#so thanks I was able to sketch something for the guy I'm getting to know and maybe will be dating at some point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaggedamethyst · 2 months ago

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not in that way (part two)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: as both of your best friends, steve tries to get you and bucky to bond

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut in an elevator, fingering (r!receiving), discreet, mutual pining, angst, not proofread I'm lazy and tired

notes: thank you guys for the response to the first part...what the fuck?? everything i write for bucky goes insane and i didn't think people wanted more but i got too many messages not to keep writing for him.

ps: wanted to post this tonight… so it may not be seamless, but i will edit when im fully awake bc im half asleep rn

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The next time you saw Bucky was the following day. He was seated next to Steve as the pair of them lounged in the grass at a park near your house. Steve and you came here a lot—him making a reason to escape Avengers duty and you simply living within walking distance.

“Hi.” You offered an awkward wave to the men, sitting down on the throw blanket they’d laid in the grass.

While Steve greeted you, Bucky hardly acknowledged your presence, averting his eyes to watch his friend next to him. Steve dug into a bag beside him and pulled out a few small notebooks. One of them was noticeably more worn; you recognized it as his own sketchbook.

In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends.

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious, I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.”

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation.

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?”

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser.

“Me too.”

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down.

As time passed, you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting, and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not.

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life, in particular, was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was really gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork.

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?”

You perked up and excitedly flipped yours with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch.

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.”

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.”

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?”

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw, but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched, and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply.

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?”

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.”

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?”

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.”

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern.

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.”

“I agree, big step for him.”

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him.

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again.

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around, and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevator's closed doors with the stoicism he always had.

Neither you nor Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off-balance briefly.

When he regained his composure, Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having had a moment alone with you since the day prior.

You nodded. “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?”

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that effect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response, but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself.

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button.

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?”

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you.

“I’m not. I’m being normal-“

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.”

He let out an amused scoff. “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator. I'm claustrophobic.”

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.”

“That’s not it-“

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.”

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place.

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right.

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you.

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it.

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you.

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus.

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.”

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly.

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing.

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met.

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest.

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you.

“Don’t move, I got you.”

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut.

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky.

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.”

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that were now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossoming for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend.

But you couldn’t help it.

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over, you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern.

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusted without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll, and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully.

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his neck for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you.

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before.

He let you whine like this for a bit longer before adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on.

“Doing so good.” He nodded. “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly, you snapped, head falling into his neck.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm.

Your hips rolled, and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one, Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless, and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly.

“You coming?”

With a ding, the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them, you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.”

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So, is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?”

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed-off self. Admittedly, you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night.

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky, it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved.

We’re better as friends.

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand to be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light.

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.”

“‘Course, doll.”

part three

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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inspired by a nate bargatze sketch

Eddie’s least favorite thing people say when they find out he’s gay and married to a man is when they ask who the “man” of their house is, because…it’s fucking stupid and wouldn’t be funny even if it didn’t rely on patriarchal bullshit that Eddie didn’t buy into even before he and Steve had three daughters.

The thing is though…there definitely is a man of their house, and it’s Steve.

And if Steve isn’t home, it’s their oldest daughter, Moe.

Eddie knows this is true because there’s someone coming to their house to work on…something. All Eddie caught when Steve brought it up was, “We’ve been in this house for almost twenty years. I’d rather deal with it now than wait until it’s causing problems.”

So it’s either the roof, the water heater, or the furnace.

(He thinks).

Every once in a while Eddie gets frustrated enough about this to want to get more involved – he helped Wayne out with this shit all the time when he was a teenager, and he worked as a mechanic well into his twenties (up until he got his first book deal and was able to quit and write full-time). It’s not that Eddie can’t understand all that stuff – no, it’s Steve insisting that he take on all that kind of stuff in their life together so that Eddie didn’t have to that did it, and now it’s been so long since he exercised that part of his brain that it’s basically gone dormant.

The nail in the coffin is when Steve says, “If he shows up before I get back – do not engage. Get Moe. She knows what this is all about.”

She totally does, is the thing, so Eddie just replies, “Got it,” and prays that Steve gets home from the hardware store before the contractor arrives (is he a contractor? Eddie doesn’t think he even knows what a contractor is).

Naturally, not even five minutes after Steve pulls out of the driveway, a dark blue van pulls in.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie mumbles, and then he calls upstairs, “Moe. The guy Pop was talking about is here.”

Moe calls something incomprehensible back (hopefully it’s I’ll be down in a second) because by the looks of it this guy is already halfway to the front door.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Moe is not down in a second and he ends up in a conversation about water heaters with…not a contractor, he’s pretty sure. A plumber, maybe? Doesn’t matter – just a guy who’s gonna fix – or maybe it’s replace? – their water heater…for some reason.

“So where’s the heater?” the not-contractor-maybe-plumber asks.

“Uhh…” Eddie hesitates, and thank Christ, Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

“Basement,” she says, “Anode rod was replaced three years ago but the rest of it’s been there since we moved here in ‘04.”

The guy launches into a whole water heater spiel, and Eddie realizes halfway through he’s not trying to engage with Moe at all. He’s directing it all at Eddie as if Eddie is hearing anything more than Charlie Brown-esque phone call mumbling. He concludes with a question about…something related to tanks maybe? Or maybe it was tankless. Eddie has no idea. Moe answers it because she knows what the hell this guy is talking about, but still this asshole is looking at Eddie for confirmation.

“Dude, I dunno why you're looking at me,” Eddie tells him, and then he points at Moe, “My daughter works on airplanes. I write books. I'm telling you – you're better off listening to her.”

#moe does indeed work on airplanes at this time #after two years she decides it’s not challenging enough and goes to law school instead #eddie is terrified of her #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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latenightreadingpdf · 7 months ago

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Knock on the Door - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the midst of an intense investigation, Spencer and Derek bring you into protective custody after a disturbing discovery links you to their case. As you navigate the unexpected situation, Spencer’s calm presence offers reassurance, sparking an unexpected connection amid the chaos.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The quiet street was a far cry from the usual high-stakes BAU scene, but the tension in the air made Spencer’s skin prickle with unease. He glanced at Derek, who was already preparing to knock on another door, exuding his usual calm confidence.

"This one could be a lead," Derek muttered, showing a slight glint of hope in his eyes as he raised his hand to knock. The case had been dragging on, and frustration was growing with each unanswered question.

When the door opened, Spencer noted the faint hint of confusion in your expression. Derek immediately flashed his badge, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma’am, I'm Agent Derek Morgan. This is my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI."

Your eyes darted between the two of them, registering the serious expressions they wore. "The FBI? What's going on?"

"Have you had any strangers come to your door recently trying to sell you something?"

A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and Spencer leaned in, catching the shift. "Actually, yes,” you said, brows furrowing. “A guy came by yesterday… He gave me his card.”

Spencer and Derek shared a look. "Do you still have that card?" Spencer asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Yeah, I think so. Let me grab it." You turned back into the house, leaving the door partially open, and returned a moment later with a card in hand. As Derek took it from you, he confirmed with a nod that it matched the cards left at the other crime scenes.

You looked between them, anxiety creeping into your voice. "What is going on? Who is this guy?"

Spencer’s voice softened, his gaze meeting yours directly. "We believe he's a dangerous criminal who may be responsible for several recent homicides. His method involves gaining entry to homes under false pretenses."

Your face paled as the weight of his words sank in. Derek placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We need to take you back to the station to make sure you’re safe. There are some steps we’d like to take to ensure you’re protected while we gather more information."

"Safe? Is he going to try and kill me?"

Derek’s expression turned serious. "We have reason to believe he might try to come back, and it’s important we get ahead of him."

A sense of dread settled over you as you let their words sink in. You followed them to the car, feeling your stomach twist with a mix of fear and disbelief. As you settled into the backseat, Spencer turned to give you a reassuring nod.

“Just so you know,” he began, his tone gentle, “we’ll have officers posted near your home to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to get in. We’re taking every precaution.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Understandable,” Spencer said, glancing at you with a sympathetic look. “We’ll also have you meet with a sketch artist and undergo a cognitive interview. It’s standard procedure, and it might help us learn more about him.”

You looked out the window, processing the reality of the situation. The quiet chatter between Derek and Spencer drifted over you as they discussed possible motives, patterns, and theories. But for now, you were too lost in your own thoughts to make out their words.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you arrived at the station, Spencer took a moment to walk you through the cognitive interview process. "It’s designed to help you remember specific details," he explained, his voice calm and assuring. "It might feel intense, but I’ll be with you the whole time."

You nodded, glancing around the bustling police station, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and adrenaline. "Okay, so… I just answer questions, and you’ll be able to get a clearer picture of this guy?"

Spencer gave you a small smile. "Pretty much. Think of it as helping us paint a portrait. Every detail, no matter how small, could be useful."

The interview went smoothly; Spencer’s presence was patient and encouraging, never making you feel pressured to remember something you couldn’t. Afterward, he led you to a small break room, offering you a seat at a worn table with a coffee machine humming nearby.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with two steaming cups, handing one to you. "Here," he said, "it's not gourmet, but it’ll keep us awake."

You took it gratefully, feeling a sense of normalcy settle in. "Thanks, Spencer." You sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth. "I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon in an FBI station, but… it’s definitely more interesting than my usual routine."

Spencer chuckled, seeming surprised by your laid-back attitude. "Most people aren’t as calm in situations like this."

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the situation but refusing to let it get the best of you. "I don’t know. I figure, if I’m in good hands, there’s no point in freaking out."

As you chatted, Spencer filled you in on some of the behavioral profiling techniques they used, giving you a peek into the mind of the BAU. His eyes lit up as he explained the ways they’d been analyzing the unsub’s behavior to find any possible patterns, and you found yourself genuinely interested, asking questions and absorbing his answers.

"Do you ever wonder why people do these things?" you asked thoughtfully, watching him as he considered your question.

"All the time," Spencer replied, his voice softening as he looked down at his coffee. "But there’s rarely a straightforward answer. The best we can do is study the behaviors and try to make sense of them. Hopefully, it helps us stop them."

A sense of respect grew in you as he spoke, and you found yourself admiring the dedication he had for his work. "That sounds exhausting. Important, but exhausting."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But it’s worth it, especially when it means keeping someone safe. Like now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sincerity. "Well, I guess I’m lucky you guys were around."

The door to the break room opened, and Derek poked his head in, giving Spencer a grin. "You two doing all right in here?"

Spencer nodded, standing up to update Derek on the details you’d given during the interview. As they talked, you finished your coffee, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the unusual circumstances.

When Derek turned his attention to you, his gaze softened. "We’re going to have a team set up around your house tonight, keeping a close eye on things. We’ll catch this guy if he shows up."

You nodded, feeling reassured. "Thanks, Agent Morgan. I know you guys are handling it, so I’ll let you do your thing."

Spencer glanced back at you with a small smile. "If you need anything, or have more questions, just let me know."

As they walked you to the main desk, Spencer looked back, his gaze soft. "We'll keep you safe," he assured you once more, his sincerity unmistakable. "Until then, try not to worry. We’re on it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. "I trust you," you replied, giving them one last grateful look before they escorted you to a waiting area. And as you waited, you felt a sense of calm, knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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octuscle · 4 months ago

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Exchange student: Athens (GA)

Benjamin was not particularly happy that he had come to Georgia as an exchange student. Athens... He had wanted something in New England. Or at least in California. But he hadn't been able to choose. Athens had taken him.

The introductory week had been a disappointment. His fellow students were almost exclusively from the neighborhood, the boys were interested in football and hunting rifles, the girls in boys. It was all so clichéd that it was hard to express. But there was actually a very good grand piano in the assembly hall and Benjamin had been given permission to use it for his daily exercises after a short audition. He had not yet met his roommate. He wasn't due to return to university until a week later because of some family business. Benjamin was hoping for someone who was also interested in classical music and expressionism. Or at least someone who was also studying literature, art history or something similar.

It was the night from Saturday to Sunday when the door opened with a huge crash at around 02:00. Someone threw a duffel bag onto the bed and turned on the light. Benjamin blinked startled at the sudden light. He couldn't see anything against the light. But it smelled of sweat and a few other things he couldn't identify. The shadow took off his shirt, threw it on the floor and sat down on the other bed. Benjamin's eyes adjusted to the light and he began to recognize something.

"Well howdy, you must be Ben. I'm Hunter, no lie, that's my name, partner. Shoo, it ain't even 2 o'clock yet. What in tarnation are ya doin' in bed?" Benjamin was disgusted. He would have to share the room with a redneck. He turned around and mumbled, “Nice to meet you. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to sleep.” Hunter just said, “Well, that’s on you if ya overlook somethin’, darlin’,” rummaged in his duffel bag and disappeared again. It must have been around 04:00 when he returned. Now it also smelled of booze. Benjamin pretended to be asleep, even though Hunter was making a lot of noise. After he had finished clearing out his things, Benjamin heard him burp loudly a few more times. And soon he was snoring.

When Benjamin's alarm clock rang at 07:00, Hunter was still snoring. He was lying naked on the comforter. Benjamin had to admit with envy that he was well trained. His butt was firm. His upper body was deeply tanned and Hunter was pale below the waist. A guy who worked out in the fresh air. Benjamin's cock got hard. He quickly grabbed his scrubs and headed for the washrooms. He wanted to be at the Georgia Museum of Art early. When he returned to his room, freshly showered, Hunter was lying awake on his bed. Jerking off his morning wood. “Well, howdy there, early riser! Ain't that somethin'! You fixin' to hit the pavement for a run?” Benjamin turned around, embarrassed. Because he didn't want to disturb Hunter while he was wanking. And because his own cock was leaking precum into his boxer shorts. “No thanks, I wanted to go to the museum.” “Real neat, we got one 'round these parts? Been here a whole year and didn’t even know. Might just tag along next time, if y'know what I mean.” “That would be nice,” Benjamin replied as he hurriedly got dressed and left the room. He had to go to the washrooms again before he went to the museum. He really needed to wank. He thought about Hunter.

He wasn't really focused in the museum. At the beginning, he made sketches of the halls and the works of art on display. He was actually surprised by the quality. There were top-class works here. But when he caught himself doodling a stag in his notebook the third time, he decided that he would probably be better off getting some fresh air. He took his rucksack out of his locker and left the museum. The fresh air did him good. Benjamin walked along Campus Road. He passed the Georgia Museum of Natural History. It was still early. He went inside.

Natural history wasn't really his hobby. But Benjamin was fascinated by the dioramas of the local animal world. He enthusiastically made sketches of the deer. Why the hell had he already made them at the art museum? And why were the deer he was drawing now often hunted prey? He probably just couldn't get Hunter out of his head. He was getting a hard-on again. Benjamin made his way back to the dormitory. Hunter and he hadn't got off to a good start. But now he would like to put that right.

"Down at th’ park wit’ the boys, tossin’ sum balls ‘round. Y’all come on by if ya wanna join!" The note was on Ben's pillow. There was a lot else lying around the room. It was as if a bomb had gone off. Hunter was obviously not the tidiest of people. There was a camouflage T-shirt on the floor. Benjamin pressed it to his face. It smelled of sweat and masculinity. He couldn't help it. He had to jerk off again. This time it came with unexpected force. Shit, on the floor, on the bed, his cum was everywhere. He took one of his dirty towels from the laundry basket and tried to clean it up as best he could. And then he made his way to the park. He had to watch Hunter play football with his buddies.

Benjamin had to search a bit to find Hunter and his friends. But it was worth it. A gang of young rednecks in the prime of their youth, on their way to becoming real men. Their muscles were glistening with sweat, their mullets sticking wet to their heads. “Yo, Ben!” Hunter shouted when he saw Benjamin. Benjamin was amazed that Hunter had recognized him. Hunter ran up to him and did a fist bump, which Benjamin returned somewhat awkwardly. “Hey there, what in tarnation are ya doin’ just standin�� ‘round like a bump on a log? Get yourself changed and hit that field!” Benjamin said that he had nothing to change into. “Floyd, you knucklehead! You got your gym gear?” Hunter yelled across the pitch. He, who was presumably Floyd, yelled back “Sure thing!”. Hunter went to a bag and threw it to Benjamin. “Here ya go, this oughta fit ya, Big fella!” Benjamin was a little embarrassed to just change in the open field. But there was no turning back now. The last time he had played football was five years ago. And he had been bad. Really bad. Now he was standing on a field in sweaty, oversized clothes belonging to a guy he didn't know called Floyd and had to play football with a guy he hardly knew, but had already wanked off on twice today. The ball flew towards him. Benjamin caught it with a leap. “To me!” roared Hunter. And with a powerful and precise pass, the ball flew to Hunter. “Bloody hell!” thought Benjamin.

The sun was about to set. The boys were lying on the grass, drinking some kind of isotonic thirst quencher. They had all taken off their shirts. Hunter's head was on Benjamin's stomach. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, buddy! You best be chowin' down more and hittin' them weights less. That belly of yours ain’t got no softness to cuddle up to!” “In your dreams!” replied Benjamin, tousling Hunter's wet hair. Damn, he was well on his way to becoming a jock... Benjamin and Hunter spent the evening together, when the sun went down, they went to the movies and then out for a burger. Benjamin had never spent a Sunday like this before. It felt wrong. But it felt so good!

The next morning, Hunter's alarm clock rang at 05:30. “Dude, running and gym!” he said as he shook Benjamin awake. Benjamin had done more sport yesterday than he had ever done in his life. But without argument, he put on Floyd's dirty and sweaty clothes and the two of them set off. Benjamin actually had his first lecture at 08:30. English poetry of the 19th century. But he couldn't leave Hunter to bench press on his own. And so it was 09:00 when he arrived in the lecture hall. In his sweaty gym clothes. Without his homework. His professor asked him to join her after the lecture to explain to him clearly that this was not the performance she expected. And that he would stink. Benjamin raised his arm and took a deep breath from his armpit. “You're damn right,” he said, nodding appreciatively. His cell phone vibrated. “Fucc dude, 4got my laptop. Bring it by, bruh. Warnell school of 4estry and natural resources” Benjamin knew where that was. Behind the natural history museum. Next lecture wasn't for another hour. Benjamin sprinted home, grabbed the computer from Hunter's desk and ran into the department. “I'm at the entrance, bro,” he wrote. ‘Cum 2 the library,’ Hunter replied. Benjamin followed the signs. Floyd was waiting outside the library. “Hey y'all, thanks a million! You’re a real lifesaver for Hunter and me. And I gotta say, them clothes are lookin' sharp. And that mullet? Pure gold!” Benjamin blushed and said that he would do the washing today and Floyd would bring the clothes back clean tomorrow. Floyd laughed and said that they had only been on for a week, a bit early to wash them. Benjamin joined in the laughter and headed off to his next lecture. Bloody hell, what had Floyd said. Mullet? What mullet? He ran his fingers through his hair sweaty from running. It was sticking to the back of his neck. Benjamin searched for a window pane to look at his reflection. Shit, he had a similar hairstyle to the boys.

Tuesday morning was Hunter and Ben's first lecture, “Ecosystems and Habitat management” in Professor Castleberry's Wildlife Ecology and Management class. They both got quite a telling off for missing the first lecture the previous week. Hunter's excuse was that he couldn't leave his parents' hunting lodge because of the storm. The story of how the bridge had been washed away sounded super realistic. Ben had to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. He knew that Hunter simply hadn't wanted to leave without killing the big stag. Ben's excuse was less original. The fact that he was wrongly enrolled in art history and literature led to great laughter in the lecture hall. A guy with “corn-fed Midwestern boy” literally tattooed on his forehead couldn't be in a worse place than in a lecture on 19th century English poetry. Luckily, the two best buddies were given two adjacent seats. They hadn't showered after the gym today either. Very few of their fellow students wanted to sit next to them. But it was their lucky day anyway. Although the registration deadline had actually already passed, they both still got a place on the excursion to the “Population biology and ecology” field trip at the weekend. They could hardly wait for Friday. Finally a chance to get some fresh air and hopefully a good piece of game. Their hunting rifles were already threatening to rust.

A few of his fellow students knew that his real name was Ben. But everyone here called him Buck. Hunter and Buck. It just went together. The two of them studied together, pumped iron together, played football together. They hunted together. And yes, they also fucked together. But only without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

Pics by @ki-kink

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #ai image #redneck tf #jockification #jock tf #nerd to jock #broification #bro tf

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fieldofheathers-stuff · 16 days ago

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And yet, I burn.

————————————

Imma be honest, guys, I’m not exactly sure what I was aiming for with this one... except that it first turned way spicier than I intended, and then it just turned…weird. But like, in a good way. So imma keep it. Uploading it here before I start not liking it anymore (knowing me, that will likely happen in about 24 hours or less).

Anyway, enjoy some weird, surrealist Thranto for the soul. Idk man.

Black and white sketch below the cut + bonus nsfw-ish (?) headcanons because, at this point, why not.

Anyway, aside from the fact that I will die on the hill that these two ONLY hook up later in life for angsty reasons (why have them do the horizontal tango immediately when you can have 30 years of soulful pining, amrite?), I also think that, had they hooked up as younger men, it would have been BAD.

Like, BAD BAD. The inherent power imbalance of the dynamic, mixed with the emotional immaturity of both (outright emotional stuntedness in Thrawn's case, I would argue) would have just made it for an awful, terrible relationship, and through no fault of their own. I think it's true that they love each other from very the beginning... I just don't think that would be enough. There's just no way that 20-year-old Eli, with all his wide-eyedness and hero worship, would have been able to deal with Thrawn's baggage, and Thrawn would 100000% feel guilty about it (and wouldn't know how to fix it, which in turn would make him feel even more guilty). It's no bueno.

50-year-old Eli, however... now that would be a guy who gets it and, most importantly, knows how to deal with it.

And that's what Thrawn needs, really; he needs someone who can reality check him, because when you're so smart, so extraordinary all the time, you need someone who can bring you down to earth and keep you tehtered to some semblance of reality.

And it's also what Eli needs, because it's the final proof that they have moved beyond their old mentor-protegé dynamic and can finally engage with each other on equal ground, which is what he always wanted. Also, he finally finds the one field in which Thrawn is not, like, a literal savant and an untouchable genius; the one thing in which he can take the lead, and, in a way, return the favor of guiding him through something complicated and beautiful.

All this to say that, yeah, Thrawn is totally the bottom. (And he likes it that way, thank you very much).

XDDDDD

All jokes aside, I think it kind of has to be that way (Thrawn being the one who has to be gently led... in bed and otherwise). Think about it: Thrawn is selfless to the point of self-annihilation. Put that kind of attitude in a relationship and what you get is an absolute disaster. He needs an Eli who can remind him that this is about what he wants as well, and not only what he can give, or achieve, or sacrifice. And, to be honest, I think most of the time Thrawn himself barely knows what he wants - not just sexually, I think this applies to all the areas of his life that aren't about his "keeping the Ascendancy safe" agenda - so the fact that Eli knows him so well (and sometimes understands him better than he understands himself), and has the skill to navigate him through his feelings in ways he can actually process is absolutely key. I actually love the idea of this role-reversal: of Eli nurturing his emotional world in the same unorthodox ways Thrawn used to help him flourish as a leader.

They would probably be quetly passionate, and very sensual; I think Thrawn would enjoy that even more than outright sexuality (although he is not averse to it at all... he is, after all, Eli-sexual) as a slower, less overwhelming option of exploring intimacy - another thing that fiery young Eli would 100% not understand, and probably interpret negatively, knowing him. He does, after all, crash out from one, albiet severely mislplaced, "good day", so imagine what a "uhhh I'm not really into having sex with you" would do to him.

An experienced, older Eli tho? Possibly one who has had plenty of time to burn off his youthful exuberance with many, many partners? Now, that is a guy who can totally be into slow, leisurly, sensual lovemaking. And, to a guy like Thrawn, feeling seen and understood (in all his multiple imperfections, idiosincrasyes and human mistakes that he so endeavors to keep hidden in his regular life) would mean more than any type of earth-shattering, knee-bending, mind-melting sex that a 20-year-old Eli Vanto would probably be into. And the best part? With 50-year-old Eli Vanto, he can get both. A win-win situation, if you ask me. XDDD

#thranto #my art #thrawn #eli vanto #my headcanons

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onelittleornotthing · 5 months ago

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New Years gifts! >:3

@rachlaw7 good luck next year and in the new fandom, thank you for everything! Have a good rest and future creative success!

@skythevirus Good luck in the new year and in creating your own great projects! Your cosplay with your friend was amazing!

@golubichkalive Good luck in the new year and in the development of your AUs and studies! I still remember the day when you offered the very first trade in my life X') it was sweet.

@lunar-dal Good luck next year and damn, we need to know more about the Noir Tower! You are great :D And your AUs too!

@alice-the-demon Good luck next year, you are a great creator! Your AUs and Arts are beautiful! I am very sorry if I have ever caused any inconvenience :"0

@woobab , @misdreavusplush , @oddpizza Good luck next year to the three of you! Be happy with Peppino and love him with every fiber of your being ;) It's interesting to watch you

@pizzabox-box Good luck next year! Your comics are great, and it's very interesting to watch Peppi-no also his relationship with the rest of the characters. Keep up the good work if it gives you pleasure :3

@skitswap Good luck next year, I hope 2024 was filled with interesting things for you. Creative success and excellent studies!

@bigboybird Good luck next year and, dude, take care of yourself. You've done so much for all of us, always coming up with something interesting! I would like to get to know you better :3

@gggiiidd Good luck in the new year and have a great study! You can definitely handle it. And good creative success, I hope you will not lose interest in drawing. You are a charming creator.

@alextydaisuda123 and @creat0rstudi0 Good luck in the new year to you two and be happy :D You are very inspiring and surprise me every time. When I first came to Tumblr, I did not expect that Pizza Tower AUs existed, then I only discovered you.

@furiouspatience Good luck next year and creative success! I've seen you before Tumblr (in Vk), and your style is amazing and charming. And the sketches with Pizzahead and Fake Peppino are cute, as well as other art from other fandoms. You are one of my inspirations :3

@bvadmin and @sometiredfreak Happy New Year to you! Good luck to you two in developing your AUs! @/bvadmin your Brunoverse is impressive <:)) And @/sometiredfreak's freak show AU is scary. Let's punch Pizzaface in the face. -

@technically-a-kiwi Good luck in the new year! Your cosmic AU and simple sketches with Pizza Tower characters are delightfully cute!!! I'm amazed at your style. (I don't understand why tumblr doesn't want me to see your sketches>:( damn). Creative success and mood :3

@neocrash1101 Good luck in the new year! We are looking forward to more content on 'Day with P and FP' and 'Pizza Cradles'. Your style is very cute and catchy:3

@cutechan555 Good luck in the new year and happiness! Your arts is quite atmospheric. And we are also looking forward to something interesting in the new AU)

(Warn you, a lot of text and thanks. If you're not interested, don't read it!)

I want to say thank you to everyone who inspired me from the very beginning. I am very happy that I was able to get into such an interesting and, most importantly, friendly fandom. Yes, there are exceptions, but exceptions should not affect the opinion of the fandom itself. When I was still watching from the outside, I was very inspired by the works of the authors of @/weird0nerdo, @/gronkelart and @/ali-borsch, @/jellazticious, @/bob-mirum, @/furiouspatience and comics by @/gabaobab and @/squid2corn, as well as my love for Mr. Stick was awakened by the arts of garlicbradman64 (i remember they from Twitter/X, which I don't have access to-). Lots of russian authors Daria Cheesman(Twitter), @/klyoma2, and @/whatisnickname-reincarnated

I really hope you guys are doing well and the new year will bring you new experiences.

I met some very nice people in this fandom, @/rachlaw7 and @/cotton-mix, @/rediconsss and @/golubichkalive, @/bogboybird and @/weird0nerdo. I love them very much, they are very nice people!

I am very happy to be in Pizza Tower Ask (Vk) , OC/Canon Ask (Vk) . I really hope this happiness will be long-lasting and I will not have to part with this miracle.

I think the dream of being a part of something big has finally come true. It's a pity that sometimes it's not possible to participate or arrange something because of problems, but I'm glad that I'm in a comfortable environment for myself. I hope, I'm not causing you any problems.

I love you

#happy new year pizza tower fandom #thank you so much

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gb-patch · 1 year ago

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hello!

just dipping in to say: thanks so, so much for this game. it's rare that i get to see chinese americans in dating sims, and even less often are they as charismatic and fleshed-out as Qiu. being able to interact with someone who acts like a real person, who looks the same as i do and isn't reduced to a cripplingly shy, bookish type, who can be as funny and as terse as the asians i know in real life, has been kind of crazy for me.

the amount of parallels my life has to the game is insane. nothing else i've played has captured what it felt like for me to grow up, suburban and queer and Chinese American, as well as this game's sliver of demo managed. the amount of projection i've done on the story is straight up unhealthy.

even in the limited amount i've played through, there's been so much that i've been surprised by. changing what i call my mom so something custom, being able to set my ethnicity, having it acknowledge Qiu if you put in "Chinese" -- when I saw that the expanded demo let you mention you knew what 秋 meant in the prologue, i punched the air in Real Life with my Real Hands. i know the MC has to be very General American in order to represent the player base fairly, but even these minor details are more than a lot of VNs give.

i just wanted to say that the choices you guys made, regarding the cultures of the MC and LIs, really hit home (with a sledgehammer) in a place that mattered (into the solar plexus.)

I'm really sorry for such a late reply! This was a lovely ask. Thank so much for the kind words and super cute sketch. It's wonderful seeing that Qiu felt like a relatable person. We definitely hoped they would make people happy, seeing that was the case really brightened my day.

We'll keep doing our best with what's coming next and are gonna include more nods to the MC's identity and Qiu's as well 😄

#our life #our life: now & forever #ask #gb patch games #gb patch #qiu lin

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djarindroid · 10 months ago

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Against All Odds

Pairing: Eric (AQPDO) x Reader

Summary: After meeting Eric and slowly growing closer to one another will you be able to get back to each other in this new silent world?

Word Count: 5,876

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, death and blood

Comments: I dunno why but I'm more nervous to post this than I have been about anything else I've written. Hope you enjoy!

The nights spent working at the NYU Law School library were peaceful. Where dimly lit aisles provided a sanctuary to any student burning the midnight oil. Your job was easy enough, re-shelve a few books and help the occasional student find something. Whilst night shifts weren’t ideal it was a sure way for you to save up to achieve your dream; going to art school. Besides, it gave you plenty of time to work on your sketches.

It was nearing 2am when someone burst through the doors, looking up from the returned books you were sorting though you saw a disheveled young man anxiously scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. Rushing over he blurted out, ‘Excuse me, I need a book on constitutional law. I have a paper due and my laptops just crashed on me.’

You smiled, hoping to ease his panicked state. ‘You’re gonna need to go up a floor to aisle 23, there should be some constitutional law books on the 2nd and 3rd shelf.’

‘Okay, perfect, aisle 23,’ he repeated as he began to walk away. ‘Thank you so much!’

You watched him go, slightly chuckling to yourself as he went to go downstairs instead of up, clearly too distracted to remember everything you said.

‘Hey,’ you softly called out. He halted, and turned to you. ‘Upstairs,’ you pointed up to emphasise where he went wrong.

‘Oh right, yeah of course, you said that. Thanks again,’ he stammered out as he quickly corrected himself, bounding up the stairs two at a time. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you as you watched him go. Shaking your head you returned to sorting the books.

The next few hours passed uneventfully, a couple of other students came in and out but no one needed anything from you. As the clock ticked closer to dawn you decided to take a walk around the library, to check if any books had been left out.

As you made your way upstairs you wondered if the guy from earlier had found what he needed. Turning the corner at the top of the stairs you spotted him, working diligently in a sea of open books. The desk light bathed him a soft glow as he ran his hand through his already tousled hair. You don’t know what possessed you to go over to him, you only ever spoke to the students if they came up to you at the front desk, but you found yourself drawn over to him.

‘Hey,’ you said quietly, not wanting to break the serenity the library provided, ‘did you find what you were looking for?’

His deep brown eyes met yours with a hint of gratitude as they flicked up from his notes. Despite his frazzled appearance he had an undeniable charm. His slightly stubbled jaw line may have been tense with the stress he was under but there was a softness to his features that drew you in.

‘Oh hi, yeah I found everything,’ he gestured to the scattered books around him. ‘Thank you again for pointing me in the right direction, this place is still a bit of a maze to me.’

‘Not a problem, late night book adventures are all a part of the job,’ you joked, earning you a small chuckle from him.

‘I’m Eric, by the way,’ he said as his gaze lingered on you, causing a warmth to spread inside you. You hoped you weren’t blushing as you managed to reply with your own name.

He repeated it, his English accent making each syllable sound deliberate and thought out. ‘Thanks again. I should probably get back to it before the caffeine completely wears off.’

Understanding his situation, you nodded. ‘Good luck, if you need anything else let me know,’ with that you made your way back to the front desk. You tried to work on some of your sketches but your thoughts kept wandering back to Eric. You’d seen your fair share of late night students, but none had captured your attention quite like him.

Hours slipped by, the library remained quiet with only the occasional rustle or soft footsteps echoing in the stillness. Each sound drew your attention to the stairs, hoping to see Eric walking down.

But soon enough the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the windows, signalling the end of your shift. You packed your stuff, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds in the hope of seeing Eric one last time before you left. Feeling a bit foolish for lingering over a brief encounter you sighed and stepped outside.

The next night came around quickly and before you knew it you were back in the library, among a new shipment of books, in need of scanning and logging onto the system. The smell of fresh pages and the rhythmic beeping of the scanner offered a welcome distraction from the lingering thoughts about Eric. You’d scolded yourself for fixating on a man you’d only had a few interactions with, deciding you needed to get out more.

You settled into a steady rhythm of logging the books but time still seemed to drag. Just as you were about to take a break the main door creaked open. A smile unconsciously spread across your lips at the site of who walked in. Eric seemed calmer today but he still had a determined glint in his eye.

He spotted you and matched your smile. His steps towards you were more confident than the previous night, your heartbeat picked up the closer he got. ‘Hey Eric, need help finding something?’ you greeted him first.

His smile widened as he reached the desk ‘no not quite. I actually wanted to come back and thank you properly, you really saved me last night.’ He leant on your desk, resting on his forearms as he looked down at where you sat.

‘Oh you didn’t have to come back just for that,’ you flushed. Had he really just made the trip here in the middle of the night to thank you again? Maybe you’d affected him as much as he had you, you tried not to dwell on the thought.

‘Yeah I was actually planning on bringing you coffee but I wasn’t sure what you liked,’ he scratched the back of his head nervously. ‘Didn’t want to bring you the wrong thing you know? And a lot of people don’t like to drink caffeine at night so I didn’t know if you’d want it at all, and it might be a bit weird for me to just turn up with it…’

He was anxiously rambling and boy did you find it endearing. ‘I like coffee,’ you gently interrupted, once again hoping to put him at ease. ‘I usually stop on my way here for a latte.’ You nodded towards the empty takeaway cup you’d thrown out earlier.

His shoulders visibly relax, ‘good to know.’ His smile returned as he spoke, somehow warmer this time.

The subtle implication that he was remembering that information didn’t go amiss, filling you with pleasant anticipation. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, you wanted to continue the conversation but had no idea what to say.

‘Well I guess I should leave you to it,’ he said as he straightened up again, tapping the desk as he did. You couldn’t stop the small pang of disappointment at him leaving so soon. Why had you expected more? After all, you barely knew each other.

Despite the urge to ask him to stay, you were technically working and were unsure of how appropriate that would actually be. You found yourself saying ‘okay, have a good night.’

You could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He gave you a small nod and said ‘well, until next time.’ He flashed you one final smile before he turned and left as quickly as he’d arrived.

Watching him go, the echo of the closing door filled you with a mix of regret and anticipation. You wished you’d had the courage to ask him to stay but the moment had passed.

Sighing you got back to scanning the new books. You spent the remainder of your shift internally debating yourself. You’d only just met Eric, you felt crazy thinking about him so often but there was just something about him that lingered in your thoughts. And his parting words ‘until next time’ left you wondering if perhaps you weren’t crazy at all.

It was rare for you to speak to any of the other people that worked at the library, due to being on the night shift you always worked alone, offering polite hellos and goodbyes to the people you swapped shifts with. That's why it was odd that Jennifer, the girl you were taking over for, approached you as you arrived at work a few days later.

‘Hey, someone came in here looking for you about an hour ago,’ she began whilst rummaging through her bag for her keys. ‘Cute guy, kinda had a lost puppy vibe. Anyways I told him you started at 10.’ Without waiting for your response she triumphantly lifted her keys from her bag, said goodbye and all but skipped out of the building.

She had to be talking about Eric, right? You’d been doing your best not to think about him the past couple of days. He hadn’t been back in since his second visit and you figured he was probably just being polite. You took a seat and began trying to sort through the returned books you’d need to re-shelve but you couldn’t stop glancing at the doors knowing Eric could walk in at any moment.

Why were you so nervous? You attempted to distract yourself by focusing on the task at hand but your mind kept wandering. What if he didn’t show up? What if he did? Your stomach churned at the thought of both possibilities. The familiar quiet comfort of the library did nothing to calm you tonight.

You couldn’t help but over analyse every fleeting interaction you’d had with Eric. Was he really interested or were you reading too much into it? Maybe he wasn’t planning to come back after he’d left earlier. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care if you saw him today. But you did care, more than you wanted to admit and the uncertainty gnawed at you.

Just before you had the chance to truly spiral the door swung open and there he was, the man who had been occupying your mind, holding two coffee cups. Relief seemed to wash over him as he spotted you, a shy smile making its way onto his face.

‘Hi,’ he greeted, making his way over to you. ‘Hope I’m not bothering you.’

‘Not at all,’ you replied, your heart fluttering.

He placed one of the takeaway cups down in front of you, ‘one latte, like you mentioned.’

‘Thank you so much, you really didn’t need to,’ you flushed as you reached for the drink. Your fingers briefly brushing against his sending a tingling sensation to shoot up your arm.

His smile was calm and warm as he looked at you. ‘So… is working the night shift at a law library as glamorous as it seems?’ He joked as he took a swig from his own drink.

You laughed, ‘it’s not so bad, yeah it’s messed up my sleep schedule but it’s a pretty easy gig.’ Not taking the risk of him leaving again you continued the conversation, ‘what about you? Is being a law student as hectic as you made it seem?’

His laughter filled the air, a sound you could definitely get used to hearing. ‘Probably more stressful than I made it seem.’ he admitted before continuing, ‘so I take it you aren’t a student here then?’’

‘Oh, no. Law definitely isn’t for me,’ you replied, noticing his raised eyebrows prompting you to carry on. ‘I needed a job and it just so happens that not many people are rushing at the chance to work the night shifts here. I’m actually trying to save up to go to art school.’

His eyes lit up with interest, ‘art school? That’s amazing, are you planning to go to one here in the city?’

‘That’s the plan,’ you grinned up to him.

A slight tension buzzed between you both as silence fell. Neither of you were eager for the conversation to end but both nervous to take the next step. Eric finished his drink and attempted to throw the cup in the bin, missing spectacularly.

‘Oh shit,’ he scrambled to pick it up, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. You couldn’t hold back the laugh at the failed attempt. In a playful gesture you picked up a crumpled piece of paper from your desk. Throwing it with a flick of your wrist you got it on the first try.

‘Oh I see how it is,’ Eric said, rounding the desk and pulling up a seat next to you. His arm brushed across your shoulder, the contact sending a shiver down your spine, as he reached around you to grab another piece of paper. ‘It’s on,’ he concentrated with mock seriousness, his tongue peaked out between his teeth. With one eye squinted he dramatically tossed the paper, landing it perfectly.

He threw his arms in the air and in a faux commentator voice exclaimed ‘And Eric makes the epic shot with only seconds left to spare! The crowd is going wild!’

You both dissolved into laughter, the moment completely breaking the ice between you. Any lingering awkwardness dissipated and you settled into a rhythm of throwing paper into the bin and sharing stories about your lives. It was easy, and the quiet of the library was the perfect backdrop to your flourishing connection.

After hours of uninterrupted conversation Eric glanced at the clock. ‘Woah I didn’t realise it had gotten so late,’ he stretched into a yawn as if to emphasise his point.

‘Yeah, I guess I’m just used to it at this point,’ you replied, trying to stop your eyes from drifting down to where his top had risen during the stretch.

‘As much as I would like to stay, I have an 8am class,’ he murmured, another yawn escaping him. He looked over to you, not yet making a move to stand up. ‘Maybe I could come back and see you sometime? If that’d be okay?’

His eyes locked with yours and your pulse quickened, his words were confirmation that you weren’t reading too into this connection.

‘I’d like that,’ you replied softly, feeling a light blush spread across your cheeks.

Eric’s smile widened, the tiredness in his eyes briefly fading. ‘Good, that’s great,’ he couldn’t hide his happiness at your reply. Standing up he added, ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘See you soon Eric,’ your smile didn’t fade as you watched him leave.

Just as he reached the door he paused to turn back to you, ‘goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ you echoed with a small wave. He returned the gesture as he stepped out into the night, leaving you looking forward to your next shift with a warm feeling in your chest.

Over the following weeks Eric became a constant part of your life. He frequently turned up during your shifts, always bringing you a drink and staying with you to talk. What started as nervous small talk soon blossomed into something more. You found yourselves sharing stories, your dreams and even just being able to rant about your daily lives to one another. You’d even swapped numbers, occasionally sending each other random texts throughout the day.

So why had neither of you taken the step to suggest meeting up elsewhere? You wanted to, you really did, but the fact he hadn’t suggested it yet made you hesitate. Was he content with the way things were, or was he just as unsure as you about taking things further?

You found yourself lost in thought one evening, internally debating whether you should just take the next step and ask him out or keep things the way they are. A rubber band hitting your arm drew your attention back to the present, and the man sat in his now usual spot across from you.

‘Hey,’ he gently called. His eyes, soft as they met yours, showed genuine concern. ‘You were in your own little world over there, are you ok?’

‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about some stuff,’ you deflected, hoping he wouldn’t pry any further.

‘Hmm,’ Eric hummed as he raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. ‘Were you thinking about finally letting me see your sketchbook?’

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Definitely not,’ you replied, placing a protective hand over the book.

‘Oh come on,’ he persisted. ‘I’ve seen you drawing for weeks now. They can’t be that bad!’

You shook your head, ‘they’re not bad, it's just… personal.’ If you were being completely honest you’d never show anyone your sketchbook and the thought of sharing yourself like that felt almost too intimate.

He offered you an exaggerated pout and his best puppy dog eyes, you’d be lying to yourself if you said it wasn’t working. ‘You wound me,’ he clutched his chest dramatically.

‘Wound you?’ you laughed ‘I’m sure you’ll survive if you don’t see my drawings.’

Eric let out a theatrical sigh ‘You never know, I might wither away from curiosity.’ He chuckled as he cast you a playful glance.

‘You’re so dramatic,’ you teased, rolling your eyes in an attempt to hide your amusement.

He leaned forward, ‘Dramatic? I’m just expressing my unfulfilled wish to see your artistic genius.’

You laughed at that, shaking your head. ‘Artistic genius? Now you’re just trying to butter me up.’

‘Is it working?’ he asked with a hopeful grin, his eyes sparkling as he leaned even closer.

Your heart almost skipped a beat at the way he was looking at you. You stuttered, trying to put a cohesive thought together. ‘Not a chance,’ you managed to say.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair ‘Okay, I’ll drop it,’ he turned back to his work. ‘For now.’

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, the kind of silence that only comes when two people are genuinely at ease with each other. You were content, happy to spend your time in this little bubble the two of you had created. Eric apparently had other ideas as he broke the quiet after a few moments.

‘So, I’ve been thinking,’ he began, his tone had shifted to something more sincere. You turned to see him looking nervous, his eyes downcast. ‘I’ve, urm, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you,’ your heart jumped up your throat, what was he about to say? ‘I was thinking we could, if you wanted, we could go out sometime. To dinner?’

His eyes finally met yours, showing his vulnerability. For a moment you froze, the weight of what he was asking sinking in. A smile spread across your face, ‘I’d love that.’

His face lit up as the words left your lips, relief evident in his eyes. ‘Great! How about this Friday? There’s a new Italian place I’d love to take you to.’

‘Perfect,’ you agreed, feeling a flutter of anticipation. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Friday arrived quickly and you could hardly contain your excitement. You spent the morning out running errands. You found yourself in the grocery store, mind buzzing with thoughts of your upcoming date. Whilst reaching for a carton of milk your phone buzzed in your pocket. Seeing Eric’s name made you smile like a schoolgirl that just found out her crush likes her back.

‘Can’t wait for tonight, see you later :)’

You felt a rush of warmth and quickly typed back a response, ‘Me too, see you soon!’

Before you could fully revel in the anticipation an ear splitting crash shook the world around you. The store windows shattered, sending shards flying causing you to duck down instinctively. All around you chaos broke out, people were screaming, car alarms blaring outside and another sound you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Heart pounding, you stood and assessed the situation. Everything was in disarray, broken glass covered the floor and random produce was everywhere. Dust and debris clouded the air, obstructing your view of the outside. What the hell was happening?

Screams were still ringing out and you could hear car wheels screeching. Adrenaline surged through you and before you knew it you were rushing outside. You couldn’t believe the chaotic scene that unfolded before you the moment you stepped onto the street. Rubble rained from the sky, people ran in all directions, and a bus was flipped on its side in front of you.

Panic surged but you forced yourself to move. Moving where though, you had no idea. Would your home be safe? Should you even try to get there? Your legs began to push forward of their own accord, taking you away from whatever was going on here.

A screeching sound rang out and you whipped your head in the direction of the sound. A large shape rushed by the corner of your eye, its speed too high to fully comprehend what you had seen. Adrenaline took over again and you began running in the opposite direction.

An army truck roared into view, a speaker on the roof blaring out a message- ‘STAY INSIDE! TAKE COVER!’ Suddenly the truck was violently flipped into a nearby building. You skidded to the floor and looked to where the truck had previously been. Your mouth fell agape at the scene before you, a giant monster stood in the centre of the road.

You froze, taking in the unbelievable sight before you, as a woman ran past you shouting for help. The monster's head snapped towards her and it lunged, smashing her into the ground with one swift swipe.

A scream stuck in your throat and you scrambled backwards. What the hell just happened? What the hell was going on? You had to be dreaming, this was some manic nightmare and you prayed you’d wake up soon.

You continued to crawl backwards, your hands scraping against the rough ground. Whatever was left of the woman’s body laid a few feet away from you. The creature's head turned, snapping towards any sound that rang out. You held your breath, every instinct in you told you to stay silent.

A siren sounded out nearby and the creature bounded off towards it, Seizing the moment you scrambled to your feet and sprinted down a small alley. Hoping that the narrow passage would provide some sort of cover. You crouched low behind a bin, curling yourself into a ball and covering your head. You could still hear the sounds of the absolute havoc going on around you.

Tears began to stream down your face, you wrapped your shaking hand around your mouth to stifle any sobs that threatened to escape. You were, understandably, terrified. Nothing could prepare a person for this situation. Your body shook uncontrollably and your mind raced, trying to grasp at any logical explanation.

You shifted slightly and felt your phone digging into you from your back pocket. Your mind instantly fell to Eric, was he okay? You grabbed your phone, without thinking you tried to call him but the line was completely dead. You prayed he was okay, that he’d found a safe place to hide. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever, maybe you should make your way to where he was and try to find him.

A crashing sound echoed in the alleyway and you looked up just in time to see one of the creatures jumping from one roof to the other. Debris cascaded down and the last thing you remembered was raising your arms to shield yourself from some falling bricks before the world went black.

You regained consciousness hours later, it was dark and the chaos from before had fallen eerily quiet. Dust completely covered you and your head throbbed. You tried to focus and come up with a plan but the pain was making it difficult to think clearly.

You brought a shaky hand up to your forehead to try and alleviate some of the pressure. Your fingers met something warm and sticky, pulling your hand away you were sickened to see your fingers covered in blood. A groan threatened to escape but you quickly remembered the situation, remembering how quickly the monster had reacted to sound.

Despite the pain you knew you couldn’t stay here much longer. Deciding it would be safest to move once it was daylight you huddled closer into the small space you found yourself in.

The silence pressed down on you, making every breath you took sound far too loud. You put your hand in front of your mouth to dull the sound of your laboured breaths. Images of the creature's viscous attack flashed across your mind. As the hours drew on, the terrifying thought that there were probably more of them gnawed at your mind. The city was far too quiet for there to just be one.

As you hugged your knees to your chest, praying for time to move faster, your thoughts circled back to Eric. Had he managed to find safety? You didn’t let yourself think of the alternative. You hoped with every ounce of strength you had left that he was somewhere safe, and that you’d be able to see him again.

As a dim light began to rise, a rhythmic thumping noise began to grow louder and louder. As it drew closer you realised it was a helicopter and from it a message was blaring out.

‘BOAT EVACUATIONS ARE BEGINNING NOW AT SOUTH STREET SEAPORT. TRAVEL SOUTH WITH EXTREME CAUTION.’

You forced yourself to stand, taking small careful steps forward as you focused on the remainder of the message.

‘THIS IS A MANDATORY EVACUATION ORDER. WE REMAIN UNDER ATTACK, SEEK SHELTER ON WATER, THE ATTACKERS CANNOT SWIM.’

Hope. If you could make it to the boats you stood a chance of escaping this living nightmare. You made your way to the alley's exit and tried to figure out the best way to go. The street that you would usually expect to see filled with people and cars was silent. The paths were now littered with rubble, cars were abandoned haphazardly, smoke billowed from a few of the buildings and people’s belongings were scattered everywhere you looked.

The once vibrant and bustling city had been turned into a war zone. You began to make your way south, walking as quickly as you dared to go. Every small sound had you on edge, terrified that one of those things was going to appear at any moment. Your head still throbbed though the blood covering your forehead seemed to have dried.

As you continued through the city, more people began to come into view. As everyone silently walked in the same direction you couldn’t help but look to the other faces around you, hoping to find a familiar one in the ever growing crowd. Dread filled every step you took, the more people that joined the silent march the more you lost hope. How would you find Eric in all of this?

You clenched your fists, determined to not let thoughts like that overwhelm you. Eric was okay, he had to be.

Before long at least a hundred people, maybe even more, had joined the crowd you were in. No matter how quiet everyone was trying to be a group that large couldn’t help but give off noise. You carefully made your way to the edge, thinking it would probably be best to find another way to get to the seaport, away from the bustling of the large group.

Just as you made it to the edge, loud screams tore through the air sending a chill down your spine. The monsters had found you all. Panic instantly erupted in the crowd, people tried to run, desperate to escape from the terror that had arrived.

Your heart raced as you dived into what had been a clothing shop. You ran to the back and crouched behind an overturned display, trying to steady your breathing. Peeking through a crack in the counter you could see the creature's terrifying forms moving wildly through the crowd.

You waited with bated breath, until the world had fallen silent again to emerge from your safe spot. Your whole body shook but the seaport was still your only chance to get out so you forced yourself to move. Slipping back onto the street you found it almost empty, a few survivors darted away, smoke billowed from buildings, more rubble had fallen and in the middle of it all stood a black and white cat.

The cat seemed to be looking at you. You tentatively took a step towards it, but it scampered off. Your eyes followed it, watching as it playfully chased a rat down the middle of the road, before it ran towards a subway entrance out of your eye line. For that brief moment, amidst the devastation the sight of the cat felt strangely grounding.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding and turned away, refocusing yourself. You didn’t think you had too far to go now, though the imminent threat had you treading carefully, staying vigilant to not draw any attention to yourself.

As you continued the sun began to slowly set once again, how had a day passed already? And to make your journey even harder, it began to rain. Deciding it would be too dangerous to continue at night in the rain you opted to find shelter.

You found a small abandoned cafe nearby and slipped inside, grateful to be taking shelter from the hard rain. You tried to make yourself comfortable behind the main counter. The hours dragged on as you stayed hidden, listening to the thunder rolling overhead. Exhaustion tugged at your eyelids, though you fought to stay awake, fearful of what could happen if you let your guard down.

You found a small abandoned shop nearby and slipped inside, grateful to be taking shelter from the hard rain. You tried to make yourself comfortable behind the main counter. The hours dragged on as you stayed hidden, listening to the thunder rolling overhead. Exhaustion tugged at your eyelids, you fought to stay awake, fearful of what could happen if you let your guard down.

Dawn broke and thankfully the rain had stopped. You cautiously stepped out, determined to reach the seaport as fast as possible. You kept to the shadows, moving as swiftly as you dared. It wasn’t long before the faint sound of water lapping the docks reached your ears. Turning the corner you spotted a crowd waiting at the edge of the water, silently filling onto a boat. The sight spurred you on, safety was so close.

You stumbled onto the deck, your trembling legs almost giving out beneath you as relief flooded over you. A shuddering breath escaped you as you looked back to the city, now a desolate landscape. You found a spot near the back of the boat, watching as others boarded too, their faces a mix of exhaustion and desperation.

As you looked over the people boarding, a tousled head of brown hair caught your eye. You stood up on your tiptoes, your heart beating faster. Could it be him? It was like a scene from a movie, the crowd began to part, you held your breath as the man's face face was slowly revealed to you. Though your heart dropped as more of his face came into view. It wasn’t Eric. You felt foolish, believing that out of everyone in the city you’d actually make it onto the same boat as him.

Taking a seat you wrapped your arms around yourself. It all felt surreal, being caught between two worlds. The chaos you had escaped and your uncertain future that lay ahead. The boat pushed away from the city, finally putting the hell behind you. All that was left for you to do was to wait, and hope that everything would turn out ok.

‘Stop the boat…STOP THE BOAT!’ shouting jolted you from your thoughts. The urgency in the voice made everyone turn back to look at the city. Standing you followed the gazes of everyone on board and spotted a lone figure sprinting towards the water’s edge. The sight of the monsters chasing them made your blood run cold.

The entire boat seemed to hold its breath as the person ran with everything they had, the monsters closing in on them fast. Without hesitation they leapt into the water, narrowly escaping the creature's outstretched arms. People rushed to the side of the boat, lowering ropes as they shouted encouragement. You noticed a discarded blanket on the deck, and grabbed it, knowing they would need it.

As you pushed through the crowd you caught sight of a drenched cat being lifted from the man's hands. And then your breath caught in your throat. The man’s eyes met yours and time seemed to stop. It was Eric.

The shock hit you like a wave and before you could fully process what was happening you lunged forward, reaching out for him. ‘Eric!’ His name escaped your lips, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief.

He looked equally as stunned as he whispered your name, his voice full of emotion. You fell to your knees in front of him and wrapped your arms around him tightly, afraid he might vanish if you let go. ‘You’re here,’ you heard him murmur as his arms closed around you. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision as you held onto him. ‘I thought…I didn’t know if...’

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, not giving him a chance to finish that thought. ‘I’m here,’ you reached up and cupped his face gently. ‘We made it.’ You looked into his beautiful soft eyes, his tears mirroring your own. You wiped away a stray tear and smiled as he leaned into your touch.

And then, without another word, seeming more determined than you’d ever seen him, Eric closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a desperate but tender kiss. The warmth of his touch grounded you in a way that nothing else could, washing away the horrors of the past few days.

Eric’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss as if he was pouring all his unspoken words into it. When you finally pulled away, breathless, his forehead rested against your own. ‘We made it,’ he echoed your words, his voice barely above a whisper as his lips brushed against yours.

Against all odds you’d found each other. The world around you seemed to fade away as you sat there, holding on to one another. The boat rocked gently beneath you as it resumed its journey away from the city. Despite everything that happened, despite the chaos of this new world, you were together, and for now, that was enough.

#eric a quiet place day one #a quiet place day one #eric aqpdo #eric x reader #eric aqpdo x reader #a quiet place #eric a quiet place #eric fanfic #eric x you #joseph quinn eric

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man-i-love-fanfiction · 6 months ago

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To Share the Space with Simple Living Things-Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Two: Daffodils - New Beginnings

Summary: Andrew comes back to pay you, but not before spending some much-needed time at his day job.

Word count: 2439

Author's note: thank you all so much for the positivity the first chapter!!! i cannot wait to keep working on this fic, you guys make it all worth it. i'm really fond of this chapter so hopefully you all enjoy :)

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

Andrew did not take two days to come back. He took one day.

He chalked it up to him feeling guilty. What you did for him was a very unnecessary act of kindness. What was he supposed to do? Take his time? Absolutely not.

Admittedly, a small part of it was also that he wanted to see your face again. Not that it mattered, but he wondered what the smile on your face would look like when he told you his mother loved the flowers, and that she immediately put them in her nicest vase and in direct sunlight, wanting to maintain them for as long as possible. He wanted to know more about flower language, something he had done a Google search for when he arrived at home, but he had faith you knew much more than what the internet could tell him. And most importantly, it seemed very one-sided that you had his number and he didn't have yours.

Again, not that it mattered.

It was also an issue of convenience. Andrew tried to plan out his day on the commute to work, and luckily you fit right into his schedule. Your shop was only a few minutes away from where he worked. He could walk over to you during his lunch break, pay you back, and still grab a bite to eat. If he was willing to skip lunch, he could even try to talk to you for a little bit.

Anyway, he was getting sidetracked. He had a lot to do today; he should have much more important things on his mind. This is what he thought about as he pulled into the parking lot. He only had three clients, but he could already tell one of them would be a tall order. Thankfully, that was his first appointment, so he could get that over with. Then, hopefully, he’d repay you, maybe chat, and get back to work.

Right. Work. Love wouldn’t exactly describe his feelings towards his job. Appreciation, definitely. He was grateful that he wasn’t stuck behind an office desk and had a job that could actually let him express his creativity. However, the amount of effort and concentration he had to put into his job on a daily basis was something he dreaded and others (especially his customers) overlooked. He couldn’t truly complain. It was worth it for the end result, and for the happiness on the customer’s face.

Enjoyment probably described his feelings best. Andrew enjoyed being a tattoo artist. A fitting thought to have right as he entered the shop.

He greeted his coworkers with a wave and a polite smile, as always (though seeing his best friend Alex at their shared workplace constituted a high-five instead). Attempting to start working as soon as he could, he scrolled through the photos on his phone and pulled up the sketch of what he'd be inking today: two deer lying down side by side, decomposing. Sure, drawing a decaying animal on someone else’s body wasn’t how most people would choose to start their day. It was an unorthodox choice, but he understood the appeal. It was poetic, in a gruesome way, the concept of never being able to be pulled away from the one you love, not even in death. Decomposing, but still being joyous because at least your partner was still by your side. A lyric without a melody came to him.

After the insects have made their claim, I’d be home with you.

Andrew let out a deep sigh. This would happen to him sometimes; the simple act of anything from sketching a design to reading his favorite book caused couplets to sprout in his head. It gave him this guilt, like he was cheating on his career and songwriting was the other woman, but people are allowed to be multifaceted. Besides, his ability to write songs never did evolve into something substantial. If anything, it was a hobby. Just another creative outlet — and Andrew was always itching to create.

His customer walked in a few minutes afterwards, and he got ready to get to work. He had met her before: a thin, freckled young woman with a wide smile and one small tattoo on her shoulder. They exchanged pleasantries, confirmed that she approved of the design, and made small talk as he printed the stencil. He cleansed his workspace and let his client get as comfortable as possible before he began.

He took his time inking the design, meticulously needling each detail he'd crafted. The shading, the fungi surrounding the deer, the exposed, rotting ribcage. What he was most proud of was the subtle looks on the animals’ faces, purposefully made to be filled with both solemnness of their passing, but overall content. Calmness, even. The lyric he had created before played over and over in his head, despite his multiple attempts to push it away.

By the time he’d finished up, his hand was cramping so hard he was concerned it might fall off, a pain familiar to him but one that he never fully got accustomed to. All that aching for something he wasn't even done with; he’d need to have another session to fully finish the job.

Gloves were removed, payments were accepted, and follow-up sessions were scheduled. He took a photo of his work in progress, with the consent of his client. Other artists did this often, but Andrew wasn't one for so much commemoration of his art. He felt too much of an attachment to this specific work, however, and felt he'd be letting himself down if he didn't get to at least have it in his phone. He waved the client (and his artwork) goodbye. Alex walked by, drinking a coffee that had undoubtedly gone cold. He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Andrew what he was doing.

“I’m going on a walk. I have to go back to the florist.”

“Weren't you literally there yesterday for your mum?”

“It's to pay them back. I… technically never paid for the bouquet,” Andrew explained as he shrugged on his jacket.

“Oh, so you stole those flowers? Have fun doing tattoos in prison!”

“I didn't steal them, the woman working there said I could take them as long as I paid her back in two days.” He stuck his hands in his pockets to make sure he had his wallet this time. A perplexed look came across Alex’s face.

“What kind of shady florist are you going to?”

“She's the furthest thing from shady. It was very bright in there, actually. And welcoming.”

“I’m sure it was. Very welcoming, indeed,” Alex commented before taking a sip from his cup.

“What are you insinuating here?”

“That you already fancy this florist woman.”

“You do know it's possible for me to have a platonic conversation with the opposite gender, right?”

“You're too much of a hopeless romantic for me to believe that's what's going on here.”

As usual, Andrew’s best friend could see right through him. He ignored Alex’s theories, becoming more annoyed than impressed.

“And with that, I’m going.”

“Bye. Have fun with your yearning,” Alex joked with a wave.

He said goodbye and stepped outside. To his surprise, he was greeted by a light drizzle, which he didn't mind. It freshened him up, something he didn't know he needed until the cool droplets hit his face. He only hoped it wouldn't worsen, as with his light jacket he would be dreadfully unprepared.

It had been a relatively slow day. Unlike yesterday, no one else forgot their wallet and needed a favor. No one else actually bothered with what you had to say about the messages of the bouquets. And unlike yesterday, no customers caught your eye. For most of your day, you were zoned out, lost in your own world when you didn't have a customer. When you were more aware of your surroundings, you found yourself always checking the doorway, subconsciously waiting for a certain someone’s arrival. Still, you were living most of your day in a daze. You didn't even notice it was pouring outside until Andrew walked in, absolutely drenched. It took you a moment to fully absorb his frazzled state; not only was he soaked, he was out of breath.

“Hello. I didn't expect you to be back so soon,” you admitted. In fact, part of you didn't expect him to return at all.

“I like,” he said, panting after every other word, “to keep my promises.”

“Are you… Did you run here?”

“I started off walking, but then it began to downpour so I tried to hurry up. Weather is a fickle thing, huh?”

“I could lend you my umbrella, if you want. For the walk back.”

“You’ve done enough for me already. I couldn't take your protection from the rain as well. I’ll just constantly try to stay under awnings.”

You chuckled at his comment. He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure before walking towards you.

“You’ll be happy to know my mum adores the bouquet. She liked the look of it first, but then after I explained your flower language, her face lit up. She put it in a vase and it's now on display on her windowsill.”

“That's great to hear,” you responded as a grin spread across your face. It always brightened your day to hear positive feedback from the people who actually received the arrangements you worked so hard on. It also satisfied you that Andrew was beaming the entire time, fueled by the joy you inspired in his mother.

“She's now expecting flowers for almost every occasion, so I hope you're open on holidays.”

“Oh, we're open year-round. Except for Valentine’s Day, when we close out of fear that boyfriends that need to seem romantic will form a stampede and storm through the place,” you joked.

“Good to know that you value the safety of your employees,” he said, continuing the discussion with a similar sarcastic tone.

“Employees? God no, it's for the safety of the flowers. I can always hire someone else year-round. I only get my lily-of-the-valley shipments the last week of January. Those things are expensive. I can't have a last-minute hoard of men trying to seem thoughtful destroying them.”

“I’ve got a cousin that's a chocolatier and she has a very similar policy.”

“What can I say? I take very serious precautions to protect my art.”

You couldn't keep a serious face for too long; after a pause, you cracked a smile and a small giggle escaped you. Andrew took this as an opportunity to change the subject, because as much as he could've stood there talking to you for the rest of the day, you both had jobs to get back to.

“I’ll stop talking your ear off. I came here for an actual reason. Let me pay you back,” he said.He took out his wallet and counted out a few dollars before placing them on the counter.

“Here. That's what I owe you.” He pulled out another banknote and held it out towards you. “And here's an extra fifty. To thank you for your kindness.”

Your eyebrows raised at his gesture, which you instantly declined, giving this extra money back to him.

“Goodness, um… thank you, but I can't accept this.”

“Sure you can. It’s my attempt at repaying you. Think of it as a tip.”

“I did it out of the goodness of my heart. I don't expect anything in return, I’m just happy I could bring a smile to your face. And to your mum’s.”

“Let me do something for you too, then. You deserve to have a smile on your face as well.”

You let out a sigh, but made no effort to counter his proposal. He paused for a moment, premeditating what he was going to say. He spoke again.

“You really helped me out, and I want to be able to do something for you. Let me buy you a coffee someday. Or a tea. Or even a croissant if you’re hungry,” he offered, his tone bordering on pleading.

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, one you were too nervous to say out loud, but couldn't help but wonder.

Are you asking me out on a date?

You kept quiet. He was just trying to be nice; there was no romantic intent. At least, that's what you told yourself. Your answer was the same as it would be if that was his intention.

“Alright. When and where?”

“There's a cafe about ten minutes from here. Want to meet there on Friday at 9 in the morning?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great! Great. I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

You both stood there, frozen for a few seconds, neither of you knowing what to do. Andrew broke away first. He took a step back and walked away, glancing over his shoulder to wave goodbye before reaching for the door handle. You waved in return, a small smile breaching your lips. The minute he left, you started to count down the hours until Friday.

There was this principle in psychology that had stuck with Andrew ever since he learned of it: the more you think about something, the more likely you are to notice it in your day-to-day life. He was especially feeling this principle today because ever since he met you, he saw flowers everywhere. It was as if the cosmos had decided that he couldn't forget about you, even if he wanted to.

There were flowers on every table of the restaurant he met his mother at. When he went back to his flat that day, he noticed his landlord placed pots of marigolds on the front step of the building. They even followed him to his place of work; his next client of the day wanted line art of a daffodil on her forearm.

She had told him her reasoning was the meaning of the flower—daffodils mean new beginnings. He wondered if you could corroborate that meaning with what you knew of flower language. If this woman knew how absolutely overrun with flora the past twenty-four hours had been for him. Was she sent by the universe to tell him that what was starting with you was just blossoming? Or was she just a twenty-something that wanted a tattoo she saw on Pinterest? Andrew was okay with either option; he was a grown man, aware that not everything in life was because of fate. He was just excited that he got to start something new with you, no matter how it ended.

#hozier #hozier x reader #andrew hozier byrne #hozier fanfic #hozier fanfiction #writing #fanfic #writeblr #writers on tumblr #divider #to share the space with simple living things

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lexumpysfunland · 1 year ago

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After looking at all the Narrators I got I kinda had to pick from all of them- I'm sorry if your Narrator isn't on the list of those I've drawn ;-;

besides that, I had to make sketches for all of those I've drawn : D

Start with @bugenthusiast0 's Narrator... better have the notif to see it because your Narrator looks adorable... I want to hug him

Next, have @finnleywiththesillys 's fun Narrator.

Next, we have @jestie-bestie , they look so nice??? I want to enjoy some tea with them!

Next, it's @employee052 turn, I made him look disgusted x'D he probably is disgusted to know I'm drawing him-

Next... probably the one that started my obsession with TSP really- it's @squarratorsideblog Virus Narrator... I mean... can you blame me for loving this guy? Just look at him!? will probably draw him again

next is @aiberry I find his design really cool- yes, I put something in his screen as a 'placeholder' kind of... forgive me for doing that ;-;

Next is @mariade11art . I really like the way he looks! so for me, it's a win! also... can I hug him?

Next is @lazy-b1rdy . he looks really cute~ I don't know if I'll give him back though /j

Next is @coralkrill 's Narrator. he looks adorable, I do want to hug this silly guy~

Next, we have... @ihazmunchies91 ... can I say how WONDERFUL he is? looks evil and I love that- I love him may draw him in the future again

Next is @semisocialporcupine . I can say that now that I saw how he looked in human form I can die happy.

Then it's @xandyprojects 's turn with a very interesting design I admit! it reminded me of Garnet from Steven Universe... somehow? but anyway, I like it!

and we finish with @juaneloriginal ! the fluffy Narrator that I see everywhere. he is cute though so yeah he deserves it...

and it's all I did... I kinda need a break for a bit since I have a fun headache coming hahah

but for all those who discovered a Narrator or just a new artist you like, go give these people some love! they all deserve it !!

thank you everyone for giving me your designs so I can draw them! I hope you all like it ;-;

I want to say sorry for those I wasn't able to draw... they're all really cool and if I had more motivation I would've drawn them. but hey I'll probably do that again so maybe next time!

on that note, I'll ... try to get some rest maybe... even if I feel like Walter is going to be jealous because I haven't drawn him today /j

#yeay I did it!#I feel Walter staring at me from the shadows /j #thank you everyone #narratorverse #tsp narrator #the stanley parable narrator #narrator #tsp fanart #tsp #tspud #tsp art #tsp fandom #tsp au #fan art

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 years ago

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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