the rest of him, his body stiff and sore at the slightest movement.

Bobby’s head snaps up, one hand going for the call button, the other for Buck’s arm. “Hey. Hey, easy, kid, you’re okay, you’re in the hospital.”

Buck blinks and finds his lashes sticking together, tears welling up before he even knows why he feels like crying.

“Eddie is okay too,” Bobby adds, reading it on his face. “He’s better off than you are—mostly superficial cuts and bruises, possible cracked ribs, a fractured wrist, whiplash—they’re just keeping an eye on him until they can run some more tests to be sure.”

It should be a relief, hearing it from Bobby, but Buck knows the vice around his chest isn’t going to ease fully until he can see Eddie for himself. Maybe not even then, honestly, since it’s at least half from the broken ribs he’s nursing.

“You’re both gonna be fine,” Bobby says, and it’s hard to tell through the fog of painkillers, but it sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself as much as Buck.

****

The wave comes fast and hard, knocking the breath out of him, sending him tumbling. Buck tries to hold onto his surfboard, but it slips away from him, the cord velcroed to his ankle the only thing tethering them together while the ocean does it’s best to tear them apart.

He gets his head above the surface, gets one gasping breath of air, and then the board pops up and slams into his jaw. He goes under. Comes back up coughing and spluttering, his face throbbing. He doesn’t get a full breath in this time before another waves lifts him up and then bowls over him. It’s easier not to fight it. Easier to hold his breath and let it take him.

A hand around his bicep drags him back up. Drags him into the shallows and then further, onto the damp edge of the beach.

“Jesus, Buckley,” Andy exclaims, halfway to nervous, adrenaline-fueled laughter. “I really thought you were dead for a minute there.”

Buck grins, tired and squinting against the bright San Diego sun, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, right? He’s supposed to laugh and shake this off and get right back out there.

“I wasn’t worried,” he lies, and Andy does laugh this time.

“You’re a crazy sonuvabitch, you know that?” he says. Then he’s twisting, turning to yell at someone behind him, “He’s fine, Lila! The asshole says he wasn’t even worried!”

Lila kisses Buck later, her purple nails biting in at his hips, beer heavy on both their breaths. A fire crackles in the backyard and party music thrums in the walls of the house when she says, “I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you, Evan.”

Buck’s chest feels tight, his stomach bubbly, his jaw bruised and aching, but he holds Lila close and kisses her back, gives her everything she wants, even when being kissed on the cheek and left to zip up his pants afterwards feels just like that surfboard popping up out of the water to smack him in the face. It’s supposed to hurt after all. Being wanted. Being loved. It always hurts. Isn’t that how he knows that it’s real?

****

“You’re like a car crash, Buckley,” Jai tells him. “It’s all fast and fun until we end up wrapped around a tree.”

****

“You need to be more careful,” his mother snaps, as close as she has ever come to sounding like she cares. “You’re going to get someone killed one of these days.”

****

“You’re both gonna be fine,” Bobby says.

Gonna be fine gonna be fine gonna be fine.

****

Buck is awake when Eddie sneaks into the hospital room.

Half-awake.

Morning light is pressing in insistently behind the blinds someone pulled down over the window and there’s an itch right near the IV port in his elbow that he’s trying not to think about. Buck’s eyes are closed, but he listens to the shuffle of feet on the linoleum, the plastic groan of the chair beside the bed and the quiet, familiar sigh as his boyfriend settles into it. All he has wanted since finding himself in the hospital is to see Eddie, but now that Eddie is here, Buck doesn’t think he’s ready to face him.

His elbow itches. Buck tires not to grimace.

Eddie reaches out and takes his hand, warmth curling around Buck’s cold fingers. “I know you’re awake,” he says, thumb moving on the back of Buck’s hand.

Slowly, Buck opens his eyes, painkillers cushioning the ache in his neck as he turns his head on the pillow. He has to blink a few times before the room comes into focus: tired eyes, short-cropped hair, right shade of brown this time.

“Hey,” Eddie smiles. “There you are.”

Eddie looks—okay. A little bruised, a little battered, but okay. Buck takes a shaky breath and feels it fill up his lungs for the first time since that car slammed into them. Hey, he thinks, and then he opens his mouth and what comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

A watery laugh; the kind that means something isn’t really funny but the only options are to laugh or cry. “I shouldn’t be surprised that those are your first words,” Eddie says, and his smile is watery too but it’s also—fond. So fond it hurts to look at. “This wasn’t your fault, Buck.”

Buck knows that. Logically, he knows that. But.

“I’m still sorry.”

Eddie lifts his hand and kisses his knuckles, holding Buck there against his lips as he answers, “I know.”

“You’re okay?” Buck asks—needs to ask—blinking through the tears in his eyes. “Bobby said you broke your wrist.”

Eddie lifts his left arm up to show off the cast. “Clean break, no surgery required. One fractured rib. Whiplash. The rest of it is just cuts and bruises.”

Buck has to bite his lip so he doesn’t apologise again.

“We’re okay, Buck,” Eddie adds, soft and steady, and Buck knew they were, he thought he did, but hearing the words puts a lump in his throat anyway.

“The light was green,” he says, and he’d been sure, so sure, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was distracted. He knows he can be a reckless driver, but Eddie was in the car and he was smiling and Buck would never—

“The other driver went straight through the red,” Eddie confirms, soothing his doubts as easily as he caresses Buck’s hand with his thumb. “Bobby said it was a heat attack. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Buck thinks about that sign in Wisconsin: ICE. He wonders whether they’ve moved it, put the warning somewhere earlier on the road. Wonders whether it would have made any difference, seeing that sign before the tires started skidding.

He wants to ask if the other driver made it, but he’s not sure he actually wants to know.

“‘M still not telling you where we were going,” he says instead, fighting against the droop of his eyes. “Being t-boned doesn’t get you out of the surprise.”

“It wasn’t a steakhouse, was it?” Eddie asks.

A laugh catches Buck by surprise, spasming through his bruised chest, and he breaks off with a groaning, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Eddie apologises, squeezing his hand. “How’s your pain? Do you need more painkillers?”

“‘S’okay,” Buck answers, shifting and feeling all the ways his body protests. “I’ve had worse.”

Edie shakes his head. That’s not a measure of pain, Evan, Maddie would say. Buck can see it on Eddie’s face too, but he just says, “Okay. Why don’t you get some rest?”

He shifts up, slowly and painfully, leaning forward until he can kiss Buck’s forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. Buck curls his fingers into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket, holding him there to kiss him again. Eddie relaxes into it, kissing back easily, his weight a comfortable heaviness against Buck’s tired body.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck smiles. “I love you too.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

It hurts to shake his head, but Buck does it anyway. “No, you should go home—you should see Chris—”

Eddie stops him with another kiss. “Chris told me I have to stay with you. Pepa is looking after him, he’s okay.”

That lump is back in Buck’s throat, harder to breathe around this time. He’s not sure what he did to deserve the Diaz boys. He isn’t sure that he does deserve them, half the time, but here they are anyway. They want him—they love him—and it doesn’t hurt. That’s how Buck knows it’s real.

When he sleeps, he dreams of driving across a frozen lake, Eddie smiling in the passenger seat and Christopher laughing in the back. The sunlight is bright and clear and he thinks there’s a monster chasing them under the ice, threatening to break through and drag them into the murky depths, but it never catches them.

****

Buck’s arm flies out on instinct, pressing Christopher back into the seat while the car jerks to a sudden stop.

“Whoa.” Christopher’s eyes are wide behind his glasses. “That was close.”

Buck’s heart is racing in his chest, his hands shaking with the frissons of adrenaline running through his body. He breathes a shaky laugh, more relief than amusement. “Too close. Don’t tell your dad.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “As if you aren’t going to tell him as soon as we get home.”

The kid has a point, but.

“Maybe I’ve decided to start keeping secrets.”

“About almost being in a car crash?” Chris asks skeptically.

The car in front of them inches forward and Buck lets the gap grow before he eases his own accelerator down.

“Almost is the key word there,” he tells Chris, lighter than he feels. He’s still jittery, hyperaware of every sound, every glint of sunlight on metal that might be a car about to t-bone them or rear-end them or cause an accident in a million other ways. Buck knows car accidents. He knows what it’s like to cause them, to get caught in them, to respond to them. He knows that, statistically, it’s likely Chris will be in some kind of accident at some point in his life. He really, really doesn’t want to be the reason that happens though.

“Don’t worry,” Chris says, attention back on his phone, completely unconcerned, “LA has one of the highest accident rates in the country so it probably wouldn’t even be your fault.”

Buck frowns. “Why do you know that?”

“You and dad were in a car accident last year,” Chris shrugs, like the answer should have been obvious. “I looked it up.”

Eddie isn’t in the car with them, but Buck can hear his voice clear as day in his head: he gets that from you, you know.

“Okay,” he says, “definitely don’t tell your dad you’ve been reading about car crash statistics. You know what he was like with the Zodiac killer stuff.”

Chris grins. “He was so mad at you.”

They’re at a standstill again. Buck takes the opportunity to throw Chris a betrayed look. “I seem to remember him being pretty mad at you too, kid.”

He can feel himself relaxing, heart rate coming down and tension draining out his shoulders. Chris is fine. They’re both fine. Another fifteen minutes and they’ll be home. He flicks on the indicator then checks his blind spot twice before changing lanes as the traffic breaks out of the bottleneck and starts moving again. The blue Toyota they almost ran into turns into another street and disappears.

“So,” an impish smile in his peripheral vision, “if I’m keeping secrets from dad, does that mean we can have ice cream for dinner?”

Buck laughs. “Nice try.”

The engine is a steady rumble, its vibration passing through the wheel and up his arms, settling in his chest. Christopher reaches out and skips to the next song on the driving playlist. Sunlight glints off a stop sign. Somewhere behind them, a car honks.

Buck breathes in. Breathes out.

They make it home in thirteen minutes.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 Fox #fic #badthingshappenbingo

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forestspriteside · 4 months ago

Text

Fairies

He had always been fascinated with fairies. Of course he knew that it was because he didn’t have one, and everyone else did, but really it was more than that. There was something about their light, the effortless way they flew, how they represented healing and rebirth. Link wanted a fairy partner from the first, but he kept that in. Let the other Kokiri think that it was fine, being alone, when they never had to be. Navi was a blessing when she came. Probably, other Kokiri would have been annoyed that she talked so much, but he appreciated it. He’d gotten too used to the silence, even with Saria as his friend. But “used to” didn’t mean that he liked it. It didn’t help that he was mute himself. That he always had been, except for the “noises” he made. It didn’t make the other Kokiri like him any more, but they were always nice. Polite. Link didn’t feel so quiet and different with Navi around chattering.

The first time he had stepped into a fairy fountain, on his path to becoming a hero, he’d been so enchanted that he’d want to stay. The water, the glow, the promise that they’d bring him back from the dead - but he didn’t know what death was, not really. His mother had died, but he hadn’t gotten to know her. The Great Deku tree had withered, and he hadn’t truly been able to process it. Kokiri didn’t die. They didn’t age. No one had talked about what dying meant before. “Let them live in one of your bottles, just for a little while,” Navi said, “and they’ll help you when you need them most.” Link had looked at her, confused by what that meant. They’d made it through the Deku tree just fine. It still felt like they’d talk to him soon. “If you die,” she said gently. “They let you get back up again.” Link had coaxed a fairy into a bottle without questioning further. But she hadn’t told him that dying would hurt worse than anything he’d faced so far.

Eventually he came to understand that death came at the end of pain. Sickness, injury, advanced age. Things that your body had no way to defeat. But it wasn’t an end with his fairies. When he burned to death, he’d flash out for only a moment before the fairies brought him back. When his skin still burned, healing slowly, growing back like bark on a tree. They gasped air back into his lungs when he drowned. They pulled the sword from his chest as he bled to death, stitching torn aching flesh back together. Again and again and again. Because a hero was made, it seemed, to hurt. That he could die, would die, should die a hundred times for Hyrule’s sake. Because his pain mattered less than Hyrule. Yes, he supposed, he believed that. He had to. There was no other choice. It made so much sense when he heard this wasn’t his soul’s first time through life. That Link and Zelda and Ganon were caught in a loop they couldn’t escape. That yes, he’d died so many times before, and that even the ones at the end of his lives weren’t the end.

The last death of his adventure, against Ganon, was the worst. Because he had run out of fairies in bottles. Out of potions, that tasted bad and forced his body to function a while longer. Out of milk and second chances. He was bleeding and tattered and breathing so hard it was all he could hear. Ganon was laughing, though. He was always laughing. This wasn’t his first death either, was it? An ill timed step let Ganon’s sword hit him that final time and he fell without fairies. The pain did stop. The darkness did come. Before Link could truly wonder how he would wake up, next time, what kind of world he’d have left to save after failing, here, failing himself and Zelda and Navi and everything - his wounds were stitching closed and he was standing again. “I shouldn’t do this,” Navi whispered. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I’ll survive. I can’t help you anymore, but you can do this Link. You can.” His first word was her name. The first battle he’d won for her was the only one she wouldn’t get to see. So when Zelda said that she’d send him home, that he’d get to live his childhood like he deserved, he didn’t protest quite fast enough. Because she might be there. Because fairies were life, rebirth, second chances. Because she had to be alive in the past he would no longer understand. Because he still needed fairies.

#the legend of zelda #ocarina of time #link #the hero of time #navi #princess zelda #zelda #ganon #fairies

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schrijverr · 3 months ago

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Tomorrow Will Be Different 24

Chapter 24 out of 26

Instead of managing to meet up later, Oliver has to keep running with Akio. The only way to keep them safe is to go public with Oliver being alive, leaving him back home in charge of Akio, while Tatsu and Maseo are still in the wind

In this chapter, Oliver has to confront whether he did right by Akio, if he is still doing right by him, now that Tatsu and Maseo are there to comment on it. As well as figure out how he relates to the two Yamashiros without A.R.G.U.S. hanging over them.

On AO3.

Ships: Tatsu and Maseo

Warnings: minor flashbacks to canon bad things that happened to Oliver

~~~

Chapter 24: The First Morning

Oliver can’t keep the promise to his mom to try to sleep. He feels relaxed, more so than he has in a while, but once he gets to his room that’s gone. Instead, the content feeling in his chest is replaced by a weird constriction that he can’t place.

So, he lies in his bed for all but thirty minutes, before he’s turning the light back on and getting behind his desk.

Researching the names on the list gives him something to do and the plan that is further developing in his mind soothes that weird feeling in his chest. He thinks pursuing this will be good for him, to cope.

It’s close to 4:00 when he is interrupted by a knock on the door. Confused, Oliver opens it, looking at who could be up at this hour. “Akio? Are you okay?”

Akio is slightly hunched in on himself and softly asks: “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, buddy, I was already up,” Oliver assures him. “Did something happen?”

“I went by Otōsan and Okāsan’s room. They are asleep and they need the rest, so I should not wake them, but I keep thinking they will not be here in the morning,” Akio confesses.

“That sucks. Would it help to hang around here?”

“Yes, please.” Akio looks relieved that Oliver offered and he didn’t have to ask, which makes a bit of pride unfurl in Oliver’s chest.

“Come on in then and get comfy,” Oliver says, opening the door further and ushering him in.

“What were you doing?” Akio asks, looking at the turned on monitor.

Oliver is glad he minimized the tabs of corrupt Starling elite that were open before he answered the door, as he shrugs: “Trying to find solitaire on it so I’d have something to do.”

Akio looks disgusted by that, which makes Oliver snort. He turns off the computer and says: “Alright, Mr. Judgmental. It’s late. Try to get some sleep.”

For a moment, it looks like Akio will refuse and bully Oliver for his choices, however, Oliver isn’t wrong, it is late. So, Akio decides to save it for now and sleep instead, crawling onto the bed. He asks: “Are you not going to sleep too?”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Oliver agrees, not wanting to set a bad example. He turns off the lights, then gets into the bed next to Akio. The mattress that used to be on the floor is now gone and he doesn’t feel like getting a new one, besides the sharing of space reminds him of the time in the Hong Kong office building. It’ll be okay for a night.

They lie in the silence for a bit. The weird feeling in his chest is gone and he feels kind of tired when he thinks of it, but sleep is a fickle mistress. He hopes Akio has more luck than him.

Akio hasn’t.

After a few beats, Akio suddenly speaks up again, not turning his head but just talking into the darkness. “What is going to happen now?”

“Well,” Oliver starts after thinking for a moment, “after we get all the boring court stuff figured out. You and your family will probably return to Japan and go back to your life. You’ll get to go to an actual school again and see all your friends.”

“It has been over a year since I saw all my friends, I doubt they will still know me,” Akio sighs.

“Hey, that’s nonsense. You’re amazing, Akio, of course they’ll still know you.”

Akio is quiet then he says: “Thank you, but I meant… They won’t know me anymore. This year has not exactly been normal. I know Otōsan and Okāsan tried to make it seem like that, but we had to move and there were the bad man and the lady who came to attack Okāsan and us having to flee in Hong Kong. I do not know if I will be able to be friends with my friends anymore.”

And fuck if Oliver doesn’t know that feeling. It’s unpleasant and isolating, to feel apart from the world you used to be a part of and he doesn’t wish it on Akio. However, his wishes have nothing to do with reality.

Still, he can’t just tell Akio that it sucks and he’s right. Besides, Akio is a better person than he is with more mental fortitude than he should have at his age and less cracks in his personality than should be reasonable after all he’s been through.

So, he nudges Akio slightly and waits until the kid is looking at him. “Hey, you’re going to be okay, buddy. I promise.”

“How would you know?”

“Well, I have been away for three years and came back, which makes me highly qualified to talk about the topic,” Oliver points out. “And I know that you will find your place with your friends again, even if it might take a while.”

Akio looks like he wants to believe him, but isn’t sure he can.

Oliver pushes him over the edge. “Look at it this way, the last few weeks it was just the two of us against the world, you didn’t know when you would see your mom and dad again, but you gave it time and now you’re back together again. Future can be uncertain, but you’re a strong kid. Just give it time and you’ll land on your feet.”

“Tomorrow will be different?” Akio suggests and Oliver supposes it can be applied here as well.

“Yeah, buddy, exactly.”

It’s quiet after that. The silence drags on for so long that Oliver half-thinks Akio has fallen asleep. Then Akio softly says: “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Oliver smiles.

The two sleep peacefully until morning after that. Oliver wakes first around 7:00, pleasantly surprised he slept for three hours straight. Akio is still under deep, so he decides to let him rest and skillfully extracts himself from the bed without waking him.

Remembering the fear that caused Akio to come knocking on his door last night, he leaves a note on the nightstand that he’s going downstairs.

In the hallway, he runs into Maseo. They say their good mornings, before Maseo explains he was going to check on Akio. Oliver is glad he intercepted him. “Akio is sleeping in my room.”

Maseo frowns at that. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he knocked on my door at four, was scared you guys wouldn’t be here when he woke up, but didn’t want to wake you. I let him stay there,” Oliver explains, suddenly feeling weird having to explain himself to someone who knows Akio better than him. Uncertain he adds: “I hope that is okay?”

“Yes, thank you for looking after him,” Maseo smiles.

“Of course.”

Tatsu comes up behind them, asking Maseo: “Akio, is he okay?”

Maseo explains the situation while Oliver stands there awkwardly. He has done his best with taking care of Akio, but now he is confronted with the only two people who are qualified to judge if he has done an okay enough job at it.

“Thank you,” Tatsu thanks him as well. It is strange to have her gratitude instead of her mild dislike.

“It’s nothing,” Oliver waves it away, not sure if he would have minded her judgment or this thankfulness more. “Let’s just get you two something to eat. Can’t promise anything you’re used to, but it’ll be good.”

“If you ate foreign food for a year, I am sure we will manage,” Tatsu smiles, the small barb feels very welcome.

“Har, har,” he rolls his eyes, but leads the way willingly. He can actually cook now, though he’s actually better with Asian dishes and open fire cooking than American food. Still, he thinks he can manage eggs and bacon.

Due to it being school day, Raisa is already awake. However, he ushers her out of the kitchen, promising he won’t burn it down. He wants to have this moment with Tatsu and Maseo.

As expected, with actual cooking skills the eggs and bacon aren’t that difficult, though Oliver can only produce scrambled eggs.

While he mans the stove, Tatsu and Maseo take a seat at the breakfast bar that is attached to the kitchen island. It’s quiet for a moment, then Maseo says: “Your house is somehow not what I expected.”

“What? Way more obscenely posh and lavish?” Oliver comments with a quirked brow. The three years have given him a lot of perspective on his previously so normal life.

“It’s… bigger, certainly,” Maseo agrees politely.

Oliver snorts at the massive understatement. He plates two portions of breakfast and serves the two as he says: “Let’s not make it weird. My family is crazy rich, I know. But we all know that didn’t prepare me for actual life. This doesn’t change that I still am that same, stubborn asshole you two met.”

“I think idiot is a better description,” Maseo smiles.

“Or nuisance,” Tatsu adds.

“Hey, no need to kick a man while he’s down,” Oliver says faux-indignant, pointing at both of them with the spatula.

The two laugh again, tension broken, as Oliver plates his own food and joins them. They have shared many meals together, but none quite like this. No A.R.G.U.S. hanging over their heads. He is happy to discover that without him endangering their family, they get along better.

Still, neither Tatsu or Maseo are chatterboxes, so Oliver soon turns on the TV, switching over to a news channel where the story of the Yamashiros’ miraculous survival is breaking.

“In other news, Maseo and Tatsu Yamashiro have been confirmed to be the only survivors of the human experimentation ship found earlier this week,” the news anchor says. “The ship was, according to our sources, testing a bio weapon, however there was an alleged mix up with the vaccines, causing the crew and only some of the captives to get infected. However, only Maseo and Tatsu Yamashiro did not die due to injuries before the ship could be found.”

All of them listen intently. They’ve gone over the cover story in much detail yesterday, but it’s always good to know what parts have been released.

“The two names are well known after their son, Akio Yamashiro, appeared in Hong Kong four weeks ago with Starling, billionaire Oliver Queen, who was assumed to be shipwrecked before his appearance. It has not been confirmed as of yet, but rumors say the family has been reunited at the Queen mansion after the two elder Yamashiros were cleared by the CDC,” the news anchor continues.

Oliver makes a mental note at that to talk to his mom about privacy. He somehow can’t imagine either Tatsu and Maseo wanting to appear in front of the press.

The news anchor goes on: “As of now, there has not been a statement from the Queen family about what this might mean for the future of Akio Yamashiro, who is now under the guardianship of Oliver Queen. Nor have they commented on the news about the experimentation that the eldest Queen heir must have been subjected to while aboard on the very same ship. Many are wondering; what exactly happened to him there?”

His mind flashes to Ivo first, how he shot him and made him stitch himself up, strapped him down to a table and injected god knows what into his blood stream. It’s quickly followed by the usual: seeing Sara drown twice, his father shooting himself, Amanda waterboarding him, Shado so lifelessly on the ground, Billy Wintergreen with that blade cutting into him, Slade…

It is Tatsu, who snaps him out of it with a hand softly pressing down on his arm, making him realizing how tightly he’s holding his fork.

“Sorry about that,” he clears his throat.

“Do not let them get to you. We all have secrets we’d prefer to keep. It is not your job to satisfy their curiosity,” she tells him, a gleam in her eyes tells him that advice is personal too.

He smiles at her gratefully: “Thank you. I’ll talk to my mom as well, by the way. Neither of you will have to see a camera if you don’t want to.”

“I wish that were me,” Thea interrupts them, having just come into the kitchen, not having heard beyond the last bit. When she sees them look, she shrugs: “I saw the news while I was getting ready for school. Everyone’s gonna want to talk to me.”

“You don’t have to tell them jack shit, if you don’t want to, Speedy,” Oliver says immediately, protectiveness flaring up.

“Tell that to Margo,” Thea rolls her eyes.

“Your friend?” Oliver asks, continuing when Thea nods. “If she is that pushy, she’s a bad friend and you should drop her.”

“Remind me where I asked for this sage wisdom, oh dear brother of mine,” Thea retorts, before quickly deflecting the conversation. “This is not Raisa’s normal breakfast.”

“I made it,” Oliver answers, not liking that Thea isn’t open for his advice, but also not wanting to fight with her this morning.

“Since when can you cook?” Thea asks surprised.

Tatsu gives him a look that would be blank to anyone who doesn’t know her, but screams amused to Oliver. She says: “Probably since he no longer had a maid.”

Thea quietens a little, not used to references of his time away. Oliver covers is with played up arrogance. “I can do my laundry now too. Put me back in a college dorm and I might actually make it through the year this time.”

The words make Thea giggle as she gets breakfast for herself, before plopping down next to the trio. “Did you sleep well?” she asks Tatsu and Maseo politely.

“We did, thank you for hosting us,” Maseo smiles equally politely.

After that the conversation falls silent for a bit. None of them really know how this dynamic will work.

In the end, Thea’s caring personality and years of training at being a proper host wins out and she says: “I want to thank you too. For being with Ollie. I know it wasn’t your choice, but what little he said about you two has been good and I am grateful for it.”

Tatsu and Maseo receive her gratitude graciously, but Oliver slings an arm around Thea’s shoulder and uncomfortably says: “Hey, who is whose protective sibling here?”

“Correction, I’m a caring sibling. You can continue your routine of intimidating boys that want to dance with me at the galas and disapproving of my friends and life choices in peace. Now I have to go, a friend is picking me up for school.”

“Is the friend Margo?” Oliver asks.

“Bye, Ollie,” Thea says pointedly, before sweeping out of the room, snatching a bit of toast to eat on the way.

Once she is gone, Maseo comments: “She looks better than last time we saw her.”

Proudly Oliver smiles: “She has been doing better. I’ve been trying to influence her away from the drugs and mom’s actually trying parenting.”

That earns him a set of strange looks from Tatsu and Maseo, but he doesn’t care. His family has always been a little fucked up and if his mother wants to start trying to parent after twenty five years of being a mom, he isn’t going to complain.

“It is clear how much you care for her. It is nice to see where you learned to be a big brother after witnessing it with Akio,” Maseo tells him.

“We left him in good hands,” Tatsu agrees.

Oliver doesn’t know what to say to that, so just beams at them. The whole time he was so scared he couldn’t do right by Akio and that Tatsu and Maseo made a mistake trusting him with the life of their son. So, it’ll always feel good to hear from them that he did well.

#rr writing #arrow #green arrow #cw arrow #arrow cw #arrow 2012 #arrowverse #arrowverse fanfiction #arrow fanfic #oliver queen #akio yamashiro #oliver and akio #tatsu yamashiro #maseo yamashiro #thea queen #tomorrow will be different #dc #dc comics #detective comics

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pearblossommina · 1 year ago

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ToG Read-A-Long, Empire of Storms, day 7

Ch 40

"I've never been with a man. Never had the chance or the interest."

He cocked his head, his dark, silken hair sliding over his face. "Do you prefer women?"

😌 “Yes in fact - there’s this beautiful witch named Manon - and I am desperately in love with her - and she saved me one time, and it was the most beautiful perfect lesbian rescue sequence ever - and she likes to eat men - and I’m gonna learn how to eat men someday too!”

(I’m not sorry) (I’m still shipping it)

I do like to see characters pining for each other, but I think some of the fun of it went out for me when Elide told him she was a virgin and he immediately started fantasizing about her sexually. Idk, there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, or having a partner who’s not one, but it just felt a little icky and predatory of him? It’s not like she offered, lol. She… kind of specifically said she’s not interested.

Stop being gross Lorcan

Ch 41

Ok so now we’re back to building up that friendship. Back to the Shrek and Donkey vibes that started it all. The, “Do you have any friends? Me neither!” conversation was perfect, so heartwarming, in a kinda fucked-up dark and sad way. Can you two stay like this, and not be gross, lusting after untouched virgin, weirdos!

Ch 42

"I am not a woman," was all she said. But hot temper laced those molten gold eyes.”

Then tell me how you identify you sexy non-binary babe

(Hey have I mentioned)

(I love Manon)

"Witch, woman ... as long as the parts that matter are there, what difference does it make?"

Dorian. You’re on thin ice boy.

"There is no one else I'd want guarding my back." Other than Chaol, but ... it was no use even thinking about him, missing him.”

I miss him too! You’d think with all the perspective changing in this book we would have heard from Chaol at least one time. What has he been up to!

“Often, the dream was that a great cat, pale and speckled like old snow on granite, sat in the cabin with her, its long tail slashing back and forth when it noticed her glazed attention.

Sometimes, it was a grinning white wolf. Or a calm-eyed golden mountain lion.”

Who is the grinning white wolf? Is it Aedion? I still wanna know what his animal form is!

Ch 43

The little boat ride between Elide and Lorcan

I really like that part where she tore into him and told him he had no friends because no one can stand to be around him, called him pathetic. You go, girl! So fierce! Get him!

The Shrek and Donkey third act breakup, soon we will get our Hallelujah moment and they’ll come back together.

Ch 44

“Rowan's hips began to move, setting a lazy, smooth pace as he kept his canines buried in her neck.”

✋😮‍💨

I have to say. As horny as this book makes me. And as much as I adore reading the sappy, romantic smut SJM writes. I don’t really like Dorian x Manon? They… they just seem so random together…… I dunno. It’s just off somehow, and it really doesn’t do it for me. Despite being a huge Manon-loving horndog, watching her submit to Dorian was, like, really unsexy somehow.

Am I broken!

I thought all I wanted was more smut and romance, and here it is, laid out on a silver platter, and I’m like, mmm, no.

(At least I’ll always have Rowaelin.) (Team bite her!!! BITE HER HARDER!)

#tog read along 2023 #empire of storms

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thatsnotloki · 2 years ago

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Now what?

Crossposted from Wordpress.

So, you’ve come to the conclusion that the spirit you thought was helpful, isn’t. Good! This is an excellent starting point. Now what to do you do about it?

This is a hard and often frightening place to be, standing on the edge of your past and realizing that you have spent so much time– maybe even decades– focused on feeding your energy into a spirit that is not only different than you thought it was but actively malicious. But all is not lost. There are things you can do to cut yourself off from that which is hurting you and begin to heal.

It’s okay to freak out.

If ever there were a time to be “going through it”, this is it. Spiritual crises, dark nights of the soul, they happen to all of us for a variety of reasons. You will get through this. Let yourself feel what you need to feel, just don’t put yourself or anyone else in harm’s way while you’re processing these big feelings. You will come out the other side.

Write or make art or do music about what you’re experiencing. Get it out, don’t bottle it up.

Don’t use names.

If you happen to have used a name– any name at all, including titles you made up– for the spirit that did you harm, practice unnaming it. Avoid speaking or thinking a name in reference to it. Make it so unimportant in your mind as to be unworthy of any specific reference.

This will take practice and time. It might be extremely hard to do. That’s okay. Keep working at reframing your world to exclude that thing on all fronts.

Cleaning is your friend.

You’ve decided that it’s time to clean house spiritually and you can help yourself do that by cleaning house physically. Go gently but consistently about the work of cleaning.

Fresh air, clean water, sunshine, fresh food, and body movement are all going to be essential in the days and weeks to come. They’ll help you stay grounded and centered.

Rituals for spiritual cleansing will be sprinkled throughout this blog.

Don’t leave the front door open.

If you want to keep your house safe, you’ll close the front door and maybe lock it. The same goes for spiritual concerns.

Do you remember, long ago, reading about grounding, cleansing, centering and shielding in meditation? If it is psychologically safe for you to meditate in a guided fashion, then this is the time to start doing those basic, guided exercises every single day.

Instructions for additional basic wards and safety precautions will be included throughout this blog.

Consult a professional.

A vetted and reliable diviner who does not know you or your situation should be consulted to confirm what type of spirit you are being harmed by, how to remediate it, and if your remediation is effective. Pay them appropriately. Don’t just take the words of some rando online. Also, I do not do this kind of divination so don’t ask.

Pastoral counseling for polytheists exists. Furthermore, chaplains of all stripes should be trained to keep their traps shut on matters of theology– their job is to listen rather than to convert. Therefore, if you cannot find a polytheist chaplain who is able to give you counsel, you may be able to find a nondenominational chaplain who might do the same. Seek these people in your area. Talk to them about your feelings. You are not alone.

Should you feel your efforts toward removing the negative spirit from your life are insufficient, then consult a professional spirit worker who does not know you or follow your same religious tradition. Ask them for help. Pay them appropriately.

Sometimes, harmful spirits can lead us to some really dark places or cause illness. Set up an appointment with your doctor or a therapist if you need one. Don’t delay medical treatment when working to aid the physical (and, yes, your brain is physical) is so often vital for healing the spiritual.

Pray.

There is no wrong time to seek the gods. Arguably, the best time to seek Them is when you are being harassed by something that wishes you harm.

If you cannot or do not want to look to the gods, then ground your prayers in the world. Look for local land spirits and cultivate a relationship with them. Look to your ancestors (of blood or choice, both are vital) and seek their support.

When you are praying to any of these spirits, be extremely specific in Who you are referring to. Learn the scientific or chemical names of plants or minerals. Learn your ancestors’ middle names. Learn the bynames and titles of gods. Know Who you are trying to reach.

Remember that praying doesn’t have to look like kneeling before an altar. It can be dancing, hiking, painting, sewing, cooking, working– you have endless options.

Do something completely different.

What is the routine you had around the harmful spirit? Do the opposite.

If you made daily offerings to it at a formal altar, then dismantle that altar and cleanse your space. Rearrange the room if you must. Throw away those altar components. Move your worshipful actions to a new location, use new prayers, make new tools.

If you only ever made informal offerings when prompted at random places, then set up a specific, warded sacred space for in which to do your devotions in the same way every time, maybe even on a schedule.

These are just 2 broad examples. You can certainly think of a hundred ways to shake up your habits and try something entirely new to help cut ties with the harmful spirit.

#hauntings #polytheism #spiritual cleansing #warding #spiritual malaise

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atozphantomsquadron · 2 years ago

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XXI - End-Times

The remainder of Pak’s crew aboard the sub was short work for us, especially after we were joined in our fight by the deep-cover agent, an Arabic Marine named Jeren al-Ahma who was an old associate of Kitty: he had been a member of her original SEAL team. Once we had signaled the Patriot to send a skeleton crew, we were on our way back to the Russian port where the ship had been stolen from.

We chose to divide our team up between the two subs: Kitty and Cyrus would stay aboard the Patriot while he was checked on by the ship’s doctor, while me and Cole would be on the stolen sub and return it to the Russians. The quarters aboard the old Soviet boat were cramped, but larger than they had been on the attack sub due to the differing purposes of the boats. While the borrowed skeleton crew handled the day-to-day operations to get the ship back to port, I took Cole around the boat, finding new places to explore.

We eventually found our way to the captain’s berth, which was a luxury hotel suite compared to the rest of the sub. We were still very shaken from the battle, and so we felt we needed some down time. Cole led me into the berth and we sat down on the captain’s bunk, holding hands for a long time.

This time it was me who broke the silence. “What do you think they’ll have us do next?”

Cole sighed, stroking my hair gently. “I don’t really know, Ariel. I shudder to think what they could have us chase, or kill, or protect, or pursue. I know I haven’t been with this unit for a very long time yet, but I really could use a leave right about now.”

I looked up at him, my hand on his chest. “We could do that, Cole. I could go for that too. Just the two of us … trying to learn more about each other, about ourselves.”

He smiled down at me. “I kind of like that idea.”

I smiled back and kissed him. He brought a hand up to stroke my cheek, which made me shudder as I remembered the difference in texture between our skins. Our kissing became deeper and more passionate. The love we had seen shared between Kitty and Cyrus had affected us both, I think, and now we were acting on what our hearts had witnessed. As the sub continued through the darkness of the Indian Ocean, we restored the connection between our souls, again and again. Every time seemed more intense than the last, more loving, more needy. After three, we finally surrendered to a cuddly, warm glow which encircled us both. He stroked my hair slowly and lovingly, as I ran my fingertips along his body, still marveling at the man and his beauty.

I can now say with some degree of certainty that it was during this night Alanna was conceived. I had no idea of it occurring at the time, but our lovemaking had produced new life, which I only found out about once we were back Stateside, and I had been ordered to undergo a routine physical. Back at Dr. Klein-Rosser’s office, she did the usual tasks of a physical before taking a blood test. Three hours after the appointment was done, she called me back to her office. Afraid that I would have the same fate meet me eventually that met Sonny, I dutifully made my way back.

She had my record with her when she entered the office, smiling at me. “How is my favorite dragon doing after this morning?”

I sighed nervously. “All right, I suppose. You caught me a bit off guard, I admit, so I’m not sure what’s happening.”

She sat down across from me behind her desk. “Well, there’s a long and short of things. Remember when you first saw me, about a year and a half ago?”

I nodded.

“You didn’t have a boyfriend then, did you?”

I sighed. “No, not really. I hadn’t really been interested in men that way, and still wasn’t at the time.”

Dr. Klein-Rosser raised an eyebrow. “Has that situation changed?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Yes, it has. I found a wonderful man, who accepts me, who loves me, who sees through this,” I motioned to my skin, “and into my heart.”

The doctor smirked. “And apparently into some other parts of you as well.” She tossed my record on the desk. “I’ve been debating how to tell you this diplomatically, but I decided I just have to flat out tell you. Ariel, you’re pregnant.”

My eyes widened, I believe to the size of saucers. “What?!”

“You heard me. You’re pregnant. Your blood test came back with the right markers for a pregnancy in the earliest stages. I’m not going to ask if you’ve had sex, since the answer’s obvious, but I will ask when the last time was.”

I was still a bit flabbergasted. I stammered slightly as I answered. “It was about two weeks ago, I think. It was after we got done with the latest mission.”

Dr. Klein-Rosser nodded. “Well, normally I would say I can guarantee you won’t be going on any missions anytime soon in your condition, but because of your mutation I’m really not sure what you’re capable or incapable of. Truth be told, you might be able to safely use your powers, or you might miscarry the first time you transform. I don’t know for sure. It’s a brave new world of obstetrics you’re jumping into headfirst.”

That made me slightly self-conscious. “What should I do, doctor?”

“For the short term, I’d say don’t do anything different yet. But all the same, I’d tell your fella what the situation is, because I think he’d appreciate the knowledge that he’s going to be a daddy in short order.”

I mulled over the doctor’s words for the rest of the day, even during a short briefing in regards to a new spy satellite being launched to assist us specifically. I vaguely remember the meeting, but I clearly remember the agent who was conducting it, one Gabe Francis who was a researcher in the labs, and who had developed the satellite as well as links for us. The satellite, codenamed WYRMWOOD, was designed to track supernatural energy signatures, in order to alert us to where the next demonic threat was looming. Surprisingly, the Director also decided the time it would take to get the satellite on-line would be a perfect time to send us on a leave period.

(Transcriber’s note: Gabe Francis has certainly moved up in the world: as of this writing he is the Director of the CIA. This team definitely has friends in very high places.—DAM)

Leaving that briefing, we came back into our quarters to discuss what we would be doing during our leave period. As it happened, Kitty turned on the TV set and found the Hour of Holy Power, much like the time I had found it with Ken.

She reacted quite differently. “Oh Gawd, who’s been watching the Hour of Holy Shit here?”

I ran defensively in front of the TV. “I’ll have you know that Rev. Abaster is my hometown pastor, and my mother took me to his church all the time.”

Kitty shot me a skeptical glance.

“Okay, not that church, he built that after I left home. But he’s a good man, he’s honest, he’s kind, and he’s one of the most hopeful people I’ve ever known.”

Kitty kept the skeptical glance on her face. “Are you sure about that?” She turned up the volume on the TV, allowing me to hear Pastor Abaster’s words.

“… the day is coming, my friends, when all debts to the Lord must be repaid, when all your sins will be judged!”

The lines chilled my blood. I sat down and curled my legs into my arms and continued to listen.

“The days of the Revelation of John are coming, sooner than you may think. Who among you here is worthy of the Kingdom of Jesus? Who among us here will be lifted up to His right hand, and brought home to live for eternity? I tell you this, my brothers and sisters in Christ, I tell you that only the purest of those here among the unwashed, only those who have a clean soul, a clean life, a clean mind and heart, only those of you will be lifted up to Heaven when the seventh thunder cries.”

My chill became greater. Clean soul, clean life? I had killed, I had adultered, I had hated and despised when I should have forgiven. I quickly felt my soul going into freefall. On the TV, the congregation listening to Pastor Abaster raised up and praised and sang, speaking in tongues and lifting their hands up to the sky, praising God (or praising Abaster?). I felt tears coming to my eyes, certain that I was damned.

My mood was only broken by the TV shutting off. Cole placed a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, Ariel?”

I looked up into his face, his smiling, beautiful face, and words escaped me. I couldn’t tell him what I had been watching. I couldn’t tell him about his child that now grew within me. I couldn’t tell him anything. I could only leap into his arms and clutch to him for a long time. When we had stood in the room and held each other for what seemed like forever, he handed me a card.

“Here. I have a surprise for you. Put this into your HoSIP.”

I don’t know if you’ve noticed as we’ve sat here, but the HoSIP has a laser scanner on the side of it. This allows it to enter new bodies when you scan the enhanced barcode on an ID card, allowing you to access the entire appearance, clothed or nude, of whoever that card belongs to. I looked at the card Cole had given me and noticed it was one of my old ID’s, but it had an enhanced barcode attached to it.

My eyes must have shown my confusion, because Cole finally explained. “Gabe gave it to me. He said I had a right to see the real you.”

I smiled up at Cole while I scanned the card into my HoSIP. With a trembling hand, I activated the camouflage body, then looked in the mirror. For the first time in two years, my own face looked back at me … my honest, Navajo, human face. I wept, overcome with the sight. Cole came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Since we have a couple of weeks, I wanted to do something special with you. The others have told me how hard it’s been on you, so separated from your family, so isolated from all that you knew before because of what’s happened. I wanted to offer to take you home.”

I turned around and smiled at him. “Oh yes, Cole, that would be wonderful.”

He smiled and kissed me gently. “That’s not all, Ariel.” From his hip pocket, he produced a small, velvet-covered box as he dropped to one knee and took the hand closest to the HoSIP. “Ariel, I know we’ve had ups and downs in the relationship we have shared since I came here, but this love we share is something too strong for me to comprehend or to challenge, so I feel like I have to just go with it and see where it takes me. Today it’s taken me here, to kneel before you and ask you sincerely ...”

He opened the box. Inside there was a very simple, yet beautiful, solitaire diamond ring. It was sized to properly fit over one of the dragon talons. He pulled it out of the box and held it before my hand.

“… Ariel, will you marry me?”

My heart’s beating returned, strongly as ever, this time threatening to throw me out the window and down the streets of Langley. I could barely catch my breath as I brought my hand forward, allowed him to slip the ring on my finger, watched as it shifted with the camouflage body to a normal human-sized ring. Impulsively I tackled him and kissed him deeply.

Sprawled on the floor with me, once I released the kiss, he looked up and smiled. “So I take it that’s a ‘yes?’”

I smirked. “What do you think?” And I returned to kissing him. In that instant, I felt more like I was part of a family than ever, mainly because I was about to become a member of Ken’s family. The only thing that made me sad about the proposal was the knowledge that Ken had never had the chance to see it. That sadness was overruled, though, by the love me and Cole shared. We carried that passion and that love late into the night. The next morning, we started on a long road trip back to Arizona, back to where it had all started.

(Transcriber’s note: I was forbidden from taking photographs inside the Sharpe household, so the best I can do is describe the appearance of this ring Ariel mentions in this section. The ring is, as she said, simple, a white gold band with a solitaire diamond, possibly a ½ carat. It appears to be something a military woman would wear in uniform; it is subtle but still beautiful, especially when contrasted against her green flesh. Since she was talking about returning to Arizona, I was starting to think that she left and never went back. Only the rest of her story would tell the real truth.—DAM)

#phantom squadron #dinetah dragon

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onsunnyside · 3 years ago

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Oh myyy, this sunny bunny party is the fucking cutest😵‍💫(ironic, isn’t it💦👀)And I neeeed me some mr. easter!lloyd hansen. maybe there is this event for kids in the park where they can dye eggs and decorate easter cookies and you volunteer there and maybe lloyd has some kind of a domesticity kink and when he’s passing by, he sees you interact with the kids, helping them tie the bows on the eggs or the little bunny stuffies🥺so he makes up his mind that he has to have you and idk does he do it the dark way? or will he be soft for her? you decide!!🥰 (if you want of course!!!😁) i love you, happy easter<333

ah yes, the moustache era lives on, I can’t wait for TGM !! I hope you enjoy this bestie, i love you too and happy (late) easter !!

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | soft!dark Lloyd Hansen x teacher!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | soft dark!Lloyd Hansen, SMUT - minors DNI, domesticity kink, Lloyd wants to be a daddy, the clit tickler, the pussy loofa & duster, sex in the form of a fantasy: oral (f), dirty talk, daddy kink, spitting, degradation, exhibitionism, breeding kink, pinch of housewife kink, beard (moustache?) burn

𝗪/𝗖 | 1165

🐰 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Mr. Hansen!” You exclaim, bright and happy as you skip across the grass, the baskets sitting in the crook of your elbow, the eggs jostle in the paper nest. “Can I interest you in a gift this Easter?”

“Is it candy?”

“Of course! Although, I think a few are those cute little erasers too...” You cheekily slip two into his pocket, and make a shushing sound. “Don’t tell the kids I gave you two, they’ll get jealous.”

Lloyd laughs, and tucks his cigarette back into the packet, the lighter disappearing with it. “How have you been, sweetheart—or should I say kitten?”

“Huh? Right.” You suddenly remember the facepaint on your face, the kids begged for yours to be painted too, and you let them pick, so they went with a cute black cat. Not quite Easter-themed, but adorable nonetheless.

“You know, same old. The school has been thriving with all your donations! We’re able to fund all the educational trips this year, the daily snacks and all that. And we’re going to renovate the library because of the damage from the flood, and with your help, we’re able to make it even bigger with a whole reading nook area for the kids. Oh and of course, comfy chairs and bean bags included. I could show you the plans if you want, you know, to see what your money will be spent on.”

“Sure.” Lloyd couldn’t care less about the children at the school, that was nothing but a sparkly decoration on his wall, among the portraits of you and your gleaming face. “But, I asked about you.”

You blink, “Oh, I’m good, great even. I’ve been covered in paint the past few days, and today isn’t any different as you can tell.” You gesture to your once-white dress—you should’ve known better than to wear white when the children were going to be trusted with pastel paints. In a way, they made it better.

Lloyd would’ve preferred you in nothing but his bedsheets, chest heaving and a far look in your eyes as he took you apart with his fingers.

A child runs to you and addresses you by a muffled verison of your name since his mouth is full of chocolate, and blabbers about the photo booth.

Lloyd watches you affectionately clean his mouth, having pulled wipes out of nowhere. You talk to him quietly, something about manners—Lloyd doesn’t know for sure since he’s distracted by your maternal instincts, a warm protective glow surrounds you and blooms onto everything you touch.

You’d be the best mother, and you’d look absolutely radiant pregnant.

He can imagine you waddling barefoot around his home, perhaps in an apron as you cook dinner and clean, awaiting his return home. And once he walks in, you’ll flip up your dress and let him have you however he pleases, bent over the kitchen counter, the couch, in the shower, or perhaps you’ll warm him in his office, squirming and whining on his cock as you complain about being so full—of his baby, his cum and cock.

God, the things he’d do for just a taste of you.

“Care to take a few pictures with the Easter bunny, Mr. Hansen?” You ask hopefully, “You did pay for this whole thing, shouldn’t you get a souvenir to commemorate it?”

He nods wordlessly following you to the booth, past the picnic tables spread with various activities for the kids, the snacks and overflowing trashcan of candy wrappers and napkins. Kids were messy.

As the camera flashes in his eyes, he catches glimpses of a fantasy in this very park, against a tree right in the view of the quiet road.

“I’m your little slut, daddy.” You whimper, thighs quivering in his hold, and your tippy toes press into the dirt. The bark of the tree is rough against your back as you try to grind against his mouth, tingles shooting up your spine with every swipe of his tongue, his facial hair only enhances that euphoria. “I-I, oh!” You gasp as he slips one finger into you.

“Gotta stretch you out, sweet girl. This little cunt can’t even take two fingers,” He’s proven right when you roughly squirm as another prods at your entrance, fitting in after he’s spat on your centre. “Poor baby, you’ve never been fucked right, huh?”

“N-No, daddy.” You moan, knotting his hair in your hand, panting for air that seems so far. “Want you to take me—please, stretch me on your cock.”

His moustache has nearly rubbed you raw, every movement has your sore cunt begging for a break, but you want more, you need more.

“I will, baby. Gotta make some room for my cum, don’t I? Can’t have it leaking out and going to waste.”

“You’re gonna cum in me?” A light sheen covers your face, the face-paint is fading.

“A pretty pussy like this deserves to be filled up,” He suckles your clit, massaging the bundle with his tongue. He groans against your wetness, “Don’t you think so? Fuck—you want daddy to put a baby in you, honey?”

Right now, you’re on your knees, the back of your dress flutters in the wind as you collect the various pieces of paper form the grass. Lloyd can’t help but stare at the slivers of skin in the afternoon sun, painting you in a rich glow. His keys jingle in his hand, and you jump.

“Oh god! You scared me, Mr. Hansen.” You chuckle breathlessly, exhaustion evident on your features, “I thought you already left.”

Lloyd offers a hand and helps up stand, his touch trails to your waist, “I took the trash out and cleaned the tables.”

You wonder how a man like Lloyd isn’t already married with a family of his own, he’s be a great husband and father. “You didn’t have to help, I bet you’re tired from all that… business? I don’t actually know what you do”

He smiles at your cluelessness, “I’ll gladly explain it all to you, are you free tomorrow night?”

You think for a moment, “After five.”

Lloyd smiles, “Great, I’ll pick you up at six.” He quickly kisses your cheek, and for a moment you think it might be more, but lots of people use that as a greeting or farewell. “See you then.” He turns around, broad shoulders swaying with each step.

“Wait, Mr. Hansen!”

“Call me Lloyd.” He corrects, turning around.

“Sorry, Lloyd, is this—” You pause, “Is this also for the school library donations? Should I bring the plans for the renovation?”

The man chuckles almost tauntingly, “I don’t even want you thinking about work tomorrow.”

“As if that’s possible.” You kick your foot, “My head never stops thinking about work.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” He smirks, dark gaze dragging over your figure, lingering on your stomach. He knows you’ll look even more beautiful in that dress when you’re pregnant. “Which I’ll happily accept. I’ll take care of that loud head of yours, sweetheart. I promise.”

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princeblack · 1 year ago

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he smiles thinly as she realizes what he did with the rocks, seeming surprised, which is cute. “yes.. i carved those sigils in 1979. before you were born, i’m guessing.” it’s a weird thought, especially because this girl is so beautiful and seems to be exactly his age. does he know her parents? just the thought makes him queasy, realizing he’s completely out of his own world. “there’s this dark magic i had to undo, or else lord voldemort couldn’t be defeated. i knew i would die, so i tried to set up a counter measure, but it wasn’t going to bring me back until someone finished what i started.” he can’t quite comprehend why it took this long and he’s worried now that it’s all too late.

she touches his face and his heart races a little, looking up at her in surprise to see that look of awe on her pretty face. he wouldn’t have thought of it this way— it’s more horrifying than interesting. but she seems fascinated, touching him so softly that it makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat from his chest. she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on, even more beautiful than the girl everyone wanted in his year at hogwarts. he wishes that she existed then— maybe she would’ve liked him.

it seems like a silly thing to think about when she had just found him naked and dying in the middle of a forest. “yes, just like that, i suppose,” he finally says. “i don’t remember my death but i also don’t remember what happened after, so i guess it’s like i time traveled.” he’s still seventeen, mentally and physically.

she doesn’t answer his question about voldemort, which puts icy fear in the pit of his stomach. it really was all for nothing, then, wasn’t it? kreacher couldn’t destroy the horcrux, so who did? maybe he made things harder, moving it from the cave it was protected in. he feels sick, the tears welling up again, but this pretty girl is stroking his cheek and it makes his stomach feel warm. she tells him nobody dies for nothing and he tries to cling to the sound of her warm voice as one tear spills over, rolling down his cheek.

he doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just listens as she tells him they’ll figure it out together. when she tells him sirius is safe, he breathes a sigh of relief, feeling part of the weight lifted from his chest. he doesn’t know who harry is, but presumes he’s james’s son. “yes… i’d like to talk to him.” before he died, it was different; they weren’t on speaking terms. regulus knew he wouldn’t see sirius again, and that their relationship was broken beyond repair after all of the fights and stubbornness. sirius seemed to think he chose their parents over him, and maybe in a way he did, thinking it was the right thing to do and what would bring him love and honor. but now he knows he was wrong, and he did everything he could to try and undo his own damage to this world, hoping he could help kill voldemort if nothing else. it’s not like sirius had wanted him alive, anyway. his parents didn’t love him as they should, either— they encouraged every bad thing he did, and even if they seemed a little uneasy about how far voldemort went, they wouldn’t renounce their support or swallow their pride. they wouldn’t love regulus for who he was, and he knew they would still hate him if he told them he was done with their ideology.

but now everything is different. regulus tried and failed and has nowhere else to go. maybe he can explain how he changed— tell kreacher he can be honest with sirius now about what happened. if kreacher is still alive, anyway. the thought brings him even more grief, tears falling from his eyes now.

he tries to focus, wiping his tears and taking the bottle because she handed it back to him. it’s only when she explains more about the pumpkin juice and says her mother’s name that he stops, feeling a different kind of fear settle in his stomach. “emma? was her maiden name ainsworth?” it would explain why bee is even more beautiful than the popular girl of his year, if she’s her daughter. he frowns, remembering that the seeker of hufflepuff house’s last name was diggory. amos diggory, in fact. “is your father amos?” he seems to remember rumors of him pursuing emma; or at the very least wanting her attention when remus lupin was the one who had it. remus was maybe the only friend of sirius that regulus liked, because he didn’t join in on any of james’s antics, instead annoyed by them. he was smart, too— in a way the others weren’t. he can’t imagine why emma would have chosen amos over remus, but it’s none of his business. especially not now, seventeen years later when he’s a nobody in this world.

she did say her father situation was complicated, which makes him think. “by complicated, do you mean… are you remus lupin’s daughter?” he frowns again, both because it’s weird that this is happening and because it would make a lot of sense if she was. he can see him in her, both in her beauty and kindness.

regulus looks at the cute niffler, a small smile tugging at his lips as bee pulls the blanket out. she rambles that it’s not very warm, which makes him feel a rush of affection for her. how could she be helping him and giving him everything and still be so humble? “thank you, bee.” he’s grateful as she wraps it around him, his hands taking the fabric and pulling it tight.

she somehow looks even more beautiful now than she did a moment ago, the light hitting her face in just the right way and her facial features so focused as she wraps him up. “i wish we met under better circumstances… because then i would tell you how beautiful you look right now.” he gives her a little smile, starting to shift into a standing position. his legs feel weak, his head a little faint. “lead the way.” he has reservations about emma ainsworth seeing him as he was when they were seventeen, but it’s not like he has a choice.

he was far too weak to be a threat, almost sickly like he was dying or had just came back to life. she's heard the whole don't talk to strangers speech and yet here she is sitting with a naked one in her forest, touching his face and offering him pumpkin juice to make sure he doesn't pass out on her before she can figure out what his purpose for being here is. to which he begins to answer... however his answer only makes her more confused for a moment, blue eyes looking towards the old rocks she was familiar with. "impossible... these rocks have been here since I was a little girl you couldnt've...." there's a pause in her thoughts. she always tried to figure out what those symbols meant but never really figured it out, even asking people around the village but no one had a straight answer eventually she just assumed it was something random someone made when they were bored and placed them around to freak people out...now there is a boy in the middle claiming he died. "you brought yourself back?" she says almost as if a switch has gone off in her head.

she wonders if she's dreaming, maybe she had bad pumpkin juice before bed and this was a weird semi-horny dream about finding a naked guy in the woods, it would make sense because he was almost unreal but she also knows that when she dreams it's never a good one, it's always the same few nightmares like her friend dying in second year or more recent her own brother.... survivors guilt was a hell of a curse, so maybe this was real and the boy she was looking at wasn't just a boy at all.

he further explains, how it was just the 70s for him...its hard to wrap her mind around because he definitely doesn't look to be in his 30s or 40s, even for wizard age he seemed so young like she is...just a boy who missed his family and seemed lost. "wow you're like a human time capsule then?" she says softly, reaching up to touch his face again. "you look to be only seventeen just like me." she says gently, curious eyes looking into his green ones. of course only the hot guys would be from the 70s, how fair.

it's when he talks about the dark lord that she tenses for a moment, her stomach in knots. not just because such a name haunts her, often he is part of her bad dreams but because the boy seems almost distressed claiming he would've died for nothing if voldemort wasn't defeated. she thinks back to cedric and her friend mini, how they both died because of that man and his false promises and sick beliefs, how there was a war and all of the pain...all she knew was that harry potter was the key but it wasnt so simple even with magic. she looks back at the boy with his soft green eyes and face looking like a kicked puppy, eventually she would have to tell him but right now he seemed to be going through enough. "no offense but you just died and came back to life I think that should be your main priority, no?" she smiles, brushing her thumb against his face. "and besides nobody dies for nothing..."

he tells her his name and it's striking her as familiar, yet she can't really put her finger on it. he explains who his parents are and how to find them and it dawns on her, he's a black...he's related to siruis and part of a family that thrived in being pure bloods. she bites down on her lower lip not sure how to answer him cause she really doesn't know much of his family. "we'll figure that part out together then." the boy seems almost panicked but oddly strong given the fact he literally died but he asks about his sirius almost sounding scared...he's got that familiar look. this one makes her smile because she can give him a good answer, one he'd like. "yeah, I know of sirius black and your brother is fine...he's safe at least." she frowns a bit because there are some details that might hurt the boy and she doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news. "I can ask my friend harry if you'd like, he's kind of his god son...he might be able to help?" harry had lot on his plate but he loved sirius more than anything, he'd do whatever he could for him and this situation seemed connected to everything he was going through anyway.

her eyes flicker to alfie, he's sniffing the air and looking at regulus curiously as he speaks his head out. she smiles softly and nods. "very...uh, my parents actually gave him to me as a gift for my first year. he's kind of my little side kick." she shrugs, petting him on the head before he slips back into the basket as regulus sips his pumpkin juice. her mother made the best, it was a special recipe to keep her hydrated because bee often forgets to take care of herself, but how could anyone focus on caring about themselves in a world where the best things are taken from you?

he hands her the bottle back but not without his fingers touching hers and it felt like electricity through her body. her heart racing and cheeks go pink as she tries to come back down to earth. merlin, it was only a touch....don't be ridiculous. she drops her gaze and blushes a little. "you keep it, I haven't plenty at home and I don't need you passing out on me and sleeping for another twenty something years. those green eyes could use a little more life..." she says, handing it back to him. "it's got special properties my mom makes it from her garden...it should make you feel a little better, emma diggory's finest." she smiles as it dawns on her that she hasn't given him a name. "oh! I'm bee by the way...emma is my mom and the dad thing is kind of complicated." she laughs nervously, it's hard to think because his smile is so pretty but she's glad her voice and give him some comfort not sure why he ramblings would do that for anyone though.

she was so distracted by the moment and how beautiful he is she selfishly forgot that he was probably freezing. it was always cold around here especially in the mornings. "oh! i..." she looks around for a moment until, opening her basket there was a blanket in there her family used for picnics and alfie used to lay on when in the basket...it's either that or he has to squeeze into her tiny jacket and shes nit sure that would cover him. "do you mind alfie?" she scoops out the niffler sitting him in her lap for a moment before tugging the blanket out "it's not the most warm thing in the world but it should be enough to get you back to my place...you can wear something of my brother's till we can take you shopping for proper clothes...I don't think you should be walking around everywhere just yet...you still don't look well." she frown. "I live just outside of the forest not far from here at all if you'd like to go?" she unfolds the blanket in the time it takes her to ask him to come home with her, wrapping it around his shoulders as she tries not to stare at him for too long.

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

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blacksunscorpio · 3 years ago

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Aphrodite No. 1388

Have you ever found yourself inexplicably fascinated with Hollywood sex symbols, fashion, arts, or general glamor? You've probably chalked it up to your Venus placement or stellium in the 2nd or 7th [The houses Venus rules] but what if I told you that might not be the only reason?

Yes, Asteroid Aphrodite No. 1388 is the placement you may want to peep. Especially if she's making prominent placements or aspects to your inner planets. Note: Pay attention to conjunctions/squares/oppositions the most and orbs within 0-3 degrees. Trines and sextiles are of note but only if they are respecting inner planets, the ascendant, and at the aforementioned degrees.

So let's get into it:

Aphrodite in Mythology

was the goddess of sex, love, beauty, passion, fertility, prosperity, and procreation. She was also patron goddess of prostitutes and believed no one should leave this world a virgin. She was wife of the god Hephaestus, god of blacksmiths and fire but also the most notable lover of Ares [her 'Soul mate'. So what does she represent in the birth chart?

All of the above.

Asteroid Aphrodite in her elevated expression is all about love, beauty, talent, and sex appeal. She is compassionate and generous. Independent, strong in her femininity, and charming. This asteroid has the ability to see beauty in everything and has an innate knack for creativity and artistic talents. A developed and healthy expression of sexuality and passion [not the toxic kind but the kind true love stories are made of]. She's all positive pleasure and sensuality. Body positivity and healthy expressions of sex.

In her base or lower expression, she's a bit like a toxic Lilith. She'll manifest as using attractiveness for underhanded means. Infidelity, repression of the sexual drive, callousness in love or arrogance based on vanity, vanity in general, sexual manipulation, fickleness, fixation of impossible standards of beauty, or superficiality regarding aesthetics. [Basically everything wrong with fashion and beauty today.] She can also manifest in the 6th house and/or ill-aspected as those who suffer from body dysmorphia or those who suffer from eating disorders due to these impossible beauty standards. Physical perfection becomes an obsession.

Now, if you have this particular asteroid prominently based in your chart, you may find that you value beauty, pleasure, and romance. There might be a taste for refined aesthetics and/or one can just be naturally gifted with creativity and art. Career-wise, one could find themselves drawn to jobs that revolve around fashion, interior design, modeling, make-up, photography, cooking, etc. If she's touching Mars or in the 8th, one could find themselves making sex work a part of their career as well.

Aphrodite in the signs

Aries: Two words: Sexuality promiscuous. Like the sign of Aries, the fire burns hot then goes out. Freedom and independence are paramount and they value those who see things similarly. Getting too emotionally invested in others is not appearing to them in any way, here for a good time, not a long time. Sporty aesthetic. Athleisure. Sex will likely be hard and fast.

Taurus: Love of the material. Base-level treasure seekers. However, they are typically quite attractive and even look pleasant when they don't put much effort in. Follow trends and keep up with the day-to-day fashion world. Most likely an Instagram fashion influencer. Love of glitz and glam. Shinier the better. Diamonds are their best friend.

Gemini: Serial fuckers. Literally, this aphrodite placement will have a full black book of names. A thousand notches on the belt. A million notches on the bedpost... well, you get the idea. Very charismatic and uses their intelligence to seduce. Sapiosexuals. Stimulate their mind and you might keep their attention... for an hour as opposed to 15 minutes like the rest. Will know everyone and everything about everyone. Life of the party and will charm with their wit.

Cancer: The emotional lover. Don't let this food you though, hurt them and they'll pull out their pincers. This Aphrodite placement loves to be nurtured and taken care of and will often do the same. Mood affects appearance. Charms using one of two things: their hard to get energy [Crabshell] or their love of family and togetherness [4th house]. No in-between, really.

Leo: Worship me vibes. Lovers of attention. This placement is very prideful. They don't like to share [their lovers] at all. Typically though, because of their love of the spotlight, their fashion sense is impeccable. They are hard to miss and will usually light up a room. Ignore them and you'll wound them.

Virgo: Immediate/outwardly "perfect" appearance. Because of this sign's attention to detail, they are often very pristine in their approach. Clean sex- the type in the shower or when one is freshly groomed around the genital area. Will use their "perfection" to pull the cream of the crop in the dating pool their way. This placement can go far in the fashion world and may even become designers. Often do well as dancers or some sort of aesthetic career that involves "precision".

Libra: Serial Flirt. With Aphrodite here, it's like getting a double shot of Venusian energy. Pleasant, charming... naturally beauties not unlike Taurean Aphrodite's. Don't mind casual sex or casual flings but prefer relationships. Very focused on aesthetics and, like Virgo Aphrodites could go far in their fashion world or make-up pursuits. Can be very superficial.

Scorpio: Alluring vibe. They WILL fuck a lot. It's in their nature. Will be loyal if they are in a committed partnership though. Can give off scary vibes or RBF but they feel things deeply. Their aesthetic is dark colors, black as elegance, an intimidating style that appears edgy. Artistically may enjoy all things Tim Burton.

Sagittarius: Vagabond vibes. Eternal traveler. Eternal nomad. Epitome of promiscuity here. However, quite laid back. Their aesthetic probably has something to do with maps or cartography. Bohemian energy with pictures or fabrics from the far east or even Africa. Most likely has a buddha head somewhere in their home. Speak to them in an accent or different language to turn them on.

Capricorn: Independent vibes. These aphrodite placements are not keen on sharing their lives too much with others. Very business-like. Sexually though, they are insatiable. Machines. They like things to but black tie or button up. This does not mean they aren't laid back, they just like things to be all work with very little play until said work is done. Name brands and expensive suits/dresses? They're all about that. It's a status symbol thing. What Caps are famous for.

Aquarius: Avant-garde vibes. This placement will cut their hand off before they lose their freedom. More vagabond-esque than Sag tbh. Will love a style that shocks you or is out of the ordinary. Not traditional in any sense. Their sex will be kinky or they'll prefer it to have some sort of spice. Missionary? Nope. Expect a toy or ten. Pansexuals. Free love. Don't try to get them to commit unless they're ready.

Pisces: Subtle vibes. Subtle style. Dreamy style. Sexually they need to be emotionally connected. May find themselves falling in love often with the idea of someone than the reality of them. Lovers of the grunge and druggy era. 90's vibes are their aesthetic with a touch of the ethereal. Messy art studios, messy hair, even messier love lives. Might attract co-dependent types. Day-dreamy.

#had to write about this one because of all the the asks blowing up my inbox #hope this helps #asteroid astrology #aphrodite 1388 #astro tumblr #astrology

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Note

omg sorry im the anon who picked too many spices i’m so sorry 😭😭 so let me try again: wine for yuuta, ingredient 53, and spice 8 10 11?

good for you

People said all bad things about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, but that wasn’t true.

meal order: wine + 53 (bad boy good girl au) + 8, 10 (dumbification, begging kink)

warnings: nsfw content, fingering, dumbification, begging kink, slight voyeurism, slight corruption kink, bad boy! yuuta, unedited fic

note: soooo anon...i hope you like this, this is my first yuta fic and i was really nervous i was gonna mess this up, sheesh, hope you like it and thank you for the request! have some wine~

masterlist !

You were so good for him – it made sense you were his favorite.

The moment you felt his cold fingers graze under your shirt, fingers lightly tugging at the clasps of your bra as a promise of what was to come next, you shuddered from his touch. You leaned back to his body, your hand clutching his that was gripping your thigh.

“Yuta,” you bit your lip to hold back a moan, his expert hands sliding down your inner thighs to brush over your clothed cunt, teasing you to no end. “We-we shouldn’t.”

“And why not?” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine, and you gasped as his fingers tugged your panties away. He’d barely even touched you, yet you were soaking wet for him already. Two of his fingers slipped past your folds easily and you clamped down as he scissored you, finally releasing your bra and easing it off your shoulders. “They won’t know. We’re just studying, remember?”

Your relationship with Yuta was complicated, to say the least. Last month, your homeroom teacher assigned you to tutor him, and your eyes widened because the last person you expected to see was the notorious Okkotsu Yuta who barely attended school, preferring to live life in his own way.

He looked scary then; dark circles hanging heavily under amused eyes, slicked back hair that shone under the sunlight, and a half-sneer as an excuse for a smile.

He terrified you, until he didn’t. Contrary to what people said about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, you never thought that way about Yuta. And he knew this too; he took advantage of your unconditional kindness, basking in your shy, soft touches and stuttering during study sessions whenever he stared at you a little longer than you expected.

You were so fucking cute he just couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He blamed you for it, really. He wouldn’t have been this addicted to the quiet, timid girl who followed rules and apologized way too much than necessary if you weren’t such a good girl for him.

But you were so cute, so curious and innocent that Yuta, being the more responsible and experienced one between the both of you, just had to give in to your pleas. Soon, your shy touches became eager ones, grinding on his thigh with your hands tugging at his collar while you begged for a kiss. You were so pretty too, always so ready and wanting for him, but oh, everything was different when you begged.

If he thought you were pretty before, it was nothing compared to when you begged.

Innocent eyes gazing up at him under thick lashes, small hands wrapped around the thick base of his cock, your pretty red lips begging to taste him – you were at your prettiest when you were begging for him, and how could he deny you?

It was because you were so good for him that he Yuta wasn’t selfish when it came to pleasing you, his cock hardening when your head fell back on his shoulders, lips open as wantons flooded through your lips. “Shh,” he chuckled with a kiss to your lips, his fingers pumping in and out of you until you were dripping down on his palm, the sopping sounds of your pussy nearly embarrassing. “You don’t want to be loud, baby, your parents will hear you.”

At the possibility of getting caught, your eyes widened, and you slapped your palm over your mouth to hide your sinful moans. Yuta’s eyes darkened as you trembled in his arms, trying so hard to be a good girl and keep your reputation, but the way you grinded down onto his fingers told a different story.

“Y-Yuta,” you cried out, reaching up to capture his lips in a kiss. He swallowed your moans while his other hand gripped your thighs tighter, your ass barely grazing his painful erection. “I need more, please, will you-will you-?”

“What do you want, baby? I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

Yuta smirked when you whimpered in his hold, your hips pumping up and down as you rode his fingers. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. You knew he could give you more, and Yuta would gladly do anything for you as long as you said it.

The sight of you cumming all over his fingers, tits perked from under your shirt yet still looking so innocent from your shirt skirt – he could cum in his pants just watching you. But he held it all in, fully aware that you wanted him inside you, though your shyness still remained. Ironic, really, since Yuta had already lost count of the times he had to stuff your panties down your mouth as he dragged you to the nearest empty classroom, making you cum either just on his tongue or cock alone.

He figured he’d have ruined you by now, but you were just so good, such an innocent, pretty little thing that the mere mention of his dick had you flustered.

“Yuta, I can’t – you-you know what I mean,” you palmed him through his pants. Yuta hissed at how you pulled his cock out free from his confines, the warmth of your hand wrapping around his cock, the tip already flushed and red.

He gripped your wrist and pulled you towards him, resting your ass just above his cock. A dark look crossed his face when he saw you inhale sharply as he rubbed his tip all over your lips, your pink panties tugged all the way to the side, the material loosely clinging onto the fat of your flesh.

“Is this what you want,” he teased, hands placed on a tight grip of your hips as he slowly sank you down his length. He reveled at how you slowly lost yourself, thighs quaking, and it was just only the tip. “Do you deserve it, baby? Have you been a good girl for me that you think you deserve to feel good?”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

Your eyes were focused on the remaining length of his cock that wasn’t buried in you, and you were so needy, so fucking wet and horny that you wiggled your hips, a slight whine echoing from the room when Yuta only tightened his hips on you as a warning. “Don’t move,” he growled lowly, and like the good girl you were, you complied, bottom lip jutted out. “You don’t get to sit on my lap when you don’t beg hard enough for it, baby.”

“But, oh,” you tried to say, your words cut off when Yuta suddenly gripped your ass down all the way down his length in one go, your ass flat on his thighs.

Both of you groaned at the feeling of him buried deep inside you; you could feel him pulsing inside your heat already. Unsatisfied with your silence, Yuta slapped your ass, forcing you to look at him.

He was perfectly content with you cockwarming him; he could jack himself off later, but he knew you couldn’t satisfy yourself – not when your needy little cunt always wanted to be stuffed full with his dick.

“My parents are downstairs,” you tried to reason, though your actions betrayed your words as you dug your nails on his shoulders, eyes closed from the pleasure. Yuta gave small, slow thrusts, the movement just enough to scrape at your walls, almost as if to mock you that you could’ve had an orgasm by now if you just complied. “I-if they hear, they’re going to get mad, and they’ll find out that—”

“They’re going to find out what?” he thrusted his hips into yours sharply until your skirt was bunched all over your ass, his hands rough and hungry while he kept you in place. Your moans filled the room, and Yuta gripped one of your legs to press on your sides, thigh-high socks teasing and plumping up the flesh of your legs. “That their sweet, innocent daughter isn’t such a good girl after all? Look at you, walking around in school wearing that. You’re always begging to be fucked, baby.”

You didn’t deny him because his words were true, and soon Yuta had you choking in your own breath. He wanted to make you beg, to go down on your knees just to show him you deserved it, but you clenched down on him so hard that he lost himself too.

Yuta pulled you in for a heated kiss, his strong hands wrapping your legs around his waist before dropping you both down on the bed.

He didn’t bother pulling his shirt off, only jumping out of his slacks before he found home in between your legs. Yuta chuckled at how fucked out you were before him, teeth deep into one of your stuffed toys while he kept fucking into you.

He fell forward, hands planted beside your head, his dick scraping against the warm walls of your pussy.

You were close; he could feel it. Yuta picked up his pace and started littering lovemarks on your neck, somewhere people could see his markings and to claim you as his good girl.

You were such a good girl for him, letting him pump himself into you in a rough pace until you could no longer hold back your moans. “Yuta, Yuta, god, you-you feel so good, right there, oh,” you were a mess on his cock, drool collecting from your pillow and tongue lolled out.

He found you so pretty, so gorgeous and so good; screaming his name like that even as your parents called out to ask if you were fine just because you knew he liked it when you said his name while you were stuffed with his cock.

“Come on, baby,” he gripped your waist this time, not slowing down for a moment as his thrusts grew sloppy. Yuta’s dick twitched and pulsed harder inside you when your walls hugged him tightly, sucking him in too deep that he was hitting your most sensitive spots. “You’re close, aren’t you? You want to cum on my cock? Beg for it, come on.”

“Yuta, Yuta, please please please, want to cum on your cock, want you to fill me up,” your back arched when he hit your g-spot, your vision turning white for a moment. “Fuck, fuck, Yuta, fuck me good – please, I want you, there, please!”

His dick only further hardened upon hearing such dirty words fall from your pretty lips. You were begging so good for him, following his orders and making him feel good with your pretty pussy – how could he deny you? People said all bad things about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, but that wasn’t true.

He kept fucking into you until you were creaming onto his cock, his name falling like a prayer on your wet mouth, losing all your sanity and comprehension when he spills inside you, your cum dripping down your ass.

Yuta chuckled before leaning down to kiss his pretty girl, so good for him, but what they didn’t know was that the bad boy was just as good for you, and he never failed to make you feel good.

They called him a bad boy, labeled him all sorts of things, warned you so much of the dangers he brought.

Everyone was just simply unaware how he good he was for you.

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frostedfaves · 4 years ago

Text

Dark Paradise

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!WandaNat x fem!reader

Summary: You meet the infamous Avengers on spring break with your best friend Peter, and two of them seem to adore you more than expected. Requested here by my lovely 🐞anon.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! dark themes, manipulation, mind control, blackmailing, age gap (reader is 21), dubcon (saying this just to be safe because Wanda uses her powers for evil a lot here), smut: oral, fingering, penetration/sex toy use, voyeurism (kinda), edging, overstimulation (if I forgot something please let me know!)

A/N: hi this is 6k words, which is the longest single fic I’ve ever written/posted here haha. also the end is not technically the end, if you know what I mean. anyway this took forever to write so enjoy this super far from canon fic and please tell me what you thought!! (also if you’re on my taglist and you weren’t tagged it’s because your age wasn’t in your bio)

“Here, let me take that for you,” Peter offers when he notices you headed toward the car, and you hand your suitcase to him with a smile.

“Thanks, P.”

You close the car door behind you after getting in on the passenger side, instantly reaching for his phone resting on the dashboard once you were buckled in. The two of you had an unspoken rule that you controlled the music whenever you traveled together, so his library was filled with various playlists you’d created simply because you didn’t trust him not to listen to the same five songs for the rest of his life.

“This is different,” Peter comments as he gets in on the driver’s side and catches the opening notes to an upbeat song. “I thought you were going to go with something calmer to help you sleep, like you usually do.”

“Well, I’m not usually going to meet the Avengers, so I’m too nervous to sleep.” You turn to pout at him as he drives off. “Is it too late to cancel?”

“Don’t even think about it. If I show up without you, everyone will think you’re imaginary.”

“Do they think you can’t make any friends outside of Ned?” you question as you open a bottle of water. “Because they’re not wrong.”

“I can make friends!” Peter whines and a quiet snorting sound escapes you.

“You can’t use me as an example.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not actually friends.”

He picks up on your teasing nature and rolls his eyes, causing you to laugh as you lean back and settle into your seat more. You had well over three hours to stress about spending a week with the world’s most popular superheroes, and you’d rather be comfortable while you do so.

“Wake up, we’re here!”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of Peter’s voice, and any of the nerves that left long enough to let you sleep made a U-turn and hit you again, full force. Sitting up straight in the seat, you practice breathing properly while stretching and taking a look around as he pulls into the garage.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks once he parks, placing a hand over yours as he meets your gaze and you smile.

“I’ll be fine, P. I’m not gonna miss out on hanging out with you just because your super family is super intimidating.”

“Good. Besides, it won’t even be that bad! I’m willing to bet $1 million that they’ll love you.”

“I appreciate your optimism,” you tell him as the two of you get out of the car. “But you’re going to regret that bet when I use your money to retire early in some faraway rural town.”

Peter carried both suitcases as you made your way to an elevator, and you jumped when you suddenly heard a male voice.

“Welcome, Mr. Parker and Ms. L/N.”

“What is that?” you questioned as you faced Peter with wide eyes and he chuckled.

“You’re hearing Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s AI. Hey Jarvis, can you take us to the common room, please?”

“Right away, Mr. Parker.”

“This is so cool,” you comment as you look around the suddenly moving elevator. “How does it know my name?”

“Knowing everything is kind of its job, I guess.”

“Underoos!” a voice calls as soon as the doors open, quickly revealing itself to belong to Tony Stark as his gaze lands on you next. “So she is real.”

“I told you!” Peter defends as you step off the elevator together. “Mr. Stark, this is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Tony greets you with a shake of your hand. “I’m glad he found you. I was starting to worry that he’d build a robot to spend the rest of his life with.”

“I’m just his best friend, so it’s still possible.”

“Is this your friend, Peter?” Steve cuts off Peter’s response as he enters the room, moving to shake your hand next. “I’m Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“Okay, I’m going to show her to our rooms and then we’ll be back for dinner,” Peter tells everyone once you’d been introduced to Pepper, Bruce and Clint as well, and you’re about to head for the elevator again when someone interrupts.

“How about we take her down to her room instead?”

Your eyes widen as you watch none other than Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff enter the room hand in hand. Natasha’s hair seemed much longer than the last time she’d been in the public eye, but her all-knowing smirk was just the same and her green eyes were even more piercing in person. You noticed a bit of red glowing in Wanda’s eyes, which faded as she probably realized you’d seen, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that meant she hated you already.

“I know what you’re up to, Red.” Tony seemed accusatory as he pointed a finger at the pair. “You can’t bribe her into helping you cheat tonight.”

“Maybe I planned on giving her tips for surviving this testosterone filled tower.”

Natasha steps forward and grabs your hand with her free one, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda has your suitcase floating in front of you as they lead you into the elevator.

“Sorry to whisk you away like that,” Wanda apologizes as the doors close with her head tilted to see you past Natasha. “We’re just excited to meet a new woman here.”

“No, it’s okay!” you insist breathlessly, your nerves slowly returning as Natasha lightly squeezes your hand. “I’m actually really excited to meet the two of you.”

“You know who we are?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I know you personally, but I know that you’re one of the original team members.” You make eye contact briefly with Natasha before turning to Wanda. “And because the news stations somehow get ahold of everything, I know you joined after you helped everyone stop Ultron before he could create that indestructible body and destroy the world.”

“Yes, that’s true. Although I wish I could’ve saved my brother, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you lost him...or that you even had a brother.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda assures you with a smile as she lets go of Natasha, shifting to the other side of the elevator to grab your free hand. “I asked Fury to keep Pietro a secret because I didn’t want to see or hear any negative opinions from people that never even met him.”

“And we have plenty of time to get to know each other,” Natasha chimes in as the doors open to reveal a new setting. “This is our floor. We set up a spare bedroom here so we can spend time together away from the boys...when you’re not with Peter, of course.”

“Yeah, that’d be great!”

They lead you past their living room and kitchen, and you shamelessly admire the simple decor with little personal touches spread about. Turning into a hallway, Natasha walks ahead of you and Wanda to open a door to a bedroom.

“What do you think?” she asks with a smile that widens upon seeing your expression. “I’m guessing it’s good, then.”

“It’s perfect!” you cry out as you walk past to enter the room, immediately noticing the eggshell colored walls trimmed with your favorite color along the borders. “Wow, this is four times the size of a normal bedroom. Wait a minute.”

“Do you like it?” Wanda asks when she sees you pick up the glass figurine on the nightstand. “Peter mentioned your love of this animal and I have a whole collection of them from different places.”

“Like it? I love it! I have the same one in my dorm room!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can get you a different one.” She steps forward as she brings your suitcase to the floor beside the bed and you hug the small object close to your chest.

“Like I said, it’s perfect,” you assure her with a grin, which brings one to her own face.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy with the set up. When you’re ready to head up to dinner, we’ll be waiting by the elevator. Also, if you ever need anything, our room is right across the hall.”

Natasha points to the closed door a few feet away, and you acknowledge her statement with a nod before they leave the room, closing your door nearly all the way behind them. You flop down on the bed with a dreamy sigh as you gaze up at the ceiling with a night sky painted on it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave this place.”

On the elevator ride up to join everyone for dinner, Natasha and Wanda take turns asking you questions about your classes and any friends you’d made, what you liked to do when you weren’t studying. You had to admit that the level of interest they had with you was shocking but flattering, especially when they insisted you sit between them at the table to continue your conversation.

“You don’t seem to be nervous anymore,” Peter acknowledges as you sit down, and Wanda faces you immediately.

“Were you nervous about meeting us?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer timidly, avoiding catching anyone’s curious glances by directing a glare toward Peter. “You might be normal people in here, but to the rest of the world, you’re portrayed as powerful and untouchable beings.”

“Maybe when they’re not talking about how much damage we’ve caused,” Bruce mumbles under his breath as the elevator doors opened again.

“I’m here, I’m here!” a voice calls as footsteps hurry toward the dining area, and Sam Wilson is revealed as he rounds the corner. “Sorry, I’m late. I was--”

“On a date, we know. You only told us that 500 times.”

“Don’t be jealous, old man. You’re married.” Sam grins at Clint as he sits next to him before his attention turns to you. “Do we have a newbie?”

“No, Mr. Wilson. This is my best friend, Y/N.”

“Call me Sam, kid.” He smiles at you as he goes for his silverware, and you’re just about to acknowledge him when his expression suddenly turns serious. “I’m sorry. You’re not a kid. You’re an independent and capable adult, and I should address you as such.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” Sam clears his throat and shakes his head as if he was clearing his mind. “I just suddenly felt the need to correct myself…You have any powers we should know about, Y/N?”

“No!” you quickly respond with widened eyes. “I wasn’t going to say anything, actually. I’m pretty used to older people calling me kid by now.”

From your left side, Natasha asks Clint to recall an embarrassing tale for you and the table livens up again, but you can’t seem to move past the unsettling way Sam shifted gears from calm and casual to uptight and disciplined. The image stayed with you through the rest of dinner even after he seemed to fully recover, until dishes were cleared away and replaced with games, and you suddenly had a lot more to focus on.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that he gets to be on your team again when I haven’t had him once.”

“Is anything fair with the guy who could use his personalized AI to cheat for him?”

“Could I do that? Yes. But have I done that? Maybe.”

“Wanna grab some fresh air with us?” Natasha suddenly asks you, causing you to frown.

“Aren’t we about to play another game?”

“It’ll take them another half hour before they finally decide something,” Wanda assures you as her fingers thread through yours gently. “We have plenty of time, and they won’t even notice we’re gone.”

They lead you by the hand to the elevator once more, going up a few floors before leading you out onto a balcony. Because you were so much higher than most of the surrounding buildings, there was an incredible view of the sun that was probably minutes away from disappearing to the other side of the world. The air is chillier than when you’d arrived, but you had to admit that standing in the cool breeze is worth a few goosebumps on your skin. Your hands are released as you reach a bench near the ledge, and you climb over it to sit as the other two women settle on either side of you.

“Why did Peter decide to share his secret with you?”

“Technically he didn’t,” you recall with a laugh. “He’d gone out to deal with something that activated his spider sense or whatever and I came to his dorm room to sleep after an exam because I was too tired to walk all the way to my place. Anyway, I walk in at the same time he’s coming back in through the window, and I swear we both sat there for a full two minutes before either of us could think of anything to say.”

“It’s still very nice of you to keep such a big secret for him,” Natasha praises, and your laughter quiets down as you take in her words.

“I guess I just know what it feels like to not want your life to change drastically because of one thing.” Your gaze shifts between the women for a moment. “That reminds me, I wanted to ask--”

“Wait, look at this!” Wanda quickly cuts you off with an enthusiastic grin. “You’re about to witness one of my favorite things about living here.”

She directs you to lean over and look at the streets as the sun finally disappears over the horizon, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes you. Street lights begin turning on at what seems to be the center of the city and quickly spreading, increasing the radius of well-lit neighborhoods by the second. It was a mesmerizing sight that--until every lamp was on--nearly made you forget the question you were building toward.

“That was so cool!” you express honestly before clearing your throat awkwardly. “So I wanted to ask if the two of you were dating...or in a relationship or whatever. I mean, I don’t want to assume anything of course, just wondering because you share a room and floor, and you seem to be really into holding hands.”

“Well, I’d never really been into holding hands or a lot of other forms of affection before I met Wanda, but she seemed to flip some switch inside of me.” Natasha admitted with a bashful chuckle as she glanced at Wanda before turning to study you. “And your hands are so perfect to hold.”

“To answer your question, we are together.” Wanda rests a hand on your thigh and casts a sweet smile in your direction when you face her again. “Natasha was the first to give me a chance after everything with Ultron, and initially I thought I was just feeling grateful to receive some type of positive attention from someone other than Pietro. It wasn’t until Tash called me out on staring at her lips that I realized I wanted more than friendship.”

“The only reason I did was to confirm she was feeling the same things I’d finally come to terms with myself.” Natasha chuckles as Wanda sends over a bit of red mist to squeeze her own thigh. “What about you, love?”

“What about me?”

“Do you think you’re feeling more than friendship for Peter?”

“Oh no,” you quickly denied with a chuckle. “He’s the perfect example of a great boyfriend, but not my boyfriend. Plus I’d rather not have the same experience as MJ did.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the ‘close friends to a relationship that ends with each person pretending the other doesn’t exist’ experience. I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, that does sound messy,” Natasha sighs as she subtly rests her hand on your other thigh. “So you’re not looking for a great boyfriend. What are you looking for then?”

“Nothing really, at least until I finish school, but having a girlfriend would be nice. I’d like to be with someone that respects me and can take care of themselves when I’m not around, because I tried the ‘caring for someone’ thing and it sucks when they don’t put in the same effort that you do.”

“Maybe you should try someone older, more mature,” Natasha suggests as she shifts to squeeze your knee lightly, and you start to feel a bit nervous about where she’s going with this. “Maybe two people that already have their shit together and would go to the ends of the earth to please you.”

“Okay, um…” You push both of their hands away with a bit of difficulty. “You both seem great and you’re incredibly attractive, but I’m not really interested.”

“Don’t worry about it, detka.” Natasha pushes your shoulder down as you try to get up, and Wanda cups your cheek with her hand.

“You may not be interested now…” She stands with Natasha and leans in to kiss your forehead, letting her lips linger on your skin as she continues. “But you will be.”

She pulls away and winks before lacing her fingers through Natasha’s as they leave the balcony, and you gasp in air as the tension they’d built seems to exit behind them. You finally decide to head back once you’ve taken a few minutes to catch your breath and calm your shaking limbs, but you wonder how long the calm will truly last.

You found yourself waking up suddenly and practically flying into a sitting position as if someone had pulled you up, but luckily the room is empty. You sit for a moment to catch your breath and survey your surroundings to assure you’re truly alone, and you notice your door is cracked right before you hear an unidentifiable sound.

“Fuck.”

Despite every fiber of your being screaming at you as one would do to a character in a horror film, you decide to climb out of bed to investigate what you were hearing, justifying your actions with the excuse of seeing if your floor-mates were in danger, as if you could save them. A few seconds after opening your door fully and peeking out made you realize that they were more than okay.

“Fuck! Right there, please don’t stop.”

“Such a dirty mouth, malyshka.”

You’re quick to return the door to its cracked position, leaning against the nearby wall with wide eyes as you attempt to process the image across the hall. The bedroom door sits wide open, giving you the chance to examine every inch of bare skin of the two women spread across the bed, Wanda resting on her arched back with her hands in Natasha’s red hair buried between her legs. Her moans seem to raise in volume, pitch and frequency as she’s brought closer and closer to the edge, and you ignore the warm feeling in your lower abdomen as you hurry back to bed and throw a pillow over your exposed ear.

“Good morning.”

Your free hand quickly shoots upward to catch your water glass as it slipped through your fingers in your moment of shock, and you try not to make a deal of hearing two sets of footsteps headed toward the kitchen.

“How’d you sleep last night? I know how scary it can be to rest your eyes in a new place.”

“I think I did pretty well,” you answer quietly as you step away from the fridge and lean against a section of the counter that faces out into the rest of the room. “The bed’s really nice.”

“You’re lying,” Wanda accuses as she crosses the room, eyes turning red and hands lifting toward your face.

“What are you--”

“Couldn’t sleep because of us, right?” She chuckles when you go limp under her touch, and Natasha ducks between the two of you to save your glass for the second time. “Did you enjoy hearing us that much?”

“You did sound really good,” you tell her with a drowsy smile as she pins you against the counter to keep you from falling.

“I bet you wish you were in my place, don’t you?” Her tone is light and teasing at first, becoming a bit stern as she shifts to push her thigh between your legs and you instantly roll your hips against the pressure. “Or maybe you want to taste me while Natasha fucks you?”

“No.”

“No?!” she fires back immediately, leaving a red mist around your temples as she grabs your waist with both hands to keep you grinding against her. “You mean you don’t want to cum right now?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

A breathy moan escapes you as your eyes flutter closed, and if your head wasn’t being forcefully held in place, it would’ve tipped backward. You feel what must be Natasha’s fingertips grazing along your jaw and tracing a line down the side of your neck and toward your shoulder, repeating the gentle motion as goosebumps appeared all over the exposed skin.

“Is everyone decent?”

The fog behind your eyes seems to clear in seconds, and you blink in confusion when you open your eyes to see Natasha and Wanda making coffee nearby. You try to recall even coming into the kitchen, but everything from the moment you stepped into the bathroom to get ready is a blur, so you shake your head and reach for your glass of water on the counter as Natasha responds.

“Come in, Peter.”

“Morning, everyone,” Peter greets cheerfully as he enters the kitchen, his grin falling when his eyes land on you. “Are you okay?”

You open your mouth with the full intention of telling him that you are not okay, not when you were missing at least an hour of memory, and bits of last night were slipping away from you too. But before you could speak, a cold feeling seems to pass through the back of your skull to slip into your brain, and a switch flips.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you respond with a chuckle. “You worry too much, spiderling.”

“The world’s a stressful place,” he grumbles when you playfully ruffle his hair. “Anyway, are you ready to go soon?”

“Where are you headed?” Natasha quickly asks with a frown. “Y/N hasn’t even had breakfast yet.”

“We’re meeting Aunt May, so we’ll eat with her.”

“I just have to grab my bag,” you explain before heading down the hall to your temporary room, feeling the chilly sensation leaving you as you get further away from the kitchen, and it thankfully doesn’t return when you head back. “Ready.”

“Have fun!” Natasha calls as Peter heads for the elevator again, quickly grabbing your wrist once he’s out of sight. “See you tonight, printsessa.”

Her hand quickly shifts to grip the back of your neck as she leans in to kiss your cheek, and the two women are wearing sweet smiles as you turn away from them to catch up with Peter, attempting to shake the shell-shocked expression from your features.

“You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” you insist as the doors close, in hopes that you really would be fine.

Meeting Peter’s aunt was much more of a pleasant experience than you expected, and it was obvious she adored you by the way she spoke to you, although part of you felt she was just happy Peter had more people around to love him. Your day was cut a bit short when MJ unexpectedly approached Peter, requesting to talk to him, and Aunt May offered to drive you back to the tower so you both could escape that awkward mess of a conversation.

“It was so great to meet you today,” you tell her with a grin as you take off your seatbelt.

“Likewise, honey. You have my number so just call me if you ever need anything, okay?”

She pulls you into a hug over the middle console and you thank her again for the ride as you get out of the car, trying not to seem too nervous when you notice Natasha and Wanda standing in the lobby. Your plan was to walk past them without speaking, but you should’ve known that wouldn’t work.

“Why was she hugging you?” Natasha asks coldly as you enter the building and you sigh.

“She was just saying goodbye--wait. Why am I explaining myself to you?”

You keep walking until they’re no longer in your peripheral, stopping abruptly as a red mist surrounds your legs, and your eye-rolling is cut short when Wanda appears in front of you and grabs your chin harshly.

“If Tash asks you a question, you answer.”

“Without attitude,” Natasha adds, which makes you want to roll your eyes again.

“Sorry, I didn’t get the rules handbook when I arrived. Can I go now?”

“You know what?” Wanda cuts off Natasha’s angry response with a smirk. “You can go.”

The red mist surrounding you disappeared, and despite the suspicious feeling that washed over you, you continued on toward the elevator with your head held high. You refused to let them get to you.

It was subtle at first. A slight tingling between your legs that you couldn’t seem to get rid of. In the very beginning, you were worried that something was wrong until you realized where the feeling was coming from when it turned into slow circles around your clit as you caught up with Peter in his room. By dinner, there was the added sensation of fingers curling inside you at a steady pace, and you hoped no one would notice your hips slightly bucking under the table as you attempted to repeatedly chase a release that never came.

A movie follows dinner today, and you make sure to cover yourself with a large blanket because you were still being edged and you couldn’t stop moving at this point. You even try to slide your hand into your sweatpants to finish the job yourself, and your jaw clenches in anger every time your fingers lock up because you know who’s responsible.

“Okay, you win!” you announce as you walk into the kitchen on Natasha and Wanda’s private floor, not missing the look shared between the two women. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. Can you please just stop teasing me?”

“How about we help you finish instead?”

You should decline. You should just say ‘no’ because letting them finish you off tonight will turn into an attachment that you know you don’t want, nor are you ready for. Inviting them in will be equivalent to selling your soul, and you’re not sure you want to put a price on it. But the ache below your stomach is persistent, and if they won’t let you touch yourself, someone has to do it.

“Fine.”

“Don’t be so grumpy about it,” Wanda teases as she grabs your hand and starts leading you toward their bedroom. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

She pushes you back onto the surprisingly large bed as soon as you’re close enough, instructing you to take off your shirt and bra while she watches. Once your top half is completely exposed, she leans forward to run her hands from your shoulders down toward your nipples, circling them with her thumbs until they harden.

“I don’t like being teased.”

“Oh, you don’t?” she asks in a mocking tone as she reaches for the band of your sweatpants and pulls them down, placing her palm over the wet spot in your panties. “Then what’s this?”

“Please,” you beg through a quiet moan, bucking your hips again when she presses her thumb against your clit through the fabric. “Please just fuck me already.”

“Patience, detka.”

You watch with wide eyes as Natasha and Wanda both strip away their own sweatpants, revealing the toys tied to their legs. Natasha goes to untie hers while Wanda uses her powers to rip away your ruined panties in one fluid motion.

“There she is.”

Natasha puts her hand on Wanda’s back and forces her to bend over, and you bite your lip as her eyes flutter closed and mouth falls open while Natasha thrusts into her. You’re just about to grab Wanda’s hand to lead her where you want, when her eyes open suddenly with a glowing red surrounding her pupils, and your wrists are bound together over your head by an invisible force.

“Did you forget who’s in charge here?”

“Don’t get too cocky, malyshka,” Natasha reminds her as she grabs a fistful of her hair and slams into her, causing Wanda to moan and giggle at the same time.

“My apologies, Tash.”

You couldn’t help your sigh of relief as Wanda finally slid two fingers inside of you, her thrusts deepening each time as Natasha fucked her toward you with her hands on her hips. The sounds coming from your mouth and between your legs were embarrassingly loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as she brought you closer and closer to the edge, until a loud whine escaped you as she removed her fingers and delivered a slap to your glistening folds.

“Tell me who this belongs to,” she orders through her own moans, holding you down when you begin grinding into her hand. “I’m gonna cum regardless of what you do, so you’d better answer. Be a good girl like I know you can.”

“Yours!” you cry out finally, sighing when Natasha leans into your line of sight with a brow raised. “It’s yours and Natasha’s.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She slips back into you without warning, and your back arches off the bed as she finally brings you to orgasm. She continues to thrust into you as you whine and squirm away, luckily slowing down and finally stopping as Natasha makes her cum a minute later, leaving the strap inside of her as they both catch their breath. Wanda pulls out of you and sits up to lean against her, holding her hand up between them as they both clean your cum off her fingers with their tongues, and you sit there clenching around nothing as you watch.

“You seem tired,” Natasha comments as her eyes land on you again.

“Too bad we’re not done.”

Wanda flips you onto your stomach with a quick motion of her fingers, using her hands to pull you by the waist until you’re on your knees at the edge of the bed, and she holds one side of your waist as she delivers a slap to your ass this time. Her touch lingers as she pulls away to free her own strap, and you nearly fall over when you feel the tip of the toy rub against your clit.

“Wait, let me fuck her this time.”

You hear their soft laughter as they switch places, sharing a kiss in the process, and you gasp when a hand wraps around your neck and pulls you up against Natasha’s chest.

“I like having you this close to me, printsessa,” she whispers in your ear, chuckling when you melt against her as she pushes the tip of her strap into you. “How many times do you think I can get you to cum?”

Her grip on your throat is loose as she allows you to adjust to the size, tightening suddenly when she slams into you once, twice, until every thrust is at a rough pace that you wouldn’t be able to handle if she wasn’t holding you against her by the waist. You feel that same tingling circling your clit again, occasionally traveling upward to tease your nipples as well, and it wasn’t long before you were releasing a strangled scream as you climaxed.

Natasha eventually stops thrusting into you as your legs shake, and you breathe out another sigh of relief when she allows you to fall onto the mattress. However, the relief is short-lived when you realize that she only paused to let Wanda push into her from behind, and it wasn’t long before the two of them found a rhythm that was pleasing them and ruining you.

Your wrists are freed as Natasha pulls out of you some minutes later, and you collapse onto one side of the bed with your body aching a bit from a third orgasm, your eyes only halfway open as you watch the pair. They remove the straps from their waists and set them aside, and you become a bit more alert when you notice Natasha grab what seems to be a double-ended dildo.

“No more. I can’t,” you mumble tiredly as your wrists are bound by Wanda’s power again.

“One more, and you can,” she tells you as she flops onto the bed beside you, and that red mist surrounds her fingers again as she guides you onto your knees to hover above her face. “You wanted to cum, so you don’t get to run from this.”

Her hands grab your waist and pull you closer, and you release a shuddering moan as her tongue runs past your hole and over your clit, teasing it a few times with the tip of her tongue before diving in to wrap her lips around it. She alternates between sucking your clit and slipping inside you as Natasha climbs on the bed behind you to position herself with the new toy.

“Fuck,” Wanda attempts to say once Natasha begins thrusting, and you fall forward as the vibration of her moans become too much, whining when Natasha slides her hands over your breasts and pulls you back up again.

“Take it all like a good girl.”

She keeps pulling until your head drops against her, and she moans against your neck while she kisses and sucks on your skin, bouncing faster on Wanda who groans loudly in response as she attempts to match each thrust. The hums of her voice has you grinding against her tongue, and you yelp when Natasha bites down just as Wanda brings you over the edge. She keeps going despite your protests, managing to get you to cum once more before they finally do.

You lie there with your bones feeling like jelly as you’re covered with a blanket minutes after everyone’s bathroom trip, too tired to even fight for sleeping in your own bed as Natasha and Wanda slide in on either side of you.

“You did so well tonight, detka,” Wanda praises as she strokes your cheek with a loving stare. “I can tell you’ll be a great addition to our relationship. I knew it from the moment I saw you.”

“I’m not doing this again,” you insist as the smile fades from her expression. “I’m not getting in a relationship with two women that don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and I’d prefer sleeping in my own bed.”

“You’re already in a relationship with us, printsessa,” Natasha growls as she shoves you back down when you try to get up, and you push her hand away.

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me want to be with you.”

“It’s not about what you want to do. It’s about what you have to do.” She grabs your phone from the nightstand, and you’re somehow not even surprised when she unlocks it on the first try. “Because it’d be a shame if someone was to tell Peter about all the nudes you have of him.”

You snatch the phone from her grip, eyes widening as you scroll through your camera roll, finding naked pictures of Peter scattered throughout it. You check the date on the oldest one and began to feel nauseous when you saw it was taken not even a month after the two of you met.

“Don’t think you’ll be deleting those either, because we can replace them and make things worse.” Her smile was falsely sweet and troubling as she grabbed your chin to force you to make eye contact. “We’ve gone this long without having you, and we’ll do whatever it takes not to lose you.”

Tags: @cordeliaswhore @egotisticalstoner @muralskins @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @madamevirgo @teenwonder @honeyvenable @slut-for-nat

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